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He tries to push me off him. “I’m fine.”
“You must be starving. It’s dinner time and you’ve had nothing all day.”
He manages to sit up, dislodging me. He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Fuck. I swallow a sigh. “Everything in this apartment is yours, too,” I say softly. “I want you to use it. I want you to eat the food, to drink the beer.”
“Why?”
I don’t know if to laugh or curse at his eternal, exasperated question. “Because you’re home, with me. You’re my boyfriend. And I love you.”
He lowers his hands and shoots me a quick glance. “Raine…”
“I promise this is the truth.” I take his hands in mine. “You know, when I was a kid, I wondered about that sometimes.”
“About what?” His hands tense, but he doesn’t pull them away.
“Why my brother took the trouble to keep me fed and warm and even did illegal street races to buy me clothes and toys and medicine when I needed them. I mean, my own parents didn’t care. I also wondered why he sent me away and stayed until my old man kicked him to the street. Then I realized that it’s because he loves me.”
“He’s your brother.”
“Yeah. But he didn’t choose me. I chose you, Jase. To be my family. Because you’re beautiful, and hot, and damn annoying sometimes, but also loyal and honest.”
One side of his mouth tips up in a half smile. “You think I’m hot.”
“That’s all you retained from everything I said?” I roll my eyes. “Seriously, J—”
He pushes me down on the sofa, and tangles our fingers together, raises our joined hands over my head. Yeah, it must have been a good dream. His hard-on is solid and hot, pressing against my hardening cock through the layers of fabric.
He leans over me to kiss me.
Oh yeah. His lips are soft, his tongue rough as he swipes it over mine. He sucks my lower lip into his mouth, then lifts his head and gives me another endearing smile. “You want me.”
“So much,” I whisper.
“So whatcha gonna do about it, huh?”
Lots of things I wanna do to that smiling, wide mouth and that muscular body with all its ink and scars and bruises and glinting pieces of metal.
Pulling my hands free of his, I brush hair out of his face, then bury my fingers in the short, silky strands, tugging a little before letting go.
His hands slide up to either side of my head, and he watches me from under those long dark lashes. I wanna fuck him, kiss him, make him come again and again—but before I say a word, his stomach growls like something from a horror movie.
He laughs, startled. The sound is low and deep and happy.
“I guess what I’m gonna do is make dinner,” I mutter.
“Guess you are.”
“Come here,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him down on top of me. I nuzzle his silky short hair. “I like hugging you. Do you mind?”
He doesn’t reply for a moment. Then he says softly, “No. No, I don’t mind at all.”
Jason steals a piece of the cheese I’m slicing and shoots me a wicked grin before sauntering back to the table where he’s cutting tomatoes for the sandwiches I’m making.
Call me Sandwich Master. It’s the one thing I really know how to prepare. But now my mind’s not on the food but on Jason’s tight ass. He’s standing there, gorgeous and apparently lost in his own thoughts, wielding the sharp knife like he’s fighting in a war. Going medieval on those tomatoes’ asses.
And we’re back to that ass…
