For some reason, the way he’s cutting me off does exactlynothingto tone down the buzz of arousal sparking through me, and it’s all I can do to bite back a whine of protest at the distance he’s put between us. Fortunately, the unignorable bulge in his pants gives me just enough smug satisfaction to manage it.
“It’s late,” he repeats, andohhh, but Ilovethe fact that he’s totally telling himself as much as he’s telling me. “And I don’t think it’s a good idea to do anything tonight when neither of us have really thought this through.”
What the fuck is there to think through? But the fact thathethinks there is totally matches that whole brainy-shy vibe he has going on, so, even if it is aseriousletdown, it’s also seriously adorable. Which, of course, just has to go and make me want him worse than ever.
There’s no getting around the fact that the uncompromising firmness with which Jesse’s just put me off, even though it’sridiculouslyclear that at least some particular parts of himdid notwant to, has totally thrown me for a loop.
I’m not going to lie and say there isn’t some part of me that doesn’t find him not taking me up on my not-so-subtle offer totally hot—the thrill of the chase and all that, I guess. The rest of me though? All totally scrambled up by it, ‘cause if he doesn’t want to just get in my pants, what the helldoeshe want?
And why does knowing that’s not all he wants make me go all weak in the knees? ‘Cause I just can’t seem to trick myself into believing that it’s only that I’m looking forward to the fun of teasing him until he cracks and rails me into next week like I’m pretty damn sure he wants to.
I’m trying, and failing, to wrap my head around what the hell I’m thinking, let alone feeling, when Jesse stifles a yawn. Damn, until just now, the roller-coaster that has been tonight has totally made me forget how late it is. It’s gotta be past two in the morning by now.
And then I remember what he said. That he’d give me his bed while he slept in a chair— “Sleep with me?”
I’d been planning on getting him to anyway. Yeah, whether I want to admit it to myself or not, Ireallycan’t pretend like I don’t want him there with me. Even ifsleepingreally is all we do.
How I feel aboutthat, I’m definitely not remotely interestedin unpacking.
Fortunately, there’s also the way easier to stomach fact that there’s justno wayI’m letting him sleep all scrunched up in that lumpy old chair of his. Even if I do have to admit that I hadn’t meant to just blurt the question out like I just did.
Whatever though. The beet-red, what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say face Jesse shoots me is well worth the lack of finesse.
“In your bed,” I smirk, raising an eyebrow that could just as easily meanseriously?as it could be an invitation.
The question is out there now, and he can take it however he wants. I’m sure as hell not planning to be the one to make my meaning any clearer for him. Watching him squirm is just too damn good.
“Just sleep?”
Considering the inhuman color he’s turned, and how his eyes are now jumping back and forth between me and his unmade bed in a way that has me pressing my lips together to keep from laughing out loud, I have to give Jesse props for how level and no-nonsense he keeps his voice. For all that he asked it like a question, that tone makes it crystal clear that he didn’t mean it to be one.
“Just sleep,” I agree, making up my mind here and now to at leasttryto be a good boy and stick to my word. Even if I’m nottotallyconvinced he wants me to.
He side-eyes me like he doesn’t quite believe me. And honestly, I can’t really blame him for it. Still, he nods, his throat bobbing in a slow, hard swallow that I fully admit to tracking with gleeful, hungry eyes.
Ooohh, even if Iamgoing totryto be good, tonight is gonna befun.
14
Jesse
Tonight is going to be torture. Sweet, delicious torture maybe, but torture all the same.
At least Tristan hasn’t taken off anything except for his jacket and sweatshirt. I’d like to think it means he’s going to keep his word and actually just go to sleep once the two of us are in bed, but maybe he’s just still cold.
Jesus, what am I saying?At least he’s left his clothes on? Hopefully he’s not just cold?
Except, I mean it.
God knows it’s not because I don’t want him—that’s where the torture part comes in, obviously—but that alone is reason to pause. Because I haven’t felt this; this unforced, real need for anyone…ever.
I can’t hide from the fact that it hasn’t just been since Stephen died, because, if I dig through all my guilt standing guard around the truth, I have to face the well-worn fact that I never felt anything like this for Stephen. No matter how close and familiar things were between us.
And there is the trouble.
Experiencing this now, this raw, unchecked desire for Tristan, is so utterly unexpected, it threatens to overwhelmme. I need a little time. Time to process. Time to make myself think rather than just feel and do. Time to decide if I’m ready to let go of the guilt that creeps along in the shadows of this new and consuming desire that’s everything I knew I was missing before.
And all of that is still only the half of it, because, even without my own mess of turmoil and uncertainty (not that that’s not enough on its own) there’s Tristan himself.
