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“You follow,” Will mumbled.
“Yeah, something like that,” Peyton said with amusement. “Let’s see what we can find in the pantry.”
Sebastian hesitated at the archway that led to the hallway, one hand on the inner curve. He angled his head so Jericho could see his profile. “There’s room for one more.”
Jericho had no idea what he was talking about.
“With us,” Sebastian clarified.
“Are you inviting me into your bed?” Jericho asked. He wasn’t really into sleeping in the same bed as his hookups. It implied an intimacy he didn’t feel. Gave false expectations. He’d declined earlier. This already felt different than any other hookup he’d had, no matter how much he’d tried to keep it just physical. Allowing himself to break another rule seemed a cardinal sin.
Sebastian dropped his hand and disappeared without a response.
Will and Peyton came back through, a packet of chips in Peyton’s hands. Peyton kissed the top of Jericho’s head, stunning him into silence, unable to think.
They were gone before his brain came back online.
Quinn was still in the room, studying him like he was trying to pull all his secrets out. Jericho stood and moved close enough that he could smell the faintest hint of sandalwood and sex. An interesting combination he had no idea would do it for him. “Are you waiting for a good-night kiss?” he teased.
“You think we’re at the kissing stage?” Quinn asked, glancing at his lips.
Jericho thought that answer was obvious. Maybe not. “I’ve had your fingers in my ass,” he pointed out. “Your boyfriend fucked me.” He could still feel the echoes of it, that pleasant ache that made his hole clench thinking about how it had gotten there.
“That’s not kissing.”
“I kissed them,” Jericho pointed out.
“They’re not me.”
No, they were not. All four of them were distinctly different, though equally distracting. Jericho wanted all of them in every way and all in different ways.
“Why, Quinn, are you aromantic?” Not surprising, to be honest. Jericho knew that for some, kissing was separate from sex. Intimacy for lovers, not one-night stands. Along the lines of how he felt about sleeping in the same bed as a one-night stand.
“I’m not into casual flings,” Quinn said. “You’re a rare exception.”
“Lucky me,” Jericho said lightly. Something about being called a “casual fling” irked him, though he didn’t know why. It was exactly how he’d been thinking of it. “So if I want a kiss that means we’re going steady?” Like they were in some fifties rom-com.
Quinn closed the gap between them. He splayed his hand over the side of Jericho’s neck, his thumb stretched across Jericho’s cheek. Fingers curled around his nape. “It means that you want something more than sex.” He leaned in, his lips brushing Jericho’s ear, barely a ghost touch. Jericho shivered. “You want a fuck? I’ll bend you over whatever surface you want, no questions asked.” He used his lips to caress the shell of Jericho’s ear. “But if you want that kiss?” His lips hovered over Jericho’s, so close Jericho could feel the heat of him, the whispered breath heightening all of his senses. “You have to be willing to give me more.”
He pulled away before Jericho could gather his thoughts.
“And I don’t think you’re the type, are you?”
“And do you speak for all your boyfriends?” Jericho asked, still feeling like he was scrambling and on the wrong foot.
“I think their own actions speak for themselves. We wouldn’t let just anyone into our bed, not when we’re still trying to figure out who we are together. Take that how you want.” With that, Quinn left the room.
The ticking clock hanging on the wall was unnecessarily loud all of a sudden.
Persephone sat at his feet. Jericho scowled at her. “Aren’t you going with them?” he asked.
She stared up at him, and either Jericho was crazy—a distinct possibility—or her face was blatantly saying, “Aren’t you?”
He most definitely was not. He didn’t even know why he was hesitating about it. He wasn’t a romance guy. He didn’t want a relationship. Not with one man, or four, or six. The number wasn’t the issue. What would he do with people waiting for him to come home? He had no business being that for someone, asking them to be that for him. He lived with his brother because it was convenient for him. Undercover wasn’t common, but it happened, and there were plenty of other reasons that Jericho was in and out of the house. He’d moved around so much as a kid, doing everything he could to keep himself and Hunter from starving; he wouldn’t know what to do with roots keeping him in one place.
“I hate dogs with attitude,” he muttered. “No, I’m going to my own room. Without humans or dogs.”
The distinct clacking of claws on tiles followed him to his temporary room. He sighed with fake aggravation as he left the door open enough that she could slip out later if she wanted. He would have kept it open anyway. He could hear everything better that way.
