A.J’s Angel by L.A. Witt has always been a favorite M/M read of mine. With its theme of infidelity, Witt does a fantastic job of addressing the aftermath of cheating and the effects it has on both parties.
Hero: Sebastian. Tattoo artist. His ex boyfriend arrives for a mysterious tattoo and brings back all the feelings of anger, resentment, and hurt that he left Seb with when he cheated on him four years ago.
Hero: Luke. He cheated multiple times on Seb when they were dating. He’s come to make amends.
The following scene isn’t so much “smexy” as it is emotional. Seb is thinking of the past, trying to deal with the aftermath of having slept with Luke, and remembering when he knew he had fallen in love with Luke before their relationship went South.
He just had to come back into my life, didn’t he? Because what I’d needed right now, more than anything in the world, was a reminder of what I didn’t have anymore. A taste of something I’d never come close to replacing.
We certainly weren’t virgins when we met, but we might as well have been for as nervous as we both were the first time we slept together. Neither of us could remember how to work buttons or belt buckles. I accidentally bumped his cheekbone with my elbow in the midst of taking my shirt off. He moved in a little too enthusiastically for a kiss and caught my lip against the edge of my tooth. The condom wrapper was apparently modeled after Fort Knox, because it took both of us to get the damned thing open.
It should have been awkward and embarrassing, tripping over our proverbial feet like that, but it wasn’t. We laughed. In bed, having sex for the first clumsy time together, we laughed.
That was when I knew, an illusion though it may have been, we were in for the long haul. We were more than a fling and a fuck. We could be so unashamedly imperfect—in bed, in conversation, in every way—so we were perfect for each other.
Before Luke, sex had always been such an urgent, serious thing. Not with him, though. Right from the start, we’d laughed. At first, nervousness. With time, as we became accustomed to each other, playfulness. Sometimes we got carried away, like the time he made me laugh—and hell if I could remember what it was about—while I was going down on him. It caught me so off guard, I’d nearly choked, which in turn made him laugh. We both lost it, feeding off each other until we were both in total hysterics. Of course that meant that once we’d caught our breath, we had to start all over with the foreplay, but neither of us minded.
It wasn’t always like that. Sometimes we were just too desperate, too overwhelmed with need for each other, and it could be anything from quietly intense to furniture-breaking violent. Sometimes it was physical, sometimes it was emotional, sometimes it was both. Quickies. All nighters. We had gentle sex, angry sex, makeup sex, drunk sex.
And it wasn’t enough for him.
My heart sank a little further. Tears stung my eyes. It may have been years ago, but it still hurt like hell knowing that for all he’d satisfied me, I was never enough to keep him from seeking more elsewhere.
So why did you keep going back, Sebastian? Why?
knew why. I always let him come back because I’d loved him. Each time I’d hoped he’d really changed, and surprise, surprise, he hadn’t.
Though I tried to think of anything but, this morning crept into my consciousness again. The way we’d held each other. The playful intimacy. The gentle kissing and touching.
I released a long breath as my heart sank even deeper.
The worst part was the realization that no matter how much I’d wished all kinds of things on him over the years, no matter how many hexes and curses I’d have put on him had I known how, one thing was painfully clear now: I still loved him.
Fuck my life, I still loved him. Nothing in the world hurt like realizing I could still be in love with someone after everything he’d done to me.
But damn it, I was.
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