“Me too,” I say before I can stop myself and Marcus’s smile widens.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
A hand lands on my thigh, at the space where the boxer briefs meet my skin. It’s so warm and makes my head spin, I’m barely listening when he says, “You’re really not going to sleep?”
I shake my head, because his hand is still there, and I like it a bit too much to focus on anything else.
“Not even a little?” he coaxes, kneading the flesh between his long fingers.
“It’s better that I don’t,” I say absentmindedly, wondering if he’ll slide it up a little.
My cock twitches at the thought.
Fuck.
Again?
Seriously, dick, get a grip.
“Is it because of what happened the other time?” he whispers. “Are you apprehensive about showing me that part of you?”
“No, I’m scared I’d hurt you—” I lift my head, suddenly realizing what I just said. Fuck.
He bewitched me with his hand, and I was talking gibberish.
“I mean…it’s…” I trail off, sinking my teeth into my lower lip hard.
Marcus grabs my jaw, sliding his thumb between myteeth and lip until I release it. “I told you, didn’t I? You won’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know me when I’m not me.”
“I do.” He lifts my jaw, making me look at him. “I saw you in that forest bathed in blood, and I witnessed your state at the top of that cliff and after one of your night terrors. I’veseenyou, Preston.”
“No, you haven’t!” I snap, pushing at his hand. “That’s just a prelude and not me. I told you to stay the fuck away from me, Marcus. I warned you not to want me.”
He grabs the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. “I decide what I want, you hear me?”
“You want the version that’s not real!”
“I want the version that’s in my arms right now. Is this not real?” He traces my nape, my cheek, my jaw, and I feel like disintegrating.
My choppy breaths mix with his steady ones, and I stop myself from saying,It’s just a mirage.
This me right now is just an image. An accumulation of atoms and molecules and fucked-up brain chemistry.
But he wouldn’t get it.
So I say what he’ll get in my deadpan voice. “You asked what I was diagnosed with. I’ll tell you. I’m diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. Some narcissistic traits. A dash of bipolar. And—oh—occasionally psychotic hallucinations. Congratulations. You’re fucking a walking DSM.”
I remain still, waiting for the ball to drop, for Marcus to retreat or at least have that disturbed or pitiful look people wear when they see me.
Fuck you, brain, for ruining it with your stupid defense mechanism. Couldn’t let me fuck him a few more times?
Nope, my brain says to my other brain.You’re getting too close. It’s dangerous.
Right.
That’s why we’re in the process of making them all hate me or be disgusted with me until no one’s left.
