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“No, I don’t. Can’t I just like you? Is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, we had our little hookup. Now let it go,” he says, turning toward me without looking me in the eye.
“I don’t get you. Today in the classroom, it was all about how you owned me, and I was okay with that. Then, in the fight, you wanted to protect me. But now...you want to call it quits.”
“Yeah, I guess I just changed my mind.”
He still won't look me in the eye.
“You know what I think? I think you didn’t expect to like me as much as you do, and I think you really wanted to come over tonight, but it scared you because if you came, you might get used to it, and you might start to like it. And then someday, I might fuck you over like everyone else has and you’re afraid of losing something good, so you choose to live alone and be miserable instead.”
“You don’t know anything about my life,” he replies, charging straight for me. I don’t cower as he stands toe-to-toe with me. His eyes are dark and fierce, glaring down at me with frustration. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched.
“So tell me,” I say. “Tell me why you’re living on the floor of this garage and why you’re alone and where you got the scars.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” he replies with a sarcastic laugh.
“Yes, I do.”
The garage grows quiet for a moment as he stares into my eyes, and I wait for him to tell me to fuck off, which is what I’m sure is going to come out of his mouth next. Instead, he takes three steps toward me, forcing me back until I hit his car.
“Fine. You want to hear the story? Well, here you go. My mother was a drug addict with schizophrenia and one night when I was eight, she got so high, she thought I was trying to kill her, so she attacked me with a knife from the kitchen. I was bleeding and cut up so bad when the ambulance finally arrived, they couldn’t take my vitals, and they thought I was already dead.”
“Jesus,” I whisper. My hands drift up to his chest, and I touch the long white lines that stretch across his chest. Something in me cracks and splinters at knowing his story, knowing the reasons behind his scars. I knew whatever it was it had to be bad, but to know it was his own mother…
“And since I didn’t have a dad, I bounced around foster homes for the next ten years, where the other kids were afraid to sleep in the same room as me because they thought I was a monster.”
“Pax…”
“And to top it off, I realized about five years ago that I like dick instead of pussy, which wasn’t such a bad thing to be honest because most girls were disgusted by me as it was.”
He’s worked up, the words streaming past his lips without caution, and I realize this might be the first time he’s ever really spoken about any of this to anyone.
“Pax,” I say again. He’s towering over me now, so close it feels as if our bodies are fused. My hands move up from his chest to his face, where I cup his jaw and stare into his eyes. But he’s not done. His abysmal, beyond sad story doesn’t seem to end.
“I’m alone because my mother tried to kill me, and I don’t have family or friends. I only have my car and rugby, and that’s all I need. I don’t need a fucking boyfriend—”
Before he can say another word, I pull his mouth to mine, and he doesn’t pull away. He sinks hungrily into the kiss, piercing my mouth with his tongue. Holding me tight, with his large hands on my back, he lets our kiss drown out the words that still hang in the air.
I want to kiss away every single thing he said. I want to wipe out the memories and the pain. If he needs my body to forget, then I’ll give it to him. I have never in my life wanted to heal someone else so much, but I remember what Everly said today over coffee. I want someone to rely on me, and I realize how true that is. I want Pax to need me like air. I want to be the oxygen that fills his lungs and the person who provides a roof over his head.
And that is exactly how he’s kissing me now, like he would die without it. I know in some way, this is the most vulnerable thing Pax has ever done, opening up, even the smallest amount, to someone else.
Our kiss grows more heated as my hands explore the planes of his back and chest, hungry for every touch. My lips move from his, down to his neck, nipping and licking every inch. I have never felt so starved for another person in my life. He hums when my mouth reaches his collarbone. His hands dig into my hips, grinding himself against me. When my kiss reaches his chest, I expect him to pull away or stop me, but he doesn’t.
He lets me trace the scars with my mouth, kissing my way along each stretched-out mark. I want to rewrite his story, erasing the trauma and replacing it with this—something good. Something where he can feel accepted, wanted, valued...loved.
Without warning, he hooks his hands around my thighs and lifts me off the ground, setting me on the hood of his car. He’s hard behind his sweatpants, and I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his shaft and stroking him through the fabric. He lets out a groan as his mouth devours my neck, earlobe, and jawline.
This moment feels like everything. It feels like I’ve been waiting for years for someone else to be as alive and as ravenous as Pax is. Someone I don’t have to tone myself down for, but who matches my energy and hunger.
His fingers fumble with the buttons of my jeans, finally getting them open and eagerly reaching in for my rock-hard dick. After one stroke with his dry palm, he lets go and holds out his hand, spitting into the center before grasping my cock with his now saliva-soaked palm. Pleasure jolts up my spine like lightning.
I drag down the elastic of his sweatpants, eager to hold him, ecstatic to see he’s as hard and as aroused as I am. Dragging my ass to the edge of the car, he holds me closer, leaning over me until our cocks are aligned, and then with one large hand, he engulfs them both, stroking them as one. His dick is warm and smooth against mine, and it feels incredible. My hips jerk along with his thrusts, and it makes what I want from him that much more potent.
I want to fuck him. I want him panting beneath me, crying out my name as I take him to the edge where pain and pleasure collide.
“Pax,” I whisper into his mouth while he jacks us together. I don’t know how he will take my request. There’s a chance he’ll freak out and bolt. Or he could just tell me no, and that would be fine, but I have to say it. Because this moment feels perfect. Hefeelslike mine.
