I would know.
Breaker shifts closer until our thighs touch. The feel of his flesh against mine makes my cock thicken, and considering the dream I had, I know I’m depraved.
Just like I’ve been told.
I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, rubbing my face like I can scrub away not only the dream but all the sudden dark thoughts flooding my system.
“What time is it?” I ask, glancing at my phone but not bothering to pick it up. I’ve checked it so many times this week, waiting for a message from Reap or Striker, even though I know we’re supposed to have no contact with them. Every time thereare no new messages, I feel it physically. Not knowing how Delilah is doing just makes everything worse.
“Almost 4 am,” he says, sliding backward over my bed until he’s sprawled out. “Come here.”
My cock hardens fully at his husky tone. My body screams to fall back into bed and lie next to him, but that unsettled feeling lingering from the dream sticks to my bones like tar. Heavy and thick and gross.
Breaker pats the bed, each thump vibrating into me like a quiet invitation. I hesitate. It’s not like we haven’t done this dozens of times over the last five years. After that night where we let ourselves go, we have spent plenty of time in bed together. Sometimes touching, but more often than not, just keeping each other company like we used to. When Breaker was scared and I was his protector. Before I let that carnal hunger take over.
Now it feels like he’s the one who’s constantly trying to reassure me.
“Viper,” he whispers, and I hear it in his voice. That slightly desperate way he tries to get me to be with him. When he’s not edging every word in a command. When he’s trying to just exist with me and not use my body for his pleasure.
Too bad that’s all I’ve ever been good for.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers.
The confession is so fuckingloudeven though it was a quiet release of words. We don’t talk to each other like this. Breaker and I don’t delve into our emotions. It’s always just laughter or chatting, or a quick, hot release.
A handful of times over the years, after we’ve shared a woman, we let Reaper and Striker watch us together. But most of the time it’s in secret, and more often than either of us would ever admit.
He shifts, making the bed jostle. “Talk to me.”
I flash on Striker. How vulnerable he let himself be. How easy it was to let myself be with him. Maybe it’s because he’s just as broken as I am and all our shattered edges fit together. Breaker, I always fear, I’m going to cut him open from all the jagged pieces inside me.
“Tell me,” he says. “What is going on in your head?”
Too much. Always too much.
Breaker sighs and pats the bed again. “Then tell me about your weird dream.”
His neediness cuts like a sharp claw in my lungs. I suck in a breath, filling them, trying to slow down the panic settling in my gut.
“If you wanted your cock sucked, you just have to ask,” I say, sliding toward him. “No need to beg.”
I hear him sigh as I reach for him, my hand skimming over his bare stomach as I move closer. His abs ripple under my touch, but then his hand encloses around my wrist, stopping me before I reach his dick.
“If I wanted your mouth on me, I would have ordered you to your knees.” Breaker releases me, shoving my hand away. “Now lie down and tell me about the dream.”
Panic burns like acid, turning into a slick unease. Breaker rarely rejects me. I can’t even remember the last time he did.
“The wilderness,” I tell him to appease him, lying down next to him with my hands behind my head.
He makes another sound in his throat. He had so many nightmares after we returned, and he didn’t even see the worst of it. But I know he understands. Our time out there, the things we saw, altered us in a way that we’ll never recover from.
“What else?” he asks.
When I don’t answer right away, I hear him shift, feel the bed dip, and suddenly the lamp flicks on and a pale yellow glow floods the room. He looms over me from the side of thebed. I blink at the brightness, looking away from his half-naked body. My already too-aware cock hardens painfully, and being I’m only in boxers, he can see the effect he has on me. It’s all those fucking tattoos. Black lines snaking over his flawless skin, flowing over every muscle like the ink was poured over him, contorting and accentuating his physique.
Adonis. Pure male perfection in my room, wanting me to talk. Divulge my secrets and let him closer.
Fuck that.
