Page 78 of Down Bad

Tightly wrapped up in our curtained cocoon.

His eyes in front of mine.

The footsteps come. The footsteps go.

Then it’s silent again.

We stay just like that, even long after the danger’s gone. Then he gently releases his hand from my mouth. A moment passes as I get lost in his eyes.

“Was I really fucking your face?” I finally murmur.

After a second, he smirks. “I don’t know. Were you?”

“I feel like I should reciprocate.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “By letting me fuck your face?”

I bite my lip, not exactly having meant that. “Or … whatever.”

“Or … whatever?” He shakes his head at me. “That sounds like a dangerous word to me. Got any idea what ‘whatever’ means?”

“Yeah. It means … It means whatever.”

He brings his face closer to mine, nearly grazing it. My heart races between our bodies, even after coming, after it’s over, like it could all just start over again. His eyes burn deeply.

Then Diego says, “Whatever means every last thing you could possibly dream up in that dirty little mind of yours.”

“My mind’s not dirty.” I reconsider, with his face so close, his body against mine. “No dirtier than yours.”

“Oh, I think your mind’s plenty dirty, more than anyone here in this small little pretends-it’s-so-innocent town knows.”

I swallow hard. Still trembling from the chaotic release I was just given on that carpet. Still way too worked up to be calm. Still caught between the soft curtains and the hard body in front of me.

Then he smirks and his voice turns playful. “Don’t worry. No need to reciprocate.” He backs off just an inch. “I’m a giver. I like giving. Gets me off. Besides …” His eyes fall to my lips. “… you gave me plenty back whether you think you did or not.”

I seriously can’t figure this guy out. “I think I … liked … almost getting in trouble with you … Diego.”

For a second, I might say he’s smiling.

If the slightest curl in one corner of his lips can be called that.

Then he glances away. “Think the coast is clear.”

And after a second’s hesitation, he slips from the curtain out of my grasp.

I follow, feeling happy.

And a little confused.

The two predominant feelings I always have around Diego.

It isn’t until long after departing the thunderstorm room that I remind myself what Diego said, that I ejaculated on that rug. I’m praying it was just him messing with me. But even after cleaning up in the bathroom—yes, we find one near the back door that we’d completely wandered right past on our way in—I still find exactly zero evidence that I came at all.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure he was messing with me.

By the time we make it back to the pavilion, the entire thing is over with, everyone just mingling at their tables, walking around.

Diego and I must share the same thought, because we avoid snaking our way through the crowd back to our table in the front, instead staying here at the entrance to the pavilion where less people are likely to interact with us. He doesn’t talk. I don’t either. We both have another drink in hand, but neither of us have taken the first sip.