True Art

Chapter Thirty

MATTHEW'S POV

By the third week, I was a master at navigating on one crutch and at giving out sneaky blowjobs. So far, I’d managed to suck Remi off in the shower (me sitting on the small stool while he stood before me), on the living room sofa, and twice in my bedroom. I never really cared about giving head until Remi. There was something about having that sexy man in my mouth that was amazing.

Despite this new physical development between us, things remained largely unchanged. We still hadn’t slept together. Remi had explained over lunch that we should take things slowly. The more time we spent together, the more I wondered what he was holding back from me. Because there was something. I could sense it; a reason he was holding close to his chest for not letting himself be with me fully. And it was like a cruel torture.

Because, god, did I want Remi. I longed to please him, to be the reason his neck flushed with heat and desire, to be the one that sent his pulse racing and his eyes glass over with euphoria. I wanted to be the person whose name he cried out, or to hear him call me sweetheart in the heat of the moment.

That hadn’t happened again, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it to. The way he’d said it, low and raspy. Sweetheart. Nobody had ever called me that before or anything even close. Living with Remi was so easy, I couldn’t imagine not being there. But as I’d neared the halfway mark, those thoughts had started to creep into my mind. Because the reality was, I still had nowhere else to go.

I couldn’t bear the thought of having to sleep on people’s sofas again. It was so degrading. But I couldn’t afford rent and that only left my parents. God, that really would be a last resort. But then, I was homeless. Could I really be so picky?

It was in the early hours of a Thursday night when those thoughts darkened my mind, this time in my dreams. I shot awake and struggled to catch my breath, my heart hammering in my chest. I’d dreamed that I woke up back in Dublin, but in a place I couldn’t recognise. My things were all boxed up again, and I was alone, with nowhere to go.

Alone.

No matter how much I pretended it didn’t bother me, being so broke and lonely really was starting to affect me mentally. I loved being an artist, but I couldn’t keep doing this. Not if it meant I was having nightmares.

The sound of the bedroom door creaking open startled me. “Are you alright? I heard you cry out.”

“I’m fine. Just a bad dream. Sorry for waking you.”

Remi was wearing light grey pyjama pants and nothing else. The room was dark, and the light from the hall filtered around him. He looked so warm and safe, exactly what I needed right then.

“Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?” he asked, still hovering in the doorway.

I shook my head and averted my eyes, biting on my lip and feeling foolish.

“Matthew?”

“It was nothing. I’m just not sure I’ll get back to sleep.”

Remi stepped forward, closing the door softly behind him, and made his way to the bed. I could make him out in the pale sliver of moonlight that was shining through the curtains. It was so dark compared to the city, but it felt restful.

“Sit up, and I’ll help you into my room. My bed is bigger. Come on, I’ll help you get back to sleep.”

I eased myself up and let him lead me out of my room. I shuffled down the hall and into his bedroom. It was a large room with two low windows, both sash windows slightly open and letting the moonlight and the sound of the night into the room.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, trying to hide my happiness as he helped me into his huge bed.

“It’s no trouble at all. I’ll get you back to sleep. Trust me.”

He slipped underneath the covers, and I inhaled his scent, reaching out so my fingers could run across the soft hair on his chest. It was peppered with grey and sexy as hell.

“You’re so warm,” I mumbled, and he draped his arm across my waist, nuzzling his face against my neck.

“You want to tell me about this bad dream then? Might help you sleep better.”

I hesitated for a second, but the warmth of Remi’s body made me feel safe. I could tell him this, couldn’t I?

“It’s, uh... I’m just a little bit worried. About what will happen after.”

“After what?”

“After this. Staying here, I mean. I have nowhere to go, and I have no job. I hate having no security and feeling so foolish for having no safety net. I love painting, but it’s not worth feeling this miserable.”

“I understand, but don’t stress about it all just yet. You’re only a few weeks into recuperating, and you still have time to find a job if you want to. And you know that you don’t have to leave the day you are better, right? I’m not going to throw you out,” Remi said, and he squeezed my hip reassuringly.

“I know, thank you. But I can’t keep imposing on you either.”

“You’re not imposing, Matthew, and I meant what I said. You can stay here until you get yourself sorted. I also haven’t forgotten that I offered to help you with your art career. Try not to worry so much about all these things. Life has a way of working itself out. You find that out when you live long enough.”

“I suppose you’re right. I like staying here, and I’m so grateful for all that you’ve done for me.” I swallowed hard as his fingers trailed along my neck.

“You don’t need to be grateful. I should be thanking you for making this place feel so happy again. You’ve cheered the cottage up.”

I searched for his eyes in the dark but found his lips instead. We kissed, slow and easy, but this time it felt different. There was more between us than a friendship, or attraction. I didn’t know what it was, but I could sense it. Something bigger than us.

His mouth left mine, and he pulled me against him into a bear hug.

“Night, Remi.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”