Read Online Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) by Claudia Burgoa - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Claudia Burgoa
Tags: UNCUT
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I’m thirty for God’s sake. I should be in charge of my life, my decisions, and my actions. Regrets are going to follow me for all my life. I don’t want that anymore.
When I come out of the elevator, I try to open the door of my place, but the key doesn’t work. Still, the door opens. A set of magnetic eyes stare at me and I want to beg him to take me. Now, against the wall.
“I would if you weren’t drunk,” he says, and I’m guessing I thought that out loud. “We’ve already talked about you being drunk, haven’t we?”
“Fuck, you’re so hot, Matthew,” I voice without any inhibitions. “My father would shoot me with his handgun if he knew I let you stick your dick up my ass.”
Matthew’s nostrils flare, and pity flashes through his eyes. “Well. Not many of us are lucky to have parents who understand who we are. I’m not judging, but dude, don’t drink yourself into a stupor like this.” He pulls me into his arms, closes the door, and helps me walk toward the sofa.
“You smell like sex,” Matthew points out with an uncontrollable laugh. Sex? Right, the girl I met at the bar. A detour I should’ve avoided. “We’re not exclusive. It’s fine. But you’ll be hating life tomorrow.”
“I thought you were in California,” I say, trying not to slur my words.
I don’t respond to his exclusivity comment. Shame starts climbing through my body. Would he understand that I needed to lose myself for at least a night? Fuck, are we exclusive? I do regret what I did. She wasn’t that bad. I think . . . Fuck, I can’t remember much of what we did. I’m aware of that. Which is why I stopped engaging in such stupidities five or six years ago.
“Want to talk about it?” I shake my head. Matthew cups my chin with his hand, lifting my head. “Keeping it inside won’t help you at all. I’m here for you, baby. Talk to me.”
“My fucking parents.” I close my eyes, shutting out the light—and maybe the world. After several seconds, I continue, “They’re controlling, always have been. They want me to take charge of the family business . . . Hell, they even have the woman I should marry all picked out. Have I ever told you that they sent me to a place where they tortured me? For three months I lived on a farm where I heard day and night how God would condemn me for liking men. Day and night they submitted me to ‘sexual conversion therapy.’ Afterward, I went to a therapist who ‘helped me’ with my rebellion. I live in a constant state of self-rejection, Matt. Fighting who I am because of what I was told.”
His big blue eyes stare at me as I open my eyes. He’s smiling. Happy. Like he has no fucking issues and his life is perfect. Matt’s siblings support his sexuality.
Rage vibrates through my veins. I push myself off the couch and get in his face. “Yes, not all of us are as fucking lucky as you are. Some of us have nothing—no one supporting who we are, nor our choices. That doesn’t give you the fucking right to judge me.” I back out of the room, heading upstairs where I can shut out the world and recover from the roller coaster I’m living in.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s the next morning when I step inside the kitchen where Matthew is drinking his coffee. His light brown strands frame his chiseled face. His broad shoulders are covered with a leather jacket. He looks dangerous. Edible. I like him better when he’s wearing only a smile and I can see his rippled muscles. Fuck, are we over? No. We’re friends that share some benefits. We can’t be over. I continue my apology instead. “Alcohol makes me a son of a bitch.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Matthew?”
“Why did you contact my brother while he is on his honeymoon when you knew you could’ve come to me?” I take a step backward, trying to figure out the reason for his rogue tone. “Jacob left me in charge. You come to me. You don’t call him with your shit.”
He rises, facing me with a cold stare I never
When I come out of the elevator, I try to open the door of my place, but the key doesn’t work. Still, the door opens. A set of magnetic eyes stare at me and I want to beg him to take me. Now, against the wall.
“I would if you weren’t drunk,” he says, and I’m guessing I thought that out loud. “We’ve already talked about you being drunk, haven’t we?”
“Fuck, you’re so hot, Matthew,” I voice without any inhibitions. “My father would shoot me with his handgun if he knew I let you stick your dick up my ass.”
Matthew’s nostrils flare, and pity flashes through his eyes. “Well. Not many of us are lucky to have parents who understand who we are. I’m not judging, but dude, don’t drink yourself into a stupor like this.” He pulls me into his arms, closes the door, and helps me walk toward the sofa.
“You smell like sex,” Matthew points out with an uncontrollable laugh. Sex? Right, the girl I met at the bar. A detour I should’ve avoided. “We’re not exclusive. It’s fine. But you’ll be hating life tomorrow.”
“I thought you were in California,” I say, trying not to slur my words.
I don’t respond to his exclusivity comment. Shame starts climbing through my body. Would he understand that I needed to lose myself for at least a night? Fuck, are we exclusive? I do regret what I did. She wasn’t that bad. I think . . . Fuck, I can’t remember much of what we did. I’m aware of that. Which is why I stopped engaging in such stupidities five or six years ago.
“Want to talk about it?” I shake my head. Matthew cups my chin with his hand, lifting my head. “Keeping it inside won’t help you at all. I’m here for you, baby. Talk to me.”
“My fucking parents.” I close my eyes, shutting out the light—and maybe the world. After several seconds, I continue, “They’re controlling, always have been. They want me to take charge of the family business . . . Hell, they even have the woman I should marry all picked out. Have I ever told you that they sent me to a place where they tortured me? For three months I lived on a farm where I heard day and night how God would condemn me for liking men. Day and night they submitted me to ‘sexual conversion therapy.’ Afterward, I went to a therapist who ‘helped me’ with my rebellion. I live in a constant state of self-rejection, Matt. Fighting who I am because of what I was told.”
His big blue eyes stare at me as I open my eyes. He’s smiling. Happy. Like he has no fucking issues and his life is perfect. Matt’s siblings support his sexuality.
Rage vibrates through my veins. I push myself off the couch and get in his face. “Yes, not all of us are as fucking lucky as you are. Some of us have nothing—no one supporting who we are, nor our choices. That doesn’t give you the fucking right to judge me.” I back out of the room, heading upstairs where I can shut out the world and recover from the roller coaster I’m living in.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s the next morning when I step inside the kitchen where Matthew is drinking his coffee. His light brown strands frame his chiseled face. His broad shoulders are covered with a leather jacket. He looks dangerous. Edible. I like him better when he’s wearing only a smile and I can see his rippled muscles. Fuck, are we over? No. We’re friends that share some benefits. We can’t be over. I continue my apology instead. “Alcohol makes me a son of a bitch.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Matthew?”
“Why did you contact my brother while he is on his honeymoon when you knew you could’ve come to me?” I take a step backward, trying to figure out the reason for his rogue tone. “Jacob left me in charge. You come to me. You don’t call him with your shit.”
He rises, facing me with a cold stare I never
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