Shattered Glass(113)

I pinned his wrists. “You’re obsessive about Cai. Snarky. Treat people like you’re a parent. Bossy. Controlling. Sleep with men for money.” My knee split his legs apart, and I pushed between them. “Sleep with me for money! Use sex to deflect conversations. Manipulative. Act forty instead of twenty. Contradict yourself. Tell people what you think they want to hear.”

“That’s the same as manipulative.” He bit his lip.

“Bite your fucking lip too much,” I growled.

He lifted his chin and deliberately ran his tongue over the edges of his teeth. “You like it.”





The Solution To All Problems is a Blow Job

“Blow jobs are not going to solve our problems,” he whispered in my ear an hour later.

“I’m really tired. My ass and dick are sore. We can test that theory when we wake up.”

The air-conditioning ticked on, blowing against my sweat-dotted skin. I shivered and pulled his hand closer to me. He kissed and sucked at the slope of my shoulder, instantly sending needed warmth into my blood. “I have to take Cai to the doctor for his prescription in a few hours.”

I soaked in the details of a perfect moment. He held me close, my naked back to his bare chest. The metal ring from his nipple imprinting on my skin. His cock, soft and wet, lay against my ass. It all should have felt strange. It should have felt uncomfortable. But when I looked down at our laced hands resting against my stomach—men’s hands with long fingers and sprinkled with sparse hair—all I felt was the world finally tilting in place. Peter had righted the ground under my feet. I was normal for the first time in my life.

“He has a mother, Peter. She’s supposed to do those things for him.” He rolled away from me. Another shiver passed over my skin, coldness seeping into my bones.

“I take care of Cai.”

Fuck, were we ever going to get this dance right? Three steps forward, ten steps back. I flipped around to face him. “You’re indebted to Cai you mean.”

“Just go to sleep, Austin. It’s not your concern.”

“Tell me what he has over you?” I was ninety-nine percent sure of the reason, but I wanted to hear him admit it. I believed he needed to tell someone.

“He’s my brother. Even you can understand family.” He offered me his back, tugging the sheet up.

Ouch. Even me. The guy who had no family. I could snap back at him, but I didn’t want to fight again. I wanted to rewind the last three minutes to that feeling of rightness. Deciding to drop the subject, I folded myself around him. Time to lead some forward steps. “I’m done fighting with you.” I pressed my forehead against the back of his head, resting my fingers on his arm. He relaxed into my embrace and brought my hand to his lips, kissing the palm.

“Me too,” he said. “Done fighting any of it.”

“Tilt,” I whispered.

“Huh?”

“Exactly,” I said. Drifting off into sleep, I felt hope blanket around us.





Dreams Interrupting Fantasies

I awoke on my stomach with the bad taste of a disturbing dream lingering on my tongue and Peter’s fingernail promising interesting things as it scraped down my spine. “Lower,” I mumbled sleepily into a puddle of drool. The dream was quickly becoming a distant memory.

“Your butt cheek looks ravaged.”

“It had a brutal workout yesterday. It’s earned a little leniency in the attractiveness department.”

He sat back on my thighs and spread my cheeks. I thanked the pillow for not tearing between my teeth. “How’s it feel?” he asked.

My ass? Or what you’re doing to it? My mouth was not cooperating with what I wanted to say. “Please.”

“Can’t. I have to go soon,” he said huskily. “I’m going to put some more stuff on your cuts and cover the stitches so you can shower. This is going to hurt.”

“I need to run before I shower. We can tape it up after.” Feeling like we were on shaky ground from last night, I wanted us to do something routine. “Want to run with me?” I asked.

I looked over my shoulder when he climbed off and watched him gather a box of plastic wrap, a tube and medical tape off the bed. It warmed me that taking care of me was the first thing on his mind. Or maybe the second, I thought, recalling the way his finger had dragged along the crease of my ass before he had slid off me.

Peter tilted his head, chewing his inner lip as he glanced at my bedside clock. “Cai’s appointment is at eleven. It’s nearly nine-thirty. When I get back? Should you be running with stitches?”

“Maybe not,” I admitted. But the thought of running with Peter, maybe even on a daily basis was appealing. More than appealing. I checked the clock, too. We’d had about three hours of sleep. Not even that could erase my smile. Rubbing my eyes, I untangled my legs from the sheet and swung them off the bed. “Did you go downstairs like that?” I asked, staring unabashedly at his naked body.