I idled by the door, watching for any changes in Mathieu’s expression. It wasn’t my business who would be calling him this late, even though I just told myself that our committed-non-commitment was fine. Why should I care about a phone call well past midnight with both of us hard and naked in his living room?

Mathieu sat on the arm of the couch and held the phone in his lap. “Oh, hey, Papa. Why are you calling so late?”

His father? That would have cleared things up, but my mind immediately went to Mathieu lying. Why wasn’t his dad sleeping like any other sensible adult? But then, look what I was doing.  

I inched closer to Mathieu to ensure he stayed in the mood and not to hear his dad’s accent through the receiver. I deciphered enough over Mathieu’s hastened “yes” and “okay” or the occasional phrase in Creole. That was enough to alleviate my misgivings, but nothing made you softer than talking to your parents. 

Mathieu slid onto the cushions and shook his head. I wasn’t really trying to listen, but by the sharp tone in his father’s voice and Mathieu’s indignant stare at the ceiling, it was one of those lectures he told me that came at least once a week.

“You didn’t have to call when you got home; it’s already late enough,” Mathieu sighed into the phone. “I can call on Sundays, maybe drop a letter or two in the mail.”

I hung back to give them some privacy, but Mathieu waved me forward, and I sat next to him. He was insolent in many ways, yet talking to his dad was where he caved. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t multitask. 

Mathieu secured the receiver on his shoulder and pulled me back into his lap. His fingertips swanned over the goosebumps flourishing on my skin, delicate enough to desire his touch more. My breath hitched as he grazed his nails down my torso, skirted around my erection, and etched scarlet streaks along my inner thighs. I bit my lip to keep quiet, but the more I squirmed, Mathieu teased me while conversing on the phone casually. 

Since I couldn’t make a sound or occupy his mouth, I used mine anywhere else. His chest ballooned as I left superficial bruises around his swollen nipples. I thought of it as a way to keep him engaged, so we wasted no time when he finally hung up. And maybe it would urge him to cut this conversation short. 

I descended onto the scratchy carpet and put Mathieu’s acting skills to the test. He initially kept a straight face and level tone with his father, but he went off-script when my tongue examined his length. I massaged down to his thick base then puckered my lips about his swelling head.

“I’m getting some minor roles here and…there. I’ll let you know which ones so you—” Mathieu’s hips lifted off the couch. “You, Mama, and Cece can go see it.” 

I locked him in place, so every sensation coursed through him. How he throbbed when I hollowed my cheeks. How I tasted him when he touched the back of my throat. I added some moans to unhinge Mathieu to his core, his fingers winding through my hair. 

“You don’t need to send anything. I’m—I’m alright.” Mathieu’s hand pressed into my scalp, and he tilted my head back, coughing away a grunt over my humming. “Oh, that? Probably static since it’s late and long-distance.”

Mathieu held me by the chin and said his final goodbyes, telling his father that he had to get up early. Five longer minutes later, Mathieu said goodbye for the fifteenth time. He hung up and brushed his thumb against my cheek.

“You almost got caught,” he said. 

I stood, claiming victory—and removed lint from my knees. “Why did he call so late?”

“He works nights and sometimes phones when he gets home. Usually for his guilt trips or career advice. Tonight it was both.” Mathieu eased off the couch, shaking his head. He usually got like this when his family called. “I wish he believed in me more,” he kissed my chin, “like you do.”

“Save the charm. You already got me out of my pants a while ago.”

“Then I have to make up for lost time.”

I opened the bedroom door with no further interruptions, and we made it to the other side.

***

Mathieu was short on verbalizing, but when we were like this, our bodies so entangled with each other, actions spoke louder than words. He didn’t have to take direction when I spread my legs more for him to thrust deeper from beneath me. There was no method to the caresses on my back nor preciseness in his groans. How my name sounded in his alluring cadence. No pretending, no empty promises; only us.

My hips rolled back and met the tender ache of his dick stretching me. I clutched his knees as I got my fill of him. Mathieu guided my movements by the sharp inhales I took when we collided since my control slowly yielded in his favor. Ensnaring my waist, he sat up and pushed me forward, and I followed his lead until my knees were sunk into the mattress. He reached above my head and intertwined his hand in mine, trailing kisses across my shoulders.

“I know you like it when I kiss you here, baby doll,” Mathieu whispered as he feathered his tongue on my neck.

My back arched to give him better access, and he responded accordingly. Mathieu pushed further into me, grinding with an intensity that I craved. My thighs quaked with the amounting pleasure. I buried my face in the sheets to stifle how much he undid me.

“You’re close when you get like this.” Mathieu’s voice graced my ears again, heavy yet out of range among my panting and writhing. “Right here, isn’t it?”

I shuddered when he found it. Just enough to pry an extended moan from me, then successively until I was speechless. Again and again, so that I could do nothing but whimper at how my skin flushed head to toe then shivered with one touch.

 “Say it,” he said. “You like it right here?” 

“Yes”—his thrusts took command of my vocal cords—“don’t stop.” 

Mathieu supported my lower half, one hand pumping me. I melted into his touch as my fingers twisted into the sheets. A few more strokes into me, and I came, trembling from Mathieu kneading his thumb over my sensitive head. He pulled out all the stops for me to lose my mind—and voice. He laid over me, slick with sweat and stimulating every bit of me when he finished. 

I shoved him off so I wouldn’t collapse on the mess I had just made. Mathieu rolled into his back and caught his breath. “Damn, that was good,” he said. 

While I regained feeling in my legs and patted my hair down, Mathieu crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Listening to the water run, I stared at the ceiling and hoped that, like other nights, I wouldn’t end it alone. My mind usually wondered whether this was all our relationship would be and if this was all I was to him—was this enough for him. 

But it all ended up at the same conclusion. It wasn’t enough for me. 

Mathieu peeked out the bathroom door and said, “There’s room for two.”

I got up and joined him—impeccable timing as always. For tonight, I could stretch my denial a little thinner, that this was enough and I wouldn’t have to wait much longer.