Lies.
Jett moved out of the bedroom and past the small dining table, then leaned over to rifle through his backpack, presumably in search of clothes.
As my eyes went straight to the cleft of his ass and the drop of his balls between his legs, I realized I’d been had again.
That rosy-pink hole caught my attention and held it tight. It seemed his mouth wasn’t the only thing I was interested in.
My dick hardened painfully at the sight of his body, his vulnerability.
His unexpected need for comfort and protection.
Something about Jett sent rational thought skittering away like a handful of pebbles tossed into gale force winds.
7
JETT
I was tootired to tease Locke about sex. While I wanted so damn badly to be taken hard and fast from behind and fucked straight to sleep, it was clear Locke didn’t want me like that.
Maybe it was the way I looked—vastly different from the man with hot V-cuts and abs back at the Candy Bar. Or maybe Locke’s little moment of sexual experimentation had been a bust. One and done, no need for more.
Either way, it was clear that wasn’t happening. I pulled on my last clean pair of boxer briefs and slid into the bed.
“I know I should probably offer to sleep on the love seat, but that’s not happening,” I said without looking at him. I didn’t want to risk the look of disappointment or, worse, disgust on his face when he realized I was going to hold him to his earlier offhanded statement about sharing the bed.
“It’s fine,” he said hoarsely. “Just go to sleep.”
I gritted my teeth, turning to face the wall. “Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
The bed behind me dipped, and it took all of my core strength to keep from rolling toward him. Instead, I rode the edge of the bed like my life depended on it.
“You’re going to fall off the mattress.”
“I’m fine.”
Locke sighed like I had worked his very last nerve. “’Course you are.”
He turned off the lamp, dousing the room in darkness. Silence slid between us, and for some reason, that made me feel sorry for myself.
Tired, lonely, and rejected. The triple crown of pathetic. I couldn’t help the tears that slid down my face or the tiny accompanying hitch in my breathing.
Beside me, Locke froze.
“Are you… crying?” he demanded, horrified.
“No,” I sniffled, willing the hot tears back into my eye sockets.Betraying little fuckers.“Of course not. Jesus.”
After a minute, I couldn’t help but sniffle again. It was just exhaustion, that was all.
“Get the fuck over here,” he grumbled, reaching a warm hand around my hip and tugging me back until I was engulfed in his arms, little-spoon style. “Go to sleep.”
The tears came faster but silently. I thought I’d gotten away with my noiseless pity party until his deep voice murmured, “You’re killing me.”
I turned in his embrace and buried my face in his neck, reaching my arms around him and hugging him tightly.
“I’m sorry,” I half sobbed. “It doesn’t mean anything. Ignore me.”
His strong hands roamed up and down my back, careful of my bruises. I waited for his gruff demand again to tell him who had hurt me, but it didn’t come. Instead, he shushed me gently and murmured reassurances into my ear, his warm, minty breath soothing and welcome on my skin.
