“Pixie, you don’t have to—” Jase abruptly falls silent when I take him in my mouth and let my tongue glide over the tip of his hardness. He exhales with a hiss, and if I could, I would smile.
“Fuck, you don’t have to—” He stops again as I suck on him. I always imagined this would feel different. Like I’m not in control. But I am, completely and utterly. And I want that. I want him to feel good. I want to give him an outlet for his anger and pain, because he did the same for my fear.
He buries his fingers in my hair, and then he loses the rest of his self-control and thrusts into my mouth. It’s almost too much and not enough at the same time. Now he sees both of us in the mirror as I feel his yearning. For me.
“Pixie, I’m about to come, you don’t—” He wants to pull back, and I know why, but I don’t let him. He comes with a deep groan, and I swallow by pure instinct as he holds my hair more tightly.
I look up when he’s done, and he strokes the corners of my mouth with his thumbs. His gaze is soft and apologetic.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry about anything. I wanted it. All of it,” I reply, because I have the feeling he needs to hear it. I stand up.
He pulls me close and kisses me, and I taste him, and me, and us. Then we hold each other tightly, and we don’t talk about his anger or pain or anything. We just hold each other in this little studio, in the middle of the night, in front of the mirror. And I’m hopeful. I don’t know what I’m hoping for.
Maybe I’m hoping that tomorrow, everything will be all right.
But somehow, I don’t believe it.
Part 4Variations of Him
Phase Four of the Pas deDeux
Chapter 37
Jase
Sometimes I wonder if my relationship with Dad would be better if I had actually gone to Harvard. But then I remember that it was already difficult before, because he just can’t come to terms with who I am.
—Jase
I hate you, Mom.I hate you, Dad.I hate you, Lia.I hate you, Sam.
But above all, I hate this damn party. Everything about it is wrong. The white decorations, the guests, the fucking date.
Above all, the date.
Sam has been dead for five years. Today it hurts like it’s only been a few days since it happened. I can’t breathe. It’s tearing me apart from the inside.
As one of the waiters walks past me with a tray in his hand, I reach for a glass of whiskey. I don’t care whether the drink might actually be meant for someone else. I’ll never survive the evening without it. I’m not sure anymore if I’ll even survive it with it.
Zoe isn’t here yet. She’s coming with her parents, who are also on the guest list, because all the dresses that are appropriate for Victoria Winslow’s event are hanging in her closet at home.
I wish I wasn’t here yet either. Really, I wish I didn’t have to be here at all. I should have just stayed away. I feel so out of place that it would almost be funny if it weren’t so damn sad. I don’t belong here, in this posh ballroom in one of the most expensive hotels in Boston. My parents are here somewhere, as are Lia and her boyfriend, but I’m staying as far away from my family as possible.
Dad wanted me to come, and I’m here. But that doesn’t mean I have to talk to anyone.
The only person I want to talk to is Zoe.
I can still feel her body under my hands, her lips on my cock, and I wish I could go back to that moment yesterday. Back to her, and away from this fucking party.
The alcohol burns in my throat as I take a sip. I hate whiskey, but right now it’s my only option. There’s never beer at my family’s parties; it’s too “common.” I wander through the room, trying to avoid everyone and hoping that Zoe will be here soon.
I find Lia standing next to Archie, her almost-fiancé. She turns to me when she feels my eyes on her back. There’s a strange expression on her face, and for a moment, she looks like she’d rather be somewhere else. But that can’t be true, because she’s Lia, and Lia is perfect. She’s wearing a floor-length pink evening gown, and her golden hair is properly pinned up. She looks like a damn Barbie doll.
I want to leave, but I’m too slow. Lia steps away from the group she’s with and is next to me before I can get away.
“Are you for real?” she hisses, pointing at my glass.
