Because it was never about the man behind the cock.It was about the empire between my legs.
None of them fucking mattered anyway.
They were just a way to get off.To take the edge off when this life, this name, this bloodstained legacy pushed too hard.They were just a warm mouth.A wet pussy.A body I could use to forget for a few minutes.An easy, forgettable release.
None of them ever touched a single fucking thing inside me.
But her… Emery?
She didn't want the kingdom.She didn't want the blood.She didn’t give a fuck about the empire or the legacy.She just wanted me.
And still today, she’s the only thing that ever made me feel like I wasn’t already six feet under.
Emery makes me feel everything.
None of them ever touched that.
None of them ever made me feel like I was still human.
Every thrust.Every breath.Every broken sound that left her lips, it was a reminder.
Of how perfect she felt wrapped around my cock.Of how dangerous it was to need anything this much.Of how easy it would be to forget everything I was born into, just to stay lost in her.
With her… it wasn’t just fucking.It was freefall.It was salvation.It was home.
Her touch still lingers beneath my skin, burned deep into places I thought were already dead.
And no matter how far I run, no matter how deep I sink, it will always be her that I crave.It’s always fucking her.
When I kissed her shoulder, it wasn’t just a kiss.It was an apology sealed in skin.A silent plea for forgiveness, for every fucked-up version of myself that’s ever hurt her.
Because in that one fragile second, I was him again.
The boy who used to slip through the shadows just to meet her beneath the stars.
The boy who believed, naively, recklessly, that maybe we could outrun the blood in our veins.
That maybe love could scream louder than legacy.
That boy…
The one who loved Emery with everything he had, like she was the only thing in this broken world worth saving.He’s still here.Buried deep.Chained beneath the monster I’ve become.Trapped under the weight of every scar, every sin.He hasn’t died.He’s just been silenced.
Sometimes when she looks at me like she still sees him, I wonder if he’s still clawing at the walls, begging for a way back to her.
She’s still in me.In every ragged breath I take.In every fucked-up heartbeat I pretend doesn’t hurt.She’s carved into me.With the kind of love that scars and stays.The kind you can’t drink away.The kind that stitches itself into your bones whether you want it there or not.
I bring the glass to my lips, the whisky burning dull and useless against the fire already crawling under my skin.
I feel her before I see her.
The way the air shifts.The way gravity tilts and points itself straight at her like it always fucking has.And then, she says my name.
One word.
One sound.
“Matteo.”
