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“More like none,” he mutters.
His eyes round like he didn’t mean to say that, and I bite back a smile.
“As I was saying…” I tease, my voice gravelly. “In a sense, I don’t either. And I don’t mean just hooking up with guys. I mean hooking up, period.”
Comprehension flickers across his expression and he nods.
“I meant it, when I said before that while we’re here, you’re mine. No one else’s. That wasn’t just me saying that in the heat of the moment.”
His throat dips with a hard swallow, and he whispers, “Yours.”
Jesus.
Grunting, I reach up, and rake my fingers through his hair. Like mine, it’s still damp from our shower, curling up every which way thanks to my wandering, needy fingers. I kind of love it, bearing witness to this raw, unrefined version of him.
It suits him so much better, and if I’m not mistaken, he feels it too.
Hell, he said it himself—he’s comfortable.
“Yes, mine. And I know that might be…wrong of me to ask, seeing as this is…”
“Temporary,” he whispers.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
“Yes,” I say simply. “Temporary.”
He nods. “I know. If you’re…worried I might catch feelings, or-or—”
“I am. Not to be conceited, I just…I remember what it’s like at your age.”
He makes a face, and I lift a hand. “No regrets. Just statin’ facts.”
His scowl eases up, and he nods reluctantly.
While it still bothers me—the age thing; how can it not—there’s something about knowing this isn’t going anywhere beyond this island, that makes it feel a little less…wrong.
Especially now that I’ve well and truly thrown caution to the wind.
Fucked up? Probably.
But it’s kind of hard to dwell on all that right now when I’ve got him naked and under me and peering up at me like he’s terrified I’ll rip this away from him without a moment’s notice.
All I can think about is how upset he was down at the cove. So distraught, it worried me. If I wasn’t there…
What the hell would he have done?
Don’t think like that. He wasn’t trying to kill himself.
And nor was he trying to make a statement, like I originally thought.
There was something deeper going on there—something beyond his frustration with me—and I can’t help but feel like it has something to do with why he was bounced around reform schools since he was six years old.
“Seriously, Nolan,” Skyler whispers. “How are you so okay with this? I thought…”
I ease off him, but keep a leg curled around his waist so he can’t go anywhere.
“Thought what?”
