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They made love. Mateo knew that they did. It was not one of his casual s*x. It was not about pleasure or making one another and themselves feel good. It felt as if they were trying to engrave the feel of each other's skin, lips, tongue on their own bodies. It was like they were trying to make themselves remember each other. It wasn't s*x. Was this what making love feel like?
Mateo tightened his grip on his coffee mug. He had left River sprawled across his bed. She looked exhausted from yesterday's lack of sleep. And she looked so at home there, like she belonged in his bed, that he just couldn't bring himself to wake her up.
Also, he didn't know how he was going to face her. How was he going to pretend like that meant nothing to him? Like she mean
