Page 16 of Theta

"I know," I whisper, doing breathing exercises and imagining the most horrible things I can think of, like someone throwing a bag of kittens into a pond.

It’s not working at all, and the mental images only fuck with my emotions and do nothing to make my penis less excited about the absolutely nothing that's going to happen. I abandon the morbid mental image strategy and focus on just breathing.

Which works for the ten seconds it takes Story to slip up behind me, so close I can smell her, feel her, hear her soft breaths.

"Killy, I didn't mean to—"

"I know," I snap, with more heat than I'd intended. It's just that she’s right behind me, and she’s resting her chin on my shoulder, and her breasts are pressing softly into my back, and it's fucking torture. "It's fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"I just need a second."

"Killy," she murmurs. "You're acting weird."

“No, I'm not," I counter, lying through clenched teeth. "I'm fine. Just…I just need a second to get things under control."

Story just huffs, and it's sarcastic. "You're a shitty liar, Killian."

Brutal, destructive honesty firehoses out of my mouth before I can stop it. "Yeah, well, excuse me, Story. I’ve been alone in the fucking dark for what you say is almost two weeks. Solitary confinement in a pitch-black fucking container. It's hot. It smells. They feed me once a day and it's slop I wouldn't feed to pigs. I'm scared. I'm lonely. I'm worried about my sister, and I’m worried about Cal, and I hate that you’re here, but I'm also selfishly glad you are. I'm glad I’m not alone, and it feels shitty because it means you’re a hostage too, and you’ve been through enough; you don't need this shit too. And then I wake up with you on my lap and your hand on my dick, and I’m well aware it’s not like that between us for you, but my dick doesn’t know that, and I’m trying like hell to get control over it, but it's not working."

"That's…a lot, Killy."

“No shit."

"When you say it's not like that between us…for me, what did you mean?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Killian."

"No, it's nothing. I didn't mean anything. Don't worry about it."

"Again, you're a shitty liar. Just tell me the truth."

"No." Yes, dammit, I'm aware how petulant that sounded.

Story laughs. "No?"

I let the lurch of the ship over the crest of a wave shuffle me forward, out of her reach. Of course, she just follows me, sidling up behind me again, and now she's pressed up against my back even more fully, even more torturously, her breasts squished against me, chin on my shoulder, hands on my back near my shoulder blades.

"Killian." Her voice is faint and soft.

"Story, don't."

"Don't what?"

I step forward out of her reach. "Ask questions you either know the answer to or don't really want to know the answer to."

"Which do you think it is?"

"I don't know."

She follows me again, and the ache is unbearable, made worse by her proximity, by the soft warmth of her hand on my back, now sliding gently around to my chest. "Killy."

"What, Story?"

"Why are you mad at me?"