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It kills me that he feels like he has to pay me back with sex. Having him here… that’s basic human decency, and he’s not a random stranger. He helped me, acted kindly toward me, and how did I repay him? With mistrust and accusations. My fault for making him feel he owes me, when I’m the one in debt.
He stumbles as we enter the living room, and I wrap my arm more securely around him. He’s scowling, probably unhappy he has to lean on anyone for any reason. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone as fiercely independent as Jason. I bet he had to become this strong to survive, and the thought makes me fucking sad.
But when I tug on him, all but hauling him the last few feet to the sofa, he shoots me a flash of a faint smile that turns my heart over.
Fuck, what is it with this guy that has me so twisted up inside? I need to protect him, and hold him, and pleasure him, and… and I’ve never felt this way before, ever, in my whole goddamn life.
He groans when I lower him on the sofa, and the map of pain on his body makes me so angry all over again that I see red. Whoever did this number of him should choke on his own dick and die.
Motherfuckers.
Yeah, Jason and I really need to talk—about who did this to him, what Simon is holding over his head, how he plans to get out of it.
But first I need him comfortable, fed, warm. Recovering from everything he’s been through this past week. I grab a blanket I keep folded on the back of the sofa for cold nights and drape it over him. I should get him some sweats, but he looks about to drop into sleep, and he needs to eat.
Jesus, look at me going all pussy-soft, fussing over the guy. Ocean wouldn’t believe his eyes.
“Pizza okay?” I ask. “It’s leftovers, but I’ll warm them up.”
He’s staring at me, his expression not blank exactly, but more… bewildered. The blanket has pooled in his lap, and I tear my gaze away from all that beautiful ink and taut muscles, the small brown nipples, the strong lines of his chest and arms.
His eyes dip to my dick. Yeah, I’m still hard. How could I not be with him around, after touching him and kissing him, and feeling his cock stir against my thigh? I’d have to be dead not to want him.
But not now. I go into the kitchen to prepare dinner, so distracted by his presence a few feet away I barely avoid burning the pizza, and then my hand as I take out the pan from the oven.
Jeez, Raine.
My dick is still happy and damn hard, a hazard in the tight confines of my kitchen. I’m so hard I have to stop, leave the pan on the counter and count backward from fifty, trying to empty my mind of sexy thoughts involving Jason.
Nothing works. I probably should go rub one out while he eats, before I forget my good intentions and do something unforgivable, like make him think I was lying and that he has to bend over for me.
No, dammit. My priority is him and what he wants. I may be so hard I ache, but sex is the last thing he needs right now.
Maybe later, another day, after he’s recovered, and I’ve gained his trust. When he can let go and relax with me, let arousal overtake him, let me pleasure him, and show him how it could be. I may not have much experience, but one thing I know for sure it that both parties should have a good time. Wanting and liking your partner makes a hell of a difference, and I sure want and like Jason...
Question is, what about him? Does he feel the same way? How the fuck will I know, when it’s his job to make me think so? When he thinks he owes me?
The same questions that have plagued me all along, and still no way of knowing.
The pizza is good. Reheated it’s even better. I’m sitting beside Jason on the sofa, and pretend I’m not dying to pull him to me.
It’s quiet. We’re wolfing down the food like our life depends on it, our chewing the only sound in the room. I have the TV on but muted, on a sports channel. I don’t know if Jason gives a shit about sports, but it’s not like we’re really watching.
Well, maybe he is. He’s gazing in that direction, vaguely, and I’m… well, I’m watching him. Guilty as charged.
His gaze looks kind of unfocused, as if he’s lost in thought, or falling asleep while eating. Can’t tell from this angle, although it might be useful to know, in case I need to perform a Heimlich maneuver to save his life.
Not that I’ve dusted up my first aid skills in years. And I’d much rather perform mouth to mouth on him, and some other maneuvers that involve skin to skin contact.
Jesus fuck, I’m so gone. This is sick.
But the sneering voice I heard inside my head over the years doesn’t make an appearance. It’s calm and silent in my mind, letting me think, and feel.
“So…” I put the crust on the pizza down, then change my mind and shove it into my mouth, too. “What happened last week?”
That much for not asking until he’s rested, huh. Great job, Raine.
His face goes white. He shoots me a haunted look and puts down the piece of pizza he’s been eating. “What?”
