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Skin.
That motherfucker.
I froze, torn between sinking into the moment and denial.
How easy it would be to stroke my fingers over his skin, sandy or not, and take a single moment to indulge in what I craved.
But if I gave myself one moment, where would it end?
I knew if I began, there would be no end.
Fear ate at my throat as my fingers lingered there, and I shoved back and out of bed. My breaths came in heavy gasps, and I had to focus to not hyperventilate.
“Stop fucking acting like touching me will kill you.”
“I’m not acting,” I barely got out.
“No one has that reaction.”
“Thanks for dismissing what I’m feeling,” I said through my teeth.
“You used to cuddle me all the time. How many times have I laid my head in your lap drunk? Or have we passed out over tired on the road somewhere on a dingy backroom sofa? And now the brush of your fingers sends you into a panic attack? This is clearly all bullshit. Get the fuck over yourself.” Aspen rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head.
“What the fuck do you want from me?” I couldn’t control any of this. If I could, none of it would have happened from the start.
“To stop. Whatever this is, stop. I miss my best friend. I miss the guy who defended me when I couldn’t defend myself and then taught me to fight. What’s happened to you?” There was so much pain laced in his words, and they hurt to hear. I did this to him.
“Nothing happened to me.”
“That’s worse. Then you’ve always been this person, and I defended you to my brother and insisted you weren’t homophobic, but he was right. You are.” The disappointment in his tone hit me right in the chest. “I guess none of it was real.”
“I’m not homophobic. I always stood up for you.”
“What? Because you didn’t know I was a fag?” He threw the pillow on the floor, sat up, and faced me. “Would you not have touched me all these years had you known? Because I was with Lucy so long, you thought I was safe?”
“Stop putting fucking words in my mouth.” My chest heaved with grief as I saw my person getting further and further from me. Was this the end of us? The end of the band? Would I push him away forever because I couldn’t handle what I felt? I hated myself for it.
“I don’t have to put words in your mouth. It’s written all over your face. You’re disgusted with me.” He looked at me in the low light.
“I’m not fucking disgusted.” My jaw flexed. I was disgusted with myself for the adverse reaction I had and how badly I wanted him. But admitting that to him felt too real.
“Right, because it’s totally normal to get hard and freak out and dry heave when a guy touches you.” He rolled his eyes.
“I’ve never dry heaved.”
He gestured at me. “I am witnessing your fucking reaction. Now I know why you’ve avoided me for months.”
He had me there.I’d avoided him, but it wasn’t because I was disgusted. Quite the opposite. I couldn’t handle myself.
“You have no idea what I’m going through.”
“I don’t care what you’re going through. I have no fucking sympathy for a homophobe—”
Before he could finish what he was saying, I grabbed him. One hand on his shirt, one on his jaw, I dragged his body to mine. Our mouths met with a clash. This was nothing like a romance novel. This was hard and aggressive and visceral.
Aspen tasted like his music. His touch had always been warm and purple. The music he made and his voice came with a rich, almost neon color. His songs varied in shade, but they always came back to the core of his color.
He gripped my face, bruising my skin with his fingers. I’d never wanted someone to hurt me as badly as I wanted him to. I forced my tongue into his mouth while his chest hit mine. Nothing like a woman. His scruff burned my lips as we fought with our mouths. He moaned, and I felt it all the way to my cock. I was so hard behind my jeans, and I couldn’t think of anything else but getting inside him.
