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Eyesfixed on me, he slides his bigger pinky around mine, then tightens his grip until my finger is trapped.Theache between my legs gets stronger, begging for attention, and there’s no way my face is hiding it. “Youown me, baby,” he says hoarsely. “I’lldo anything.”
He’sthe kind of person who always says shit like that, because his brain is a world of absolutes and towering, pure feelings.Halfthe timeIdon’t even process his random declarations anymore.Butright now, with the atmosphere pulled so tight it’s hard to breathe,Ihear every word.Ilet them be true asItake his jaw in my hand. “I’mgoing to forgive you.Butnext time,Iwon’t.”
Hesqueezes his eyes shut for a moment, pulling in a slow breath, then opens them again.Insteadof answering, he sits up and peels his tank top off over his head.Thesilvery light traces the hills and valleys of his body, lingering on the snake tattooed around his pecs and the thick knot of scar tissue along his ribs where he got stabbed.Hecatches me wide-eyed and speechless as he leans over, pressing one hand to the mattress on either side of me, and rests his forehead against mine.
Takinghis time, he kisses my chin, then my jaw, then my earlobe, like an animal exploring with all its senses.Ihear myself moan as he slides his tongue up the line of my throat, then nips the soft skin under my jaw.
WhenIget past the shock, my hands reach up to trace the powerful body hovering over mine as he kisses me again, rougher this time.Igo straight to the parts of himI’venever touched platonically–his hips, theVof soft skin disappearing under the low-hanging waistband of his boxers.Myfingertips linger right at the edge of the forbidden, a centimeter under the plaid cotton, but my logical brain tells me to stop before something happens that can’t be taken back.
WhenBeckshifts his weight, my hesitating hand bumps something firm and hot through the worn boxers.Becktwitches, jerking our mouths apart, andIrealize whatIjust touched.Fuck.Thisis where all that mindfulnessIpractice comes in handy–the willpower to pull back…
Beckburies his face in my neck and shudders whenIpress my palm lightly against his bulge.Ican feel every detail and contour of his thick, heavy erection–his curved shaft and the pronounced ridge of his head.Thefabric against my skin feels wet.
“Dal,Ican’t–”Beckmelts against me with a choking sound whenIslide the heel of my hand down the stiff ridge of his shaft, then back up.Ican’t stop myself from doing it again, and again.Hegasps into my neck and spreads his knees, meeting my movement with small, needy twitches of his hips.
Thisfeels so forbidden after two years of friendship, withScoutandRomansleeping down the hall.IknowBeckfeels it, too.ButIcan’t stop, becauseIwant to hear this big, powerful man’s breath go all to pieces in my ear.I’venever jerked off a cock, butIcurl my fingers and caress him slowly, inviting him to use my hand like a stroker.Herubs against me gently at first, trembling with the effort to control himself, his sweaty cheek pressed against mine.
Aftera minute or two of silent thrusting in the dark, he whines and speeds up like he can’t help it.BeforeIcan even adjust, he shivers all over andIfeel his cock twitch.Ifreeze, trying to figure out ifIjust made my best friend come on top of me.Heanswers my question when he reaches down and laces his fingers through mine, moving my hand from his dick to the mattress by my head.Hisbody is starting to go slack as his tongue finds mine in a deeper, more complicated kiss.
Myawareness starts to return to the throbbing in my cock.Theboxers tangled between my thighs feel drenched, and every touch sparks like lightning.Iarch my hips, trying to find friction against the fabric, but it’s no use.
Feelingme move,Beckgoes alert again. “Comeon, baby,” he murmurs in his throaty rumble.Hishand slips under my t-shirt to stroke my chest, butIdrop my head back with a little moan of frustration.Iwant him to shove his knee up hard between my thighs and make me hump it untilIcome, butIcan’t make myself say it.
Kissingmy throat, he slides his touch down my body to the top of my boxers, then underneath.Fora split second, his fingers are splayed warm and strong in my pubic hair.
Theneverything falls apart.
10
BECK
“Wait, no, pleaseBeck.”
I’venever moved so fast in my life.Dallasdoesn’t even finish the wordnobeforeIscramble off him and create as much space asIcan without falling off the bed.Tangledin half-removed clothes, his perfect body curls up with his back to me and his head in his arms.He’scompletely silent, butIcan see how fast his ribs are rising and falling.
“Dallas, what’s happening?”Ireach toward him, then pull my hand back and curl my fingers into a fist, pressing it against my forehead. “DidIhurt you?”Thequeasy, headache-y feeling that’s been haunting me ever since yesterday gets worse whenItry to think.
Swayinga little, like he’s drunk, he pushes himself upright and swings his legs off the edge of the bed. “Youdidn’t,” he mumbles thickly. “God,I’msorry.Just…please go away.”
BeforeIcan even react, he pushes himself to his feet and drags his shirt down to cover the beautiful curve of his hips.EventhoughI’mthe one who’s supposed to leave, he fumbles with the lock on the door and practically sprints down the hall.Ihear the bathroom door slam.
Mybody is on fire, sweaty and shaking with the need to makeDallascome.Iwanted to smell and feel him fall apart for me, learn the noises he makes.It’snot gonna happen now.Allthe forgotten pain in my damaged face starts to come back with a vengeance.
Ilimp into the hall and study the strip of light under the bathroom door, then go into my room and change my underwear, wiping off the sticky cum.Justin case,Isneak to the living room and check the couch to make sure the other two didn’t wake up.They’recurled around each other in a happy little mountain of blankets, with no sign of stirring.
Maybeit’s rude to try the bathroom handle without knocking, butIdon’t really care.Thedoor swings right open, soIduck inside and squint in the uncomfortable brightness.Dallasis sitting in the stained bathtub with his knees up and his chin on his arms, one bare foot curled on top of the other.Hisfrantic breathing hasn’t slowed down.He’sjust staring blankly at the roll of toilet paperIbalanced on top of the empty tube instead of putting it on properly.Thefact that he doesn’t have anything crabby to say about it means he’s really fucked up.
Ican’t figure out, no matter how hardIthink, whether we did something wrong or not.Butthis aftermath is definitely wrong. “Dal.”Ifrown at my bruised face in the mirror.Ilook like a brainless meathead who only knows how to break things, not fix them.ButIhave to try. “Canyou breathe slower?”
Hislong, delicate fingers squeeze into fists as he turns his head toward me.Blinkinghis teary eyelashes, he grimaces and tries to take longer inhales and exhales.I’vealways liked that about him–he’s a hundred times smarter than any of us, but wheneverIhave an idea, he gives it a try.Exceptfor the ones with fire, driving fast, skateboards, knives, heights, or explosions.Somaybe half my ideas.
“I’msorry,”Ioffer, even thoughI’mnot sorry for anything we did except whatever hurt him.Ashe wipes his eyes,Ipress my hip into the counter to stop myself from barging over, picking him up, and carrying him safely to my bed. “Idon’t get what’s happening right now.”
“It’snot your fault,” he mumbles, hugging his knees tighter. “Idon’t want you to see me,Beck.You’llnever look at me the same, andIcan’t lose you.Ican’t.”
Istare at him, struggling to work out what he means.Everythingin his head is attached to everything else in a tangled web.Myhead is full of boxes–Iopen one, take out a single thought, hold it for a while, then pack it away.SometimesIgo for a whole day without opening any boxes. “ButIsee you all the time.Ilove seeing you.”
Thatdefinitely isn’t the right answer, because he just buries his face in his hands with a miserable groan. “Pleasedon’t make me say it.”
