Which meant… God, was he dreaming about me?
He’d turned his head so one side was pressed against the headboard and he was facing in my direction. My eyes fell to his mouth, which was slightly open.
Why was he even in bed with me again? Had I been having bad dreams again? Before the one that had woken me up?
“Aleks…”
He said my name on a soft sigh and my body responded to it. I didn’t really know what was happening, but I couldn’t say it was a bad feeling exactly. But I didn’t like how my lower half was reacting. My penis was tightening uncomfortably in my pants. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it was the first time the sensation kept getting stronger and the urge to touch myself started filtering through my head.
I wasn’t completely naïve – I knew what it meant when that part of a man’s body hardened. But I knew also that that kind of a reaction usually meantIwould be the one to pay for it. I didn’t know what it meant that I was the one experiencing that particular thing. I did know it had only ever happened around Vaughn, though.
After Dante had gotten me back to Seattle, he’d explained to me that he and Magnus planned to spend the rest of their lives together, just like Mama and Papa. I’d known my brother liked both boys and girls when we’d been younger, and it hadn’t ever bothered me, but admittedly, after all the things that had been done to me, I couldn’t imagine why my brother liked being with another man.
Maybe it didn’t work the same when two people loved each other?
I’d never been brave enough to ask Dante, because then I would have had to answer questions. I knew that he knew what had happened to me but that didn’t mean I wanted to talk about it in detail.
Besides, not everybody had to want that kind of thing, right? Brian and Father and all the other men had used their bodies to hurt mine, so any man who wanted to be with me like that again would just do the same, wouldn’t they?
Did Vaughn want me like that?
If he did, would he care that I didn’t want it? Would he hurt me anyway?
My head began to hurt as I tried to make sense of things. I willed my body to go back to being normal but when Vaughn’s hand slid over his own stomach, drawing up his shirt a little in the process, my mouth suddenly felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton. He wasn’t pale and soft like Father had been. His skin was darker, but not as dark as mine, and there was just a little bit of black hair that trailed down his body and disappeared into his pants. Would the hair feel the same as the hair on his beard? I automatically looked up at his face again. A strange itchiness began running through my fingers, then up my arms and out to the rest of my body.
I knew I should get up and go to the bathroom, so I could wash my hands and face with cold water to help clear my mind, but my body wouldn’t listen to the silent command. Instead, I found myself shifting so I was sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed. I leaned my upper body against the headboard so I could see Vaughn’s face straight on. I actually found myself waiting for him to say my name again.
I couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. Even with the beard, his lips looked really full and soft. I dropped my eyes to the spot on his chest where the top couple of buttons on his shirt were undone. There was some black hair there too. I chanced a look at his forearms which were exposed by drawn-up sleeves. The tattoo on his right arm looked like a cross, though it was very intricate in its design and it looked like there were angel wings coming out the two shorter sides.
Before I could even ask myself what I was doing, I ran my finger along the arm he had resting on his stomach. When I realized what I’d done, I jerked my hand back. But he didn’t wake and the memory of how warm his skin had been was already etched into mybrain. I wanted to touch him there again, but I knew it was wrong, so I didn’t.
I told myself to just go back to sleep, but something about watching him sleep calmed me. Maybe becausehelooked so calm. It wasn’t that he seemed out of control or anything like that when he was awake… more like he was always too much in control. At first, I’d thought him more like Magnus in that he seemed like someone who was naturally relaxed and laid back, but the more I thought about it, Vaughn seemed like he was always looking for something. And that the calm demeanor was a mask.
So he was calm, but not relaxed.
I thought back to the night he’d shot Father. He’d killed so easily, like he’d been born to it. But for some reason, my mind was trying to convince me that wasn’t who he was.
He reminded me of Dante in that sense – like he wanted to appear one way on the surface, but beneath was someone else entirely. And if you didn’t look hard enough to get past that hard shell, you’d miss what was inside.
“Should’ve stopped it,” Vaughn suddenly whispered, and his expression drew into a frown. “I’m sorry, Aleks. So sorry.”
He actually began whimpering deep in his throat and the fingers he had resting on his stomach began twitching.
He was having a nightmare.
And I was part of it.
When he said my name again, it sounded like he was suffering the worst kind of torment.
I knew that torment.
I’d lived it.
I reached my hand out to settle it on his cheek. “Vaughn,” I said softly as I leaned into him, so I could talk to him without waking him up. “I’m safe. It’s okay.”
“Aleks,” he breathed again. The creases in his forehead relaxed just a bit, indicating he’d heard me. I began rubbing my thumb across his cheekbone to try and soothe him. The wiry but still soft hairs of his beard brushed against my palm in the most intriguing of ways.
“Sleep, Vaughn,” I said softly.
