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He’s got me there. But he’s also a lost cause. He’s the sinking raft I’m clinging to.
“You don’t even like me, Drew.”
His jaw twitches and then he says quietly, “I like you enough to know I don’t want you fucking her.”
It’s literally the nicest thing he’s ever said to me. Without thinking, I lean in for a kiss, but his head rears back, and I immediately take a big step away. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what that was.”
He’s gone back to staring hard at me, and once again, I’d give a small fortune to know what he’s thinking.
15
DREW
That came out of nowhere. My reaction was out of shock, not because I don’t want?—
Fuck, I don’t even know what I want. I barely even understand what I’m asking him for right now. But the fact that his life doesn’t revolve around me and our hook-ups when they’ve rocked me to the core is annoying.
Am I feeling entitled? Maybe. But the thought of that too-pink mouth on someone else has me boiling with rage. I’ve come as close to saying that as I’m willing to. I have to take this one step at a time, and having his mouth on mine is a step I didn’t see coming.
“You’re ready to go there, huh?” I ask.
“No. I mean—I don’t know. I’m wired, and I haven’t slept.”
“Maybe you should. Sleep.”
“I just said I’m wired,” he snaps.
He’s been jumpy and irritable since I came in. He’s also all over the place. One second sounding truly pathetic and the next imperious and haughty.
I don’t know what to do with him, but now that he’s put it out there, I have to consider whether I have any interest in kissing him. Any interest in more.
“If you want to work some of that angst out, I’ve got the perfect way for you to do it.”
He glares at me, full of spite. “Yeah, I know you do.”
“Don’t act like you don’t want it,” I say, trying to move this back into more familiar, only slightly uncomfortable territory.
“Well, as much as it pains me, I’m starting to realize I can’t always have what I want.”
“So you’re growing up. Good for you. Now be a good peach and get on your knees.”
“No,” he says, jaw jutting forward.
I take a step toward him. He doesn’t move. “You want me to take it from you?”
He snorts. “I mean, you can try. But you might not like what you get.”
I hurl my jacket to the side and advance on him, hand on his throat before he has a chance to move out of my arms’ reach. I slam him into the window overlooking the park and force him to his knees with a crushing grip.
As he submits, I make quick work of my belt and fly, digging out my growing erection and pointing the tip directly at his mouth. He grabs my choking arm with both hands and uses all his strength, which isn’t nothing, to force me back.
I have a rule with choking him. If he pushes me off, I stop. But I have no rules about shoving my cock into his mouth whether he’ll say he wants it or not.
He wants it. He always wants it.
But this time, he scrambles to his feet. I slap him, grabbing him by the hair with my other hand and yanking his head to the side to expose his throat. I lean in, close enough for my lips to brush skin and say, “Thought you wanted me to stay.”
“I did.”
