I reach down and palm his cock, hard and straining behind his jeans. Just enough to feel the proof of what he’s saying. To remind him, and myself, that this is real whether he wants it to be or not. It’s always been here.
Will lets out a rough sound, slapping one hard palm against the wall above me, his head tipping back to expose his throat in a way that makes my pulse spike. I push up on my tiptoes and close my mouth around his pulse point and bite down. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough that he feels it.
For a heart racing, suspended moment, we both hold our breaths. Then in one swift move, Will bends, grips me behind my thighs, and lifts me, pinning me to the wall. He grinds into me with a growl that rattles around in my sternum.
With deft fingers, I undo the button on his jeans and I wrench them open, plunging my hand inside. My fingers wrap around the warm, solid length of him, and I whimper. I’ve seen his cock, been near it, seen what it can do, but I’ve never gotten to touch it. It’s fat and heavy and dripping, making the pump of my fist an easy slide.
Will thrusts into my hand, all the while his hands never stop touching me. They roam up and down my shoulders, my back, my waist—everywhere that I know he’s been thinking about touching since I put this shirt on just for him.
Gripping one thigh to keep me steady, Will runs a hand down my spine to the hem of my pants, dipping his fingers down the cleft of my ass. Instinctively, I clench and roll my hips, wanting him there more than I want to breathe. But when he holds himself still and his fingers touch my hole, it feels almost clinical. Then I feel him release a breath against my neck, some of the tension leaving his shoulders at the same time.
I freeze when the realization hits me, pulling my hand from his pants and pushing on his shoulder to remove his hand from mine.
“What are you—Stop,” I say firmly. This time, he stills immediately. He puts me down gently and lets his hands fall away from me. He steps back, scrubbing a hand over his face, adjusting himself and zipping his pants.
All the while, I stare at him, waiting for him to say something. Surprisingly, he does this time, but go figure, he says the stupidest thing he could possibly say in this moment.
“I needed to know…”
My eyes narrow. He swallows and starts again.
“I needed to know if you were still mine.”
The words land wrong. I can’t imagine any scenario where what he’s saying would be okay. But logic tells me the words are sharper, meaner than he probably means for them to be.
“Stillyours?”
“If you were with him…”
“So you finally grew the balls to touch me, and you decided to check my asshole to see if I’d beenused? Like I wouldn’t be worth it if I had?” I huff out an angry breath. “You do know I’ve been fucked before, right? I’m not some kind of virginal princess and I don’t have a dowry either.”
“That’s not?—”
I hold up a hand. “Don’t even bother trying to explain it. I don’t fucking want to hear it.”
I shove past him hard enough he actually stumbles. My chest aches, hot and hollow. Anything left in my stomach sloshes around and threatens to make a reappearance.
“Fuck you,” I say, and it hurts that I mean it. “I hope you figure out what you want someday. But I’m not going to wait around for you to decide if you actually want me or you just want to make sure no one else can have me.”
Then I go quickly to my room and slam the door behind me, not caring who I wake. My heart hammers. My hands are shaking.
Pressing my back to the door, I close my eyes.
Why the fuck can’t I just want Alonso?
Wanting Will is destroying me, piece by piece.
How much more can I survive?
NINETEEN
WILL
It’s been two days, and the only storm that’s changed course is the hurricane that’s headed straight for The Gulf of Mexico—I refuse to call it The Gulf of America, that shit’s embarrassing.
Luckily, they’re not expecting too much damage, but they’ve got to batten down the hatches. Which means we had to cancel the Halloween show, which would have been a huge blow, but a major opportunity fell into our laps.
Normally I would be fucking ecstatic that we’re teaming up with a popular platform that combines my two favorite things—music and protesting our shitty government. This charity show is going to be way bigger than it’s ever been before, live-streamed into people’s homes everywhere. But I can’t focus on anything except the fact that Ari won’t talk to me.
