“We had sex,” he replied, somewhat defensively. “I fucked him, I mean.”
“And that’s it?”
“I didn’t want anything else,” he said flatly. “Is that a crime?”
“No,” I answered quickly. “Of course you can have boundaries, Aspen. I’m only curious because… Well, was it just him you were like that with?”
I knew just from hearsay and things Ren and Maddox had mentioned that topping guys with his strap-on was Aspen’s primary method of having sex. Also the fact that he was so obviously skilled and experienced at it that he always had my toes curling and my eyes rolling back in my head, but that was beside the point. I’d never thought about it too hard, had never wanted to imagine what he was doing or had done with other guys, but… Was thatallhe was doing with them?
I could tell he didn’t want to answer as silent seconds ticked by. Part of me wanted to let him off the hook and tell him it didn’t matter, but… It did matter. Only because if he was like that with other guys and not with me, then… It meant I wasn’t crazy and all those lovesick feelings I was having for him weren’t just in my head. It meant whatever was happening between us was special for him, too.
“No. It wasn’t just him.”
“So… With other guys, you…”
“Do we seriously have to talk about this?” He wondered, pushing off from the seat and stalking over to the side of the room to glare at me. “Why does it matter what I did with other guys? Are you jealous or something?”
I wasn’t jealous. I was the opposite of jealous. I was starting to suspect that I’d gotten more from him than any other guy in the world. And my ego was swelling and swelling, and my heart was pounding. My palms were itching to grab him and kiss him and tell him how important he was to me, and that he’d made the right choice giving me so much of himself because I would treasure and cherish every part of him for as long as he would let me.
“No,” I said lightly. “I’m not jealous.”
“Then why does it matter?”
“Am I the only guy you’ve let touch you like that?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, resolutely staring off into a corner, I kept going. “Am I the only guy that’s sucked your cock?”
He swallowed, letting out a difficult little huff of breath, before shrugging his shoulders in an aggressive, irritated way.
“So what?”
My eyes widened, and I rose up from my bed.
“Cupcake.”
At the enamored tone in my voice, he finally looked over at me and then flinched, actually recoiling away from the soppy, lovesick look on my face. He looked like a startled alley cat trapped in a corner, hissing and spitting with anger.
“You’re also about to be the only guy I’ve ever strangled,” he warned me when I closed the distance between us, pinning him up against the wall with my body.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I wondered, carding my fingers through his soft locks of chestnut hair to hold him steady while I pressed kisses into his brow and temples and cheeks. He squirmed in my grip, but didn’t make much of an effort to push me away.
“It’s fucking embarrassing, obviously.”
“It’s not embarrassing. It’s, like, the most adorable thing in the world. You’re so sweet, it kills me.”
“Yeah, the guy who is completely immune to embarrassment doesn’t get to decide what’s embarrassing for other people,” he complained, tilting his head away when I moved my lips to his neck, pressing a trail of kisses there and down his collarbone.
“You have no idea how happy this makes me,” I murmured, and felt a sarcastic laugh vibrate up his throat.
“I get the picture,” he informed me dryly, wedging his hand down between our bodies to touch where my cock was ruttingagainst his navel. I was rock hard, practically throbbing already. “God, you’re perverted. Is it that exciting to you?”
“Yes,” I said instantly, without an ounce of hesitation or shame, moaning as I rocked my hips into his hand now.
It wasn’t just the jealous, proprietary part of me that was celebrating. It meant that for whatever reason, he’d trusted me more. Liked me more. Wanted me more. Whatever the case was, I was more than anyone else to him.
“Tell me why?” I requested, pushing off from the wall and dragging him back toward the mattress with me. He let me, though his face was still bright pink, his gorgeous lips in an obviously displeased pout. When I lowered down onto my back, taking him with me so he was sprawled on my chest, staring down at me, he let out a light groan of torture.
“I can’t talk about it like this,” he muttered, glancing down at the way our bodies were smashed together.
“Okay,” I acknowledged, taking in a deep breath to steady myself. “Sorry, I’m just… Really, really turned on.”
