Page 129 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8

And as she drove him to the brink with that clever mouth, he gave himself over to her.

In the same way he had given himself over to revenge all those years ago. Right now, in this moment, his only loyalty was to Auggie.

He was drowning. In her, in the sensation.

And just as he was about to be pushed over the edge entirely he lifted her up and brought her down onto his lap. He found that she had nothing on beneath the skirt that she wore, and he found the glorious entrance to her body, and thrust home.

She gasped with need, and he drove up into her, pushing them both toward the ultimate end. Toward their glorious satisfaction. And when they both found their release, they clung to one another. And he knew something in the stillness that was almost like peace. He didn’t want to move for fear he might shatter it. He didn’t want to breathe for fear that it would prove to be only an illusion.

He held onto her. He was afraid to breathe.

She rested her head in the crook of his neck, and he put his hand on the back of her head, holding her there.

How long had it been since he had the chance to comfort another person. To be there for them. How long had it been since someone had done so for him, and in this moment they were doing it for one another.

He felt whole in a way he had not in so many years. Perhaps ever.

He wanted to sit there in that.

“We can do the dishes tomorrow,” she whispered. “Let’s just go to bed.”

He nodded in agreement. And he let her take his hand. Allowed her to lead him up the stairs, because it felt good to let someone care for him. Because it felt good to be cared for. Because for some reason he had the deep and certain sensation that this was a very fragile thing. And that when it broke there would be nothing that could be done to stop it. And so when he went to bed with her that night, it was with the knowledge that the dawn wasn’t guaranteed. Nor anything afterward.

And the last thought he had before he drifted off to sleep was that losing her would never be a relief.

Because this was something he had never known before. A weight and responsibility that felt like joy. And he had no idea what to call it.

No idea what to do with any of it.

He was satisfied.

Without his sight, without his revenge, in this out-of-the-way manor, hiding away from the world, Matias Balcazar finally understood what it was like to have everything.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LASTNIGHTHADbeen transformative. Truly. Auggie was still pondering it the next day. She had been pondering it the entire time. Not only her changing feelings toward him, but the situation they found themselves in here. She knew that she needed to talk to him about... About potentially making a statement. But she hated the idea of bringing the outside in at all. It had been two weeks, and he wasn’t better. He was going to have to go see the neurologist, and even though there was still a lot of hope as far as restoring his sight, it was all... It was all converging. The need to handle the headlines, the need to make intervention with his health... All of it.

Your feelings.

True. But her feelings could wait.

She stared down at her hands, where she had them pressed to the top of the kitchen counter. Her feelings. Did she love him. What even was love? She had never been certain. Maybe that was why she had never really wanted it. Maybe it was why it was easy to avoid men and desire and all of those things because she couldn’t imagine love in a way that didn’t feel heavy.

And this did feel heavy, but it was different.

He made her feel supported. He made her feel like she mattered.

He listened to her. He was like a different person than the one that she had met initially. Not just because she had gotten to the bottom of that dark wound that existed beneath the playboy veneer. But she had also found parts of him that were less intense. Parts of him that were giving, rather than selfish. He was in fact a very deep thinker, which she had always known. But she realized it was why he committed so hard to the other version of himself.

Because his own deep thinking often hurt him.

His memories of his sister were still so vivid. His grief at losing her complex. It mirrored her own. She had never imagined that she would have something in common with him. She had more than something in common with him, in fact. She had a spirit that recognized his. A deep wound that saw his and recognized it. Deeper than empathy.

Or maybe this was just... Her wanting to keep on living in a fantasy. Maybe she was dangerously deluded. Maybe this was what everyone thought. That they had a unique connection with him. That he was most especially their brilliant and perfect lover. That while he might’ve touched other women it could never have been this.

Maybe that was an easy lie to tell herself.

She couldn’t be certain.