I rub my free hand over my face, keep it over my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. “How do you know that?”
“I don’t,” he tells me. “But getting to know you. Falling in love with you. That means learning to accept all of you. If I accept you, I don’t see why I would ever want to leave.”
“You could get sick of me.” I swallow, letting my hand drop. “I could—I don’t know, hurt you. Push you away again.”
Matt bites his lip. “You could work your way through it. Talk to me, if you’re feeling that way.”
I could, sure. The question is whether I will, or if I’ll feel so trapped in my head that I won’t be able to.
Mattie rubs the back of his neck. “I should be honest about what I need to work on, too,” he says. “I’m always preaching at you to open up, right?”
“Yeah.”
He takes a breath. “I feel like I start to lose myself, after a while. Wanting to make sure you’re all right. I stop thinking of my own needs, and I start to forget my own feelings. It’s like I’m becoming a shell of a person sometimes. I don’t think that’s healthy for me.”
This is new. I sit straight up, listening, still unable to look at him. Yeah, I want his honesty—but I can’t ignore the fear, either. The fear twisting through me, making it just a little harder to breathe. I’m toxic, so toxic I’m starting to fuck up Mattie’s life, too. I’m hurting him just by being in pain, just by asking for his help.
Matt plays with my fingers. “We need to be honest with each other, right? This scares me so much. You’re afraid I’m going to leave you—but I’ve been just as afraid that you’ll push me away again.”
“I mean.” I shrug. “I don’t know, Matt. I might. I don’t know what I will and won’t do. I can’t promise you anything. You get that, right? I can’t promise you I won’t mess up, if we were actually going to try to…make this, whatever this is, work.”
“But that’s a relationship, isn’t it?” he asks. “Making mistakes and trying to learn from them together.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he says, without even a pause. “I want to be in a relationship with you. A real one. Not just this publicity stunt.”
I close my eyes. It really is easier, talking this through without looking at Matt. “Maybe it’ll be worth trying, you and me.”
I feel him lean closer. When we kiss, our lips linger. We haven’t kissed like this in a while—slowly at first, growing more intense with every breath. Matt pulls back. He rests his mouth against my neck and breathes. “I want to slow down,” he says. “I don’t want to feel like we’re only connected through sex.”
That’s also new. Not for Matt, but for anyone who has ever been with me. People have only ever been interested in me for sex. It’s uncomfortable, maybe too new, to sit here with Matt, arms around each other, touching without the goal of ending up in bed.
“Can we stay like this?” he whispers.
I resent him a little, too. I don’t want to be coddled, just because of the shit I’ve been through. “I don’t need you to protect me from sex,” I say.
He jerks back, eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to protect you. It just felt nice, to be here with you without…”
I don’t know why the moment’s shifted, why this doesn’t feel okay. Maybe I’m too used to feeling like my only value is my body. It’s almost like a security blanket, I guess. Having sex with people to feel like they need me, want me, won’t abandon me. That’s pretty sad.
“Don’t you want to have sex?”
He’s watching me too carefully. “Yes, but we don’t have to.”
I lean in closer. “But I want to.”
Mattie
Logan lets out a shaky breath as we kiss. I think he’s just as afraid as I am. I force myself not to comfort him. He seemed angry, that I was trying to be gentle. I have to admit that I’m nervous about triggering him. I’ve wanted to protect him. That’s all I want to do whenever I’m with Logan. I end up on top, Logan on his back on the couch. His hands reach under my shirt. I pull away a little. “Are you sure?”
He nods, not meeting my eye. I put a hand on his, and he looks up at me. “You don’t have to force yourself to do anything if you’re not ready,” I tell him.
His voice is low. “I want this. I don’t want to be afraid of my own body for the rest of my life.”
I believe him. I lean forward and kiss him again. He moans into my mouth as I reach under his shirt, roam his skin. He takes my hand and guides it in between his legs. I pull back and look at him.
“Let’s get undressed and take showers,” I murmur before I climb off. He nods and stands and begins to walk.
“Where’re you going?” I ask him.
He hesitates. “The shower.”
“Get undressed here.”
I sit down and lean back in the seat, waiting. I’m enjoying this take-charge attitude that’s developed with Logan. It lets me explore my unashamed power. He has a flit of surprise—a smirk at the challenge. I’m nervous about pushing him too far right now. I want to keep an eye on his expressions and body language, make sure he’s still with me and isn’t starting to disappear into his head, his thoughts, his memories…
He faces me. “You’re bossier than anyone would believe.”
“Do you like that I’m bossy?”
He hesitates. The answer is on his face. Yes. He just doesn’t want to admit it.
“Take off your shirt, Gray.”
“You know,” he says, “what’s hilarious about this is that you can’t make me do shit.”
“No, of course not,” I say. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to. But that’s the point, isn’t it?” I ask, leaning forward. “You do want to. You love being told what to do.”
He clenches his jaw.
I smile. “You love begging. You love getting on your knees.”
Something flickers in his eyes. There’s a glazed look in his expression. I stand up, walk to him, and put a hand on his cheek. “You still with me?”
He nods, but he isn’t looking at me.
“What happened?” I ask, voice low.
“Being on my knees,” he says. “Briggs…”
He doesn’t need to finish. “I’m sorry.” I’m going to need to learn his triggers. Maybe that should’ve been a conversation first. Maybe he won’t even know until it happens. That’s a scary thought. I don’t want to potentially trigger or hurt him every time I touch him. “Are you all right?”
He nods. He meets my eye and begins to pull off his shirt. I put a hand on his. “It’s okay. We don’t have to keep going.”
“But you’re right,” he says. “I do love being told what to do.”
He’s watching me again, at least, even if his expression still feels like he’s shut down.
I rub a thumb over his mouth. “Then do what I tell you, and wait until you feel present. Tell me when you do. Tell me when you’re ready to keep going. Then we’ll start again.”