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Asher’s pleading voice was a mix of hurt and anger. “It’s not like that,” he blurted. I heard him getting up. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“What did you mean?” I asked in a low, breathless voice.
My stomach was hollow. My crotch was on fire. I longed to hold him for just another moment. But if there was even an ounce of truth to what he had said, I needed to be the responsible one. I needed to keep us at a distance.
If I caved, there would be no stopping the disaster that followed.
“Nothing,” he said tightly and slapped my shoulder to turn me around. “Look at me. It’s nothing. I meant nothing.”
I blinked. It was hard to look at his face. Harder still was not looking at his bare torso. I realized how pissed my expression was.
“What do you want?” he yelled. “You were laying on top of me. It’s a physical reaction. It doesn’t mean anything.”
In all fairness, he did tell me to stop. But my tongue was tied as I weighed the horror of the consequences against the pleasures in which we might indulge.
“Nah,” he said bitterly. “Don’t give me this straight dude bullshit, Jordan. If you’re so insecure about yourself, why the fuck did you insist on wrestling? You can’t be that surprised a gay guy got a hard-on from lying under you.” He spat those words out like an insult — like he wanted to shock me — but I could only hear the admission that he had gotten hard. Despite all my practice to steer clear of him, my gaze dropped in search of his hardness. The bulge was impossible to miss, clenching my heart in fear and dangerous excitement. “Don’t fucking make me feel guilty about it, asshole.” A plea. Panic. “You don’t get to start this bullshit and then get on your fucking high horse. You’re not better than everyone else.”
“Stop talking,” I whispered. I gazed into his hurt eyes. I looked at his quivering lips.
“I refuse to feel guilty about it,” he went on. “If anyone’s wrong here, it’s you. I told you I didn’t want to fucking wrestle you. And now you’re freaking out. Like you freaked out the other night. Well, guess what? I have needs like everyone else.”
“Asher, shut up,” I snapped. The corners of my lips trembled. I wasn’t sure if I was about to laugh or cry. But Asher’s eyes were teary and his lips were curving down.
I wasn’t freaking out at all. The air returned to my lungs. My heart beat fast, but only because it was pumping unfiltered joy to all the cells in my body.
“I won’t shut up,” Asher continued, his voice trembling. “You had to fucking ruin it. And you’re gonna tell everyone and I’ll be the fucking freak who has a hard-on for his stepbrother. Jesus Fucking Christ! What have I done?”
Guilt. Shame. Longing. I knew all these things that played across his face. I knew the crystal beads of tears well enough. I knew the streaks they left on your face. And I knew the fear of being caught.
“So what if I’m kinda into you?” he demanded. He erratically moved between panic and accusation. He threw blame at me, then freaked out over his part in it. He stepped closer and lifted his fists like he was about to fight me. “It’s not like you would notice. I had to fucking tell you to stop because you can’t get your head out of your ass for one hot minute and see how dangerous it was to wrestle. You never think. For all the lectures and bullshit you gave me, you never think.” He flailed one fist toward my chest, but I caught it, then grabbed his other wrist and waited for him to look into my eyes. “I’ll never hear the fucking end of this, will I?”
“You’re into me?” I asked. Happiness blossomed inside of me to an impossible degree.
“See?” he whimpered. “You’re doing it already. Just fucking don’t.” His voice cracked again. He cleared his throat and searched for an insult, this temperamental, bratty stepbrother of mine. “If your straight ass can’t handle it, you should ask yourself…hmpf…”
My lips slammed against his before I knew what I was doing. Every part of me was on fire. I had no control over my actions. I could barely follow my thoughts. And when I felt it, the softness of his lips on mine, I wondered how I had survived without them all these years.
I kissed him roughly, swallowing the few meek protests before he settled into my arms and parted his lips for more. He kissed me back, sighing with such sweet relief that I wasn’t sure my heart could handle it.
Again, I kissed him, mouth opening and air flowing between us. I kissed him with all the hunger of the years that had passed. I kissed him like I wanted to compensate for all the times when I could have been kissing him but wasn’t.
I released his wrists, and he coiled his arms around my torso, pressing our bodies together. There was no mistaking the truth in the words he had said at the start. I was turning him on. I was turning him on hard. But the feeling was mutual.
Could I believe it? Mutual!
He grunted and rose on his toes, kissing me harder. “What the fuck?” he murmured over my lips.
I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to explain. I thrust my tongue into his mouth and his tongue met it eagerly. All the sensations heightened. I could taste the wine on him. I could smell his cologne.
My fingers ran through his rich, honey-brown hair and I gripped a fistful on the back of his head. I pressed us closer, wrapping my other arm around his body and holding him tight. Releasing him wasn’t an option. I needed him. He was my everything in this instant. He was everything I had dreamed about.
I’d stopped breathing again. When? I was dizzy with desire and growing with all the feelings I had harbored in secret all these years.
When Asher whimpered against my lips, his face pressed hard against mine and his mouth open wide, we pulled our heads back.
We stared at each other. Shock rippled across his face. His eyes grew in wonder and surprise. Something tugged at my heart this way and that, leaving me unsure of everything I had ever believed to know.
“What…was that?” he whispered.
