“Yeah, yeah. You know I’ll expect more for this?”
Tristan’s other phone rang, Mateo’s name on the screen.
“I’ll make sure the money gets there.”
The phone rang again. “I’ll call you back soon.”
Tristan hung up the phone, picking up his other.
“Hola, mi pieza perdida. The car’s runnin’. It started right up when I got up to head to the coffeehouse, so you don’t have to pick me up tonight.”
His first words settled into Tristan’s chest. Mateo’s missing piece. Yes, he wanted to be that. Wanted to be everything to both Josiah and Mateo.
“Call me if you have any problems. I still can’t believe you’d rather drive an old Mazda than something new.”
“I can buy an old Mazda myself. I can’t buy anything else. You do enough for us.”
I don’t do enough.
He imagined the two of them spending their day finishing up at the coffeehouse. The thought of Josiah and Mateo together put a smile on his face. “I’ll see you tonight,” Tristan told him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” And he almost felt that way. That’s what Josiah and Mateo gave to him. He owed it to them all to protect that.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mateo
Mateo looked down at Jay and Tristan as they lay naked, beneath him on the bed. He kneeled between the two bodies, his cock aching and leaking as he tried to decide who he wanted to touch first. If he wanted to use his mouth or his hands.
“I want your mouth.” Tristan made the decision for him, so Mateo leaned forward and slipped his tongue past Tristan’s lips. He pushed backward when he felt Josiah’s hand trace his crack.
Teo ran his hand down Tristan’s chest and then fisted his dick, jerking it while they kissed. When he felt Josiah tug on him, his lips left Tristan’s and went to Josiah’s, owning his mouth. He ran his hand through Josiah’s hair, down his cheek, his neck, before heading farther down to cup his sac.
“Christ, I would come just watching the two of you together.” Tristan’s deep voice went straight to his cock.
Mateo sat up. He wanted them to kiss, wanted his cock between them while they did. “Com’ere—what the fuck?” Mateo asked at the trail of blood going down Tristan’s chest.
Nausea climbed up his throat as he whipped his head toward Jay. “Jay, he’s—oh shit—what happened, mi precioso? Fuck, what happened?” Blood covered his hair, ran down the side of his face, his neck, down around his balls. He turned toward Tristan again, biting back the burn inside of his esophagus. Every spot he’d touched Tristan was also covered in blood.
Mateo scrambled backward on the bed when he saw the red liquid running down his hands, his arm, dripping onto his men.
“Teo? What happened? What did you do?” Jay asked.
What the fuck had he done? Mateo jerked back farther, needing to keep this shit away from them, but he couldn’t get away. The blood kept coming, covering their blanket, spilling all over Tristan and Josiah.
What did you do?
Mateo’s eyes opened as he shot into a sitting position on the bed. First thing he did was turn to Jay, who slept beside him. He touched his hair to make sure it was dry. Used his phone as a flashlight to make sure the nude body next to him wasn’t covered in all of Mateo’s past.
He searched for Tristan next, but his spot was empty.
Mateo shot out of the bed. It was all he could do to make it to the bathroom before losing everything in his stomach. His throat burned, he vomited so hard.
Sweat dripped down his forehead when Teo leaned over the bathroom counter to look in the mirror, but that shit didn’t matter. He turned on the hot water, scrubbing his hands until they ached.
His legs were shaking as he leaned over, resting his elbows on the counter, his head in his hands.
Mateo watched the clear water running down the drain, needing to make sure it wasn’t tinted red. That it really had been a dream. What the fuck had that been? My fuckin’ conscience.
Before he got sick again, Mateo grabbed his toothbrush and brushed his teeth. A light pink colored the white foam when he spit, and it was almost enough to make him lose it again.
With jerky movements, he rinsed his mouth, turned off the water, and stumbled from the room. He couldn’t go back to Jay in their bed like this. Couldn’t risk seeing him bloody again, or having him wake up and want to know what the fuck was wrong with him.
He made his way down the short hallway, a light shining from under the closed door to Tristan’s office. Mateo lingered, hand on the knob, before he slowly pushed it open. The room was smaller than Tristan’s office at the house had been. As Teo stepped into the room, Tristan fumbled with a cell phone in his hand, lowering it from his ear, before shoving it into a drawer.