It’s too much.
He sighs and shifts closer to me, and suddenly, I feel like he’s everywhere. Like he’s the entire universe, and the only thing that matters is us. It’s a ridiculous thing to think, and I do my best to shove the thought away as my eyes start to adjust to the dim light. I can’t see much of him, but I can make out his faint outline as his chest touches mine.
His fingers loosen on my face, then he carefully drags his touch away, and I lick my lips, which are now salty with the sweat of his palm.
“Leo,” he whispers.
This time, his tone sounds different. He’s exasperated but also needy. His voice is thick in his throat, and I feel the brush of his hair on my forehead as he tips his head down.
“Leo,” he says again.
“Stop,” I beg. I can’t take much more of this before I lose control entirely. I can’t fucking stand him, but I also want tocollapse in his arms and let the weight of him comfort me in ways nothing has since Liam died. But I can’t let this happen. I don’t want the fucking pity. “Please let go.”
He doesn’t. “Why are you so angry at me?”
I swallow heavily, and in spite of myself—in spite of my resolve, which apparently is as weak as floss thread—I put my hands on his hips. He groans and rocks forward, and I can feel the outline of his hard dick touch my thigh.
Everything in my body goes white-hot.
“What did I do for you to hate me so fucking much?” Now he’s begging, and I’m torn between anger and disbelief because what does he mean? How can he not know?
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
He shakes his head. “Please. I don’t understand. Did you come here looking for me?”
I attempt to say no, but I choke on the lie, and all I manage is a strangled sound. After a long beat, I stare up into his eyes. I can’t see them well, but it doesn’t matter. I can picture them perfectly.
I take a deep, cleansing breath, then ask him the question I’ve been trying to avoid since I got here. A question I don’t think I actually want the answer to. “What am I to you?”
He’s still and absolutely silent for so long, I think he might not say anything at all. Then he lets out the smallest sigh, and I brace myself.
“You’re my best friend’s brother.”
“Is that all?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His grip on me tightens. “Do you want to be something else?”
Terror rips through me because I don’t want to answer that. It’s not fucking fair. I don’t want to be vulnerable in front ofhim. Not after everything we did. I stiffen, and he groans quietly like he knew the question was fucked-up.
But he doesn’t change the words.
No, instead, he puts one hand to my jaw and tilts my chin up, then shifts us to the side so his feet are no longer blocking the gap under the door. I can see him a bit better now. There’s light coming from the hallway, and it glints off his wide eyes. I can see the shadow of his shaggy hair falling over his forehead, and this close, I can make out the faintest wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.
It’s easy to forget he’s older than me.
The accident, losing Liam, everything I went through, makes me feel like a ninety-year-old man trapped in a body thatalsosometimes feels ninety years old.
But right now, I feel small. I feel inexperienced.
I feel…
I don’t get a chance to finish my thought. He dips his head, and the second I’m expecting a kiss, he diverts his trajectory and attaches his teeth to the tendon on my shoulder. A loud moan escapes my chest, but he quickly muffles it with his palm against my mouth as his other hand skates down between us. He hesitates, then dips his fingers behind the waistband of my jeans.
“Oh, fuck,” I try to say. His warm skin catches my words.
“Can I touch you?” he breathes into my ear. “Please. I need to.”
God, the sound of his begging… All I can do is nod frantically, his hand moving with the motion of my head so I know he understands me. “Yes,” I try to get out.
