“Nope.” He crossed his arms and slowly shook his head.
“If they get really drunk, some guys will tell stories about how when they were teenagers they kissed other boys, just to see. Or they jerked off with their buddies—”
“What?” Z squawked, then laughed. “What friends did you have who did these types of things? I would have been there for that. Did you do that without me?” His eyes widened, and an actual scowl slid onto his lips. “What the heck, Fern?”
Hearing my first name from him always did pleasant things to me, and right now it was a real conflict because I was trying my best not to die of embarrassment. “Mypointwas, I never did those things with other boys. Jeez, let me finish. And those guys who did do those things, they still say they’re straight, so what does it all mean? Why does it matter so much to say what you are or aren’t? Gay. Straight. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Spoken like someone who has never had to fight to be who they are,” he said, but not in a mean way, more resigned. “You were always hanging out with me. I would have given my right foot at fifteen to be able to jerk off with my friend. With you. Do you still feel like it doesn’t matter what someone says they are? What does that thought do to you? That I would have liked to have come with you?” He gave me a twisted, slightly bitter smile that didn’t belong on him.
“We’re getting sidetracked.”
Z squirmed, and I tightened my grip on him, sliding my hands up to his waist, which made his cheeks flush pink. He stopped. “I did it a lot.”
“What?”
He bit his lip, and I got trapped staring at the tiny divot in the flesh, made by his sharp incisor. He smiled, and I glanced up. It was my turn to overheat because he’d definitely noticed me staring at his mouth.
“I used to go into the bathroom at your house, after school,” he said, just above a whisper. “After we sat around doing our homework. You used to sit with me on your bed, and sometimes you’d put your arm around me while we were reading. You would always say it was to be comfortable. Do you remember? I would sit there and get so hard I thought I’d die… or come in my pants.”
My face flushed center-of-the-sun hot. I remembered liking having Z close to me. I didn’t remember whatever bullshit I’d told him to get it to happen. “Yeah, I clearly recall us studying together.”
He slid closer to the edge of the bed and his baby belly bumped my chest. He glanced down at it and smiled. “Well, half the time your mom was teaching a late art class at the college and would be gone, and your dad didn’t cook. You know how he’d wait until she got home and then rush around the kitchen trying to pretend to do something until she got mad and just did it herself?”
Groaning, I rubbed my thumbs over his hips. “I hated that. Once I was older, I started cooking dinner and you’d eat with us a couple of nights a week.”
“But until then….” His eyebrows danced up and down. Excitement settled on the tip of my cock and I shivered as my shaft hardened. “You used to get us snacks when it was dinnertime. Every afternoon when you went to the kitchen, I would sneak into your bathroom and… relieve some pressure.”
My stomach leaped with excitement. “You did? Really?”
“I would have died from blue balls otherwise.” The curve of his lips was beautiful, mischievous, and this was a side of Zayden I’d never seen. He was… sexy.
“What did you think about?” I felt dumb and shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Fuck, we were trying to figure out if there’s something between us.”
“You.” Zayden shifted and his belly bumped into my arm. I moved a hand to it, cupping the curve. Z let out a small sound that was somewhere between happy and aroused—or maybe both. Heat settled low in my groin and my cock pulsed.
“Me?” I used my free hand to trace along the outside of his thigh and kneaded my thumb over the hard muscle until he stretched out his leg and relaxed. Glancing down, I noticed the definite tent in his pants. I’d seen him come the other day, but that had nothing to do with me—unless I’d been a feature in Z’s mind-movie. Was I what made him come then, too? My gut coiled tighter with tension.
“Okay, well… I didn’t know what to call anything then, though I knew what I liked.” He smiled, and his tongue snuck out to lick at the corner of his mouth. “You were always so tall. I mean, you still are, but I was shorter than I am now. I used to think about you holding me down so that I couldn’t get away, and—”
“I didn’t hurt you, right?”
He laughed. “Why? Are you going to apologize for a figment of my imagination?”
“Maybe. I just don’t want to hurt you.” I glared at him.
“I’m not a pain slut.”
Wincing, I stared at him. “Can you not call yourself a slut? Ever again? You’re so not any sort of slut.” Like an entranced idiot, I touched the stomach he wore, and he stopped breathing for a moment before his chest rose and fell fast.
“What’s wrong with that? It doesn’t bother me to think about pain—I’m not lying,” he said in a rush as I opened my mouth. “It’s not my thing, but I don’t judge anyone. Do you?”
“No. Damn it, I was worried you were going off to have someone hurt you, after what you told me. All that… kink stuff is about pain, or at least, all the porn I’ve seen makes it seem that way.”
Z leaned forward to hug me, laughing and irritating me with his over-the-top amusement. “You realize porn isn’t a good gauge of anything, right? Straight or gay, you shouldn’t be using porn as a definitive research practice for any type of sex. Oh my God, and you treat me like the innocent one.”
Feeling stupid, I cleared my throat but sank into the simple comfort of his arms. “I can’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. I want you happy.”
He moaned, and the hairs on the back of my arms stood on end. “And you thought what I told you meant I wanted a man to hurt me?”
