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Win contracted around him.
“Win! Fuck! Fuck!” Mathieu came, slamming up into Win with brutal thrusts, pulling another orgasm from Win. This one wasn’t as volatile as the first but it still left him limp and wrung out, and he clung to Mathieu, who was his lifeline at that moment.
Mathieu dropped kisses onto Win’s jaw, his throat. He returned to his lips, tongue sliding in and staying even as his hips slowed. Their bodies spasmed together, sweat turning them slick. Between them, the heat they made was almost oppressive, but Win didn’t mind it. Against his chest, Mathieu’s heart pounded, and Win’s own answered in kind.
When he could finally make his limbs cooperate, Win curled his legs around Mathieu’s hips as they sat in the middle of the bed. Mathieu remained inside him as he softened.
He didn’t want to move.
Didn’t want to let go.
Mathieu cupped his jaw, nudging Win until they were staring into each other’s eyes. Then Mathieu spoke. “I never stopped.”
Win blinked.
“I never stopped loving you.”
33
They stayed in bed.
Mathieu wasn’t in any hurry to have Win leave his arms and Win didn’t seem to want that either. So they remained in Mathieu’s bed, fucking, taking breaks just long enough to eat and use the bathroom.
It all reminded Mathieu of when they first got together. Back then, they’d been insatiable and joined at the hip. Where you saw one, you saw the other. If Mathieu wasn’t dealing with business, then he was between Win’s legs.
Now felt likethen, but as he rolled off Win’s sweat-slicked, quaking body—for the millionth time—and threw an arm over his eyes, he couldn’t ignore all the things waiting for them outside the safe space of his bedroom.
Jason hadn’t interrupted them yet, but Mathieu already knew it was just a matter of time. There was so much shit to deal with, and all he wanted to do was hide under the covers with Win.
His father must be rolling over in his grave. Not that Mathieu cared. He’d loved the old man fiercely and idolized him, but when it came to Win, his father never had any say in how Mathieu dealt with him. Still, he missed his father. Wished he was around so Mathieu could pick his brain on how to proceed with the many things he’d shoved to the back burner in favor of this reprieve.
Win touched Mathieu’s chest, rolling onto his side and cupping his face. He pressed breathy kisses to Mathieu’s jaw, his throat, burying his face in Mathieu’s sweaty neck.
He’d missed this so much. All of it. And he still couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when he’d decided to no longer cherish it, fight for it, or protect it. But he meant what he’d said to Win earlier.
He’d never stopped loving Win. Maybe they’d needed the time apart. Maybe Mathieu had to lose Win in order to appreciate him. But he hated how they’d arrived at that moment, the pain he’d caused. If Win would only let him, Mathieu vowed he’d spend the remainder of his life making up for it.
“What are you thinking?”
He lowered his arm and opened his eyes to find Win staring down at him, head cocked, eyes still shiny from the haze of their sex. He was the most beautiful fucking thing and he’d taken Mathieu’s breath from the first moment Mathieu had spotted him in that motel room, cowering in front of that fucker, Stavros, begging for his life.
“I’m thinking that I didn’t realize just how much I needed you until this moment.”
Win smiled, but it was a reserved gesture. His fingers skated over Mathieu’s chest as he glanced away.
It was there, in the set of his jaw, the tightening of his lips, the flare of his nostrils.
Mathieu caught his chin and brought Win’s gaze back to him. “Ask.” He didn’t want to prolong it, didn’t want to keep secrets. They were where they were because of him and his actions and they had to face it—hehad to face it—before they could go forward. “Ask me.”
It was all Mathieu wanted. For them to move forward. His chest tightened at the thought that Win could say no. He could leave again and Mathieu would be unable to do anything to stop him because Win leaving would always only be Mathieu’s fault.
He watched Win swallow and smothered a wince when Win’s nails dug into his chest. “Why?” Win croaked out. “Why?”
Mathieu sat up, taking Win with him. When they were both sitting facing each other, he cupped Win’s nape and leaned forward, bringing their foreheads together, closing his eyes briefly as he inhaled. Accepting the truth of who he’d been and what he’d done had taken too fucking long because he’d been lost and shattered when Win left. And then eventually Bishop left too—but not before inflicting his own damage—and Mathieu found himself alone with nothing to show but the debris that surrounded him as a result of his actions.
“My father got killed,” he told Win, voice hoarse. “And I couldn’t do anything about it. I’d come home and look at you, at the most important person to me, and get bombarded with thoughts of what happened to my dad happening to you.” He tightened his hold on Win. “I wasn’t convinced I could protect you.”
It had taken so long before he’d been able to examine his actions and link them to a rational explanation. Years before he’d recognized the ways in which he’d so thoroughly sabotaged his relationship with Win. Because he’d felt powerless. Because grief had taken control of him and had been eating him alive. Because he’d been afraid.
