More, Sloan Parker [guided reading books TXT] 📗

hell, Matthew!” Richard reached down and held his head. His fingers threaded through the dark hair.

I laid a hand on his chest. His pecs jumped as his body flexed and jerked under Matthew's attention. The uneven skin of his scar tingled the pads of my fingers. I gripped at his flesh, wanting him to feel me too.

When Matthew finally finished and came in my hand, his hair stuck to his forehead— damp from water and sweat— his lips swollen and his face flushed, he looked delectable. I kissed him and took a taste of Richard from his mouth, enjoying the flavor of someone else's cum for the first time in fifteen years.

We spent the next three nights exploring all the ways we could come inside one another. They were the best three days I'd ever spent with anyone.

And when Richard's cock pulsed in my mouth and Matthew's did the same in my ass— exploding down my throat and bathing my channel— it felt right, perfect.

It didn't make me nervous. The time had come to trust someone again. To move on. To live a different life. Why the hell had I waited so long?

And how could I keep it all from ending?

Chapter Twenty-four

The front door opened and slammed shut.

I paused the movie trailer on my laptop. I hadn't been able to focus long enough to pick out an actual movie to rent. I just kept watching one two-minute clip after another until I was certain I knew the pitch for every damn movie ever made.

Both Matthew and Richard had been working a lot. I was fidgety and bored. It annoyed me how little I liked being home alone. What had happened to the guy who liked his privacy? The guy who never needed anyone to eat dinner with, to talk about his day with, or to just sit and watch a damn movie with?

I was also on edge because my search for Abigail Conner hadn't gone all that well. She had died ten years earlier. Widowed at twenty-five, she had never remarried. I was unable to find who her home and personal effects had been left to. I imagined Danny Conner's college journal had long ago been lost to a landfill.

“Hey, Richard,” I called out. “Thought you were going to be late.”

A loud thud echoed from the hall. A repeat of the same sound followed. Shoes smacking the wall after they were kicked off.

“Fuck.”

Matthew.

But the tone sounded wrong. More pissed off, frustrated.

I got off the couch. “Kid?”

Matthew hurried past the open archway. He made it halfway up the stairs by the time I stepped into the hall.

“Matthew?”

He hesitated for a moment, his back to me, his hands clenched into fists, and then he started up again. I froze for ten seconds, then sprinted after him. My feet caught the stairs two at a time. I glimpsed the side of his face before he slammed the door to his room shut.

“Matthew, what's wrong?” Broken. I sound broken. And worried. And about to panic. I knocked. “Did I do something? Did something happen?”

The door's lock clicked in place. My mouth fell open. I raised my hand to the doorknob and turned. Sure enough, he'd locked me out.

I leaned against the wall and slid until my ass hit the hall floor. I raced through the past few days. What could I have done to hurt his feelings?

Nothing.

A loud thud echoed in the silence.

I jumped up and banged on the door. “Matthew, are you okay?”

“Leave me alone.”

I slumped back to the floor.

I'd wait.

Wait for Matthew to come out.

Or Richard to come home.

Or for me to land on the perfect words to get him to open the goddamn door.

The front door opened an hour later. My head smacked back against the wall, and I let out a long breath. I hadn't been able to move from the floor next to Matthew's door, the sounds of Call of Duty filling the quiet until he turned it off and the deafening silence began.

After a few minutes, Richard came up the stairs. “What's going on?” He sat next to me. “Are you okay?” He gripped my biceps and turned me to face him. “Are you sick?”

“Something's wrong with Matthew.” I waved my hand toward the closed door. “I knocked and called for him, but he won't answer me or come out. I think something happened to him.”

Richard looked at the door. “What happened?”

“How the hell should I know? He came home and ran to his room. I knocked and asked him what happened. He locked the door and told me to leave him alone. He was upset, pissed even.”

“Pissed? Jesus. I've never seen him angry, let alone pissed off.”

“He played his Xbox for a while, but it's been quiet since then. Every once in a while I hear him curse or slam something.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Not like him at all. You know me; I don't know how to handle these kinds of things. I've been trying to think of what to say.” I banged my head on the wall again.

Richard slid his hand behind my head and rubbed. “And?”

I shrugged. “I couldn't even get him to open the damn door. I don't know what's wrong and even if I did, I don't know how to make people feel better, or what to say.”

“But you can listen. You've been doing that. Maybe that's all he needs. For us to be here and— ”

Glass shattered behind the closed door.

Richard sprang to his feet and knocked. “Matthew? What's going on? Did you hurt yourself?”

Nothing.

The color drained from Richard's face. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

I stood, ready to slam my weight against the door, which would hurt. The interior doors of Richard's townhouse weren't the cheap shit I'd had at every place I'd ever rented.

Richard sucked in a breath and opened his mouth.

The door flew open.

Matthew didn't make eye contact with either of us. “I'm okay. Jeez. I just need to be alone. Is that all right?” He swung the door closed, but Richard's hand