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“Yes,” I breathed back, even as that invisible elephant popped a squat on the center of my chest. Shaking my shoulders out, as if there was any hope of dispelling some of that energy, I finally said, “Tell me I’m not alone in this, Pix.”
“It was never my feelings that were in question.”
Fuck, that hurt. I hated myself for the echo of rejection in that molten gray fire. Hated that I put it there. “No, it wasn’t,” I agreed. I moved for the bed, pulling her with me as I leaned my back against the frame, feeling like we were treading on conversations that deserved vulnerability which would be hard to achieve with my body draped over hers. Instead, I opted to pull her against my side.
Voice as raw as my mind, I said, “Tell me I’m not the only one that pictured you all these years. Tell me you imagined it was my hand you were riding when those jackoffs made you come like that.”
“Nobody made me come like that,” she countered, voice still soft. Of course, she’d look out for my feelings, even when I was painting the painful picture of our wasted years.
“Way to let me down easy,” I breathed. “Stroking my ego, El?”
Her brows winged up, and she repeated, “Nobody made me come like that.”
I studied her for a beat, some purely male piece of me basking in her words before I muttered, “Idiots.”
The snort my comment earned was entirely unladylike. I loved it. Loved that she didn’t have to be the polished version of herself that she offered the rest of the world when it was just the two of us.
“You’re not wrong.”
“Thought I was going to hell.”
“What?” she breathed back, brows pinching.
“For wanting you like this. For picturing you when they were on their knees for me. For wishing it were your hands on me all these years.” She stiffened against me, and I rotated so I could have a clearer view of her face, which had pinched in something between anger and frustration.
“I don’t want you thinking about them when you’re sitting here with me.”
The urge to smile tugged at my mouth. “Jealous, El?”
“That they know what your cum tastes like? Or that I imagined your hands on my skin as you bottomed out in me a million times before I felt it? Yeah. I’m fucking jealous. Jealous that bitch got your twenties when I would’ve killed for them. And I hate that feeling. Why are you smiling?” she demanded, and I just tugged her tighter against my side.
“I like you jealous,” I admitted. “It’s kinda cute.”
“Not an emotion I’m acquainted with or one I intend to feel again, so you better fuck it out of me before I change my mind about this whole damn thing.”
I reached up to snag her wrists as she shoved against me, like she’d pry herself free. Looping them between my fingers, I held her in place, the hand around her shoulders sliding up to grip her neck, pulling her forehead to mine before claiming her mouth. She nipped at my lip with more force than usual, and I chuckled against her lips.
“Me either, Pix. But goddamn, if seeing Pierce panting after you didn’t shred me to pieces.”
“Pierce?!” she questioned, smirking like I was an absolute idiot.
“Six-foot-two, blonde, winner of the competition,” I listed off.
A muscle in her cheek twitched as she supplied, “Gayer than Maxamillion?”
I blinked down at her as she grinned back at me, looking way too smug for my liking.
“Are you telling me I thought about ripping him apart the entire week in Vegas and he wasn’t even after you?”
“So violent,” she said with mock disapproval.
“You lied to me?!”
“Excuse me?” she barked, laughing in a way that brought her sanity into question as a hand settled on her chest. I was too irritated to buy the innocent act, especially as she countered, “I never lied to you.”
“We had it out in the elevator about his ulterior motives.”
“Oh, no you don’t, Allen. I never said he was interested in me or that I was interested in him. I said he was a solid prospect and was about to tell you I got his number for Max, but you went all pissed-off neanderthal on me.”
