is more terrifying than him on the ice. His leg is bouncing, hands running up and down his thighs, and I think he’s counting his breaths. What the fuck kind of nightmare are we walking into?
The vans pull up in front of a high-rise in downtown Denver. This part of town is all luxury apartments, mostly made of glass and stone. It’s daunting to be sure. A man that looks like a carbon copy of Preston is standing out front of the double doors with a smile on his face that I don’t trust. It makes me uncomfortable. Like there’s something sinister behind it.
We’re led inside to a conference room set up with long tables sitting end to end covered with dark blue table cloths. The chairs have matching blue covers over them with a white bow on the back. It reminds me of something you would see at a wedding.
“Everyone find your seats,” Doctor Andrew Carmichael announces to the room, and we all do just that. Except Preston. His father has a grip on his shoulder so he can’t leave his side. There are name tags on the tables that guide us to our spots. This is so weird. I pass Paul and end up sitting across from him, Brendon on my right. We turn to the front of the room when Preston’s dad clears his throat.
“I’m so glad you all could join us for dinner.” A big smile stretches across his face as he looks around.
Preston has an almost vacant, lost look in his eyes, standing still as a statue.
“Two more games for preseason then off to the regular season. I have a good feeling about this team this year!” The guys clap, buying the crap he’s spewing. Do they not see how tense Preston is? There’s something obviously not right here.
He drones on for a few more minutes and it takes all my self control not to roll my eyes. Some of the guys take their jackets off and hang them on the backs of the chairs so I hurry to do so as well. I’m not entirely sure why Preston specified this exactly, but I’m not going to argue about it.
I focus my attention back on Preston and his father. Only now, his father is staring at me. What the hell did I do? Paul looks at me with a question on his face, but I just shrug. I don’t know much about him, but from that message I saw on Preston’s phone, he’s not a nice guy.
My eyes stray to Preston again. It’s weird to watch him like this. Was this what he was like when he first got to campus? Has he really changed that much in the month we’ve been roommates? He’s like a stranger up there. I don’t know him at all. I’m learning to read him but right now, he’s so shut down that I don’t know where to start.
Coach stands up and thanks Doctor Andrew Carmichael, yeah we all have to call him that, for having us, and gives him tickets to tomorrow’s game and the one on Saturday. Doctor Andrew Carmichael takes them with a smile and a handshake.
Preston is eventually allowed to sit down directly across from his father and in the center of a long table. I don’t think he’s blinking. He’s barely breathing.
Servers come out of a small door behind me and bring food to specific people. Did he get our nutrition plans from Coach? This is fucking weird. Is he poisoning us?
A plate of grilled salmon, steamed broccoli, and wild rice appears in front of me from one of the catering staff. It smells amazing, with a savory sweet glaze on the fish and herbs in the rice, but I’m decidedly not hungry. Ice water is poured into glass goblets and we’re left to eat.
Who picks fish for someone else’s dinner? What if I don’t like fish?
Why am I so bothered by this?
Brendon’s hand slides onto my thigh under the table. I tense at the touch, pushing his hand off my leg as nonchalantly as possible.
“What is going on with you?” Brendon hisses at me under his breath.
I shake my head sharply. This is not the place for that conversation. I don’t want to eat this. It feels like a trap. Picking up the fork, I move the food around my plate but don’t actually eat any of it.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Albrooke?” Doctor Andrew Carmichael asks and my head snaps to the left to meet his gaze. Ice shoots down my spine, settling like a snake in my gut. He’s cold. Dangerous.
My eyes flick to Preston for just a second, he’s watching me too. What is going through his mind? I wish I knew what was happening, why I was being singled out.
“Uh, no, sir. Just a bit of a nervous stomach the night before a game.” He zeroes in on my black eye and the skin around his eyes tightens just a little.
Fuck.
Preston pales but no one else seems to notice, everyone busying themselves with their food. The noise of the room cranks up in my head, the conversations, silverware on the porcelain plates. I reach for my glass and take a drink, just for something to do. Everyone eats and the conversations around me move to tomorrow’s game, and what we need to focus on to beat Notre Dame.
I notice Preston stand and leave the room, his mask finally cracking just a little. The muscle in his jaw is jumping and his fist is clenched tight. A few minutes later, his father excuses himself from the table and disappears too.
Brendon is damn near licking his plate clean next to me. “Jesus, dude, chill out.” He laughs and sits back. “That salmon was amazing.”
I nod but don’t comment, watching the door for Preston or his dad.
“Why aren’t you eating?” I turn back to Brendon, and now Paul is paying attention along with the guys around us.
I shrug. “I’m not hungry.”
“We’re athletes, dude. We’re always hungry,” Paul says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve never seen you turn down food. Especially free food.”
Shit. I can’t exactly tell them I think Preston’s dad is a psycho.
I scrub a hand down my face and interlace my fingers in my lap.
“Don’t know what to tell you, man.” I hate lying to my friends but is it a lie if I don’t really know what’s going on? It’s just weird and I don’t trust it.
My leg bounces under the table the longer I wait for Preston to reappear.
What did he tell me? Five minutes and to come find him? How am I supposed to find him?
“Excuse me,” I wipe my mouth with my napkin and place it next to my plate before standing up, pretending I need to get out of this room for a minute, get some fresh air, splash water on my face, something.
Outside the room we’ve been stashed in for dinner, there’s a hallway with shiny granite floors, framed art on the walls, and tables with vases filled with flowers. It’s like a damn hotel in here. The hallway to my right leads to the lobby and the front of the building. I doubt Preston went that way.
Look like you belong, like you know where you’re going.
I shove my hands in my pockets and walk down the hallway, hoping I ooze confidence I don’t feel. I don’t know where the hell I’m going but I hope I find Preston soon.
I try every door. Most are locked which is frustrating. If he’s in one of those rooms, I seriously hope I haven’t just made things worse for him.
Finally, I hear voices behind a door.
“Keep your shit up and I’ll transfer Lily out here so fast your head will fucking spin.” Even though Preston’s father isn’t speaking to me, his words have dread sinking in my stomach like a stone.
“If she comes out here, she’s not staying with you. I’ll make sure of it.” Preston snaps back.
I hesitate with my hand hovering over the knob. He said to come for him, but so far it doesn’t sound that bad, just a disagreement.
“You’re fucking useless. You really think you can protect her from me? I made you. Gave you everything you have. I can take it away.”
What the hell kind of father speaks to his kid that way? Jesus. I’m going to call my parents tonight and tell them I love them.
“You’re a disgrace to your mother’s memory. You should be ashamed of yourself. If you were a better son, I wouldn’t have to correct you so often. Look at yourself.”
What. The. Fuck.
With fury shooting through my veins like adrenaline, I rip open the door and barge inside. Preston spins away from me, showing me his back while his father turns that ugly, cold hatred on me.
“My bad, just looking for the bathroom.”
I think Preston is buttoning his shirt. Why was his shirt open?
Like I’ve seen Preston do more than once, I see the second his father’s public face comes out. All of a sudden, he’s Mister charming, smiling and easy going. I don’t believe it for a second. It’s as fake as the polyester suit Preston hated so much. As he walks towards me, I keep my spine straight and my hands in my pockets. I will not cower. My stomach tightens, nerves making my skin want to crawl the closer he comes to me.
He reaches his hand out to shake mine, and begrudgingly, I take it. Over his shoulder, Preston is tucking his shirt in and adjusting his clothes.
“And you’re Charles’s roommate?” He looks at me expectantly, like he wasn’t just berating Preston. It’s really disconcerting to see Preston’s face on this man. He’s a little older, shorter, and not as muscular, but that face is the same. From the eye color to the set of his lips. It’s eerie.
“That’s correct.” When is he going to let go of my hand?
“And how is that going?” His gaze is so direct, I bet it unnerves people. It would bother me if I wasn’t confident he’s up to something.
Preston turns around finally and his eyes lock on mine. He’s not okay but I doubt most of the other guys will notice. They haven’t noticed anything fucking else all god damn night. Like hungry puppies, all they care about is food.
“It’s fine. Not always easy for two athletes to share a space but we make it work.” It’s as close to the truth as I can get here.
“Do you share a similar work ethic?”
Are you fucking kidding me? No wonder Preston is so fucking uptight.
“Uh no, not really, but the NHL isn’t my dream, so it makes sense that he works harder.”
Doctor Andrew Carmichael cocks his head and purses his lips. “Then why are you on the team?”
I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’ve already answered this question, twice I believe, to Preston.
“I’m on a scholarship, so I play to pay for my education.”
“And you don’t think that’s a waste of a team spot and resources that could be used for someone more talented?”
That is almost word for word what Preston said.
“Who said I didn’t want to be there?” I pull my hand from his and slide it back in my pocket. I can’t stand him touching me anymore. If this was all Preston had for parental support, it’s no wonder he hates being touched. This dude is slimy. How anyone would pay him to do surgery on them is beyond me. I would be afraid of him slitting my throat.
“I love hockey. In fact, I plan to coach.”
Preston walks toward us, places a hand in the middle of my chest and pushes me back, all without breaking stride.
“We need to get back to the team. Dinner is wrapping up and we’ll be leaving soon.”
I don’t argue with Preston, just follow him back to the safety of the team.
“Your dad is a real piece of work.” I mutter under my breath.
“Shut up.”
As much as I want to ask him what the fuck that was back there, now isn’t the time. We will discuss this later though. I went with what he wanted, now I deserve answers.
When we walk back into the room with our teammates, Paul lifts his chin toward us and Brendon turns around to glare. I swear to God, I do not have the energy to deal with his shit right now.
“Your boyfriend thinks I fucked you in the bathroom.” For a split second, there’s a small smile on Preston’s face.
“Oh, now you have jokes?” He’s giving me fucking whiplash.
“Are you going to tell him you jacked us off this afternoon?”
I watch my best friend stew in his jealousy. It’s not fair to him that I haven’t told him what we were doing is over. Shit. Can our friendship withstand this?
“No.”
Preston finally looks at me instead of staring at Brendon. Why does he care what Brendon thinks?
“Why not?” His dark gray eyes are curious instead of confrontational.
I don’t have an answer, so I shrug and walk to my seat.
“Everything okay?” Paul asks while Brendon continues to stew.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
The dinner plates are cleared by the catering staff and we all stand around, waiting for the time to leave. Coach is shaking hands with Preston’s father while Preston is, once again, standing like a statue. Or maybe a puppet. Those can speak and smile on command. It’s like his dad is pulling his strings. I hate it.
While I don’t want to be alone with Preston’s dad, I don’t want Preston to be alone with him either, so I hang back. Brendon, who I’m pretty sure is now just trying to make Preston jealous, won’t leave either.
When it’s just a few of us left, Doctor Andrew Carmichael speaks to me. “You know, it would be in your best interest if you stayed out of other people’s business.”
The muscle in Preston’s cheek jumps but there’s no other indication that he’s even paying attention. I just want to get out of here. To put this weird damn dinner behind me and go to bed. We have two games this weekend that we have to prepare for. Sleep is crucial.
Coach pops back in, saving me from having to respond. “Let’s go, boys. Vans are loading up.”
Nobody else makes the first move to leave, so I do, hoping it breaks the tension and Preston will follow. Brendon is stuck to me like glue and it’s driving me nuts, but maybe it will give Preston more incentive to leave as well.
I walk past Coach who is still standing there, thankfully. The vans are mostly full, one has a seat and another has two.
“Come on.” Brendon tries to lead me but I don’t want to leave Preston, not with him like this.
While I stand there and try to figure out what to do, Paul pops out and waves him over.
“It’s cool, go ahead.” I wave him off and climb into the other van. It’s the middle seat, which Preston won’t like, but I’m not sure what he’ll notice at this point. Plus, it gets him away from his dad.
I’m buckling my seatbelt when he strides out with Coach, climbs in without a word, and Coach closes the door.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
“I’m not a child, do not treat me like one.” His head barely turns while he snaps at me, but it’s enough for his eyes to lock on mine. The calm mask is cracking, fury and frustration are bubbling to the surface and I’m going to be the one who’s caught in its crosshairs. No one else seems to care, but for some reason, I do. So I keep putting myself in his way, keep pushing him.
I wasn’t sure which version of him I would find after this meet and greet, and honestly, I’m glad he’s back to pissed off. It’s a hell of a lot easier to deal with.
“Cool, glad we cleared that up.” I turn back to the window and stare at the passing buildings. How did I end up here? When did I take on the job of caring about the biggest asshole on our team?
He’s not an asshole for no reason and you know it.
By the time we make it back to the dorms, Brendon has texted me a handful of times, which I have not responded to or even opened. He’s my best friend but he needs to read the damn room and chill out. I know I need to talk to him, tell him I’m not interested in fooling around anymore, but I’m scared that will end our friendship. I guess that’s just the risk I’m going to have to take.
Preston avoids the elevator and takes the stairs up to the third floor. It’s probably better that way. Feeling guilty, I wait with Paul and Brendon for the elevator.
“What’s your deal with him?” Brendon demands, sounding jealous. Paul sighs, waiting for the fight we all know is coming. I don’t want to fight with Brendon.
My shoulders drop and I rub at the back of my neck. “Honestly, I don’t know. He’s a dick most of the time but I think it’s a defense mechanism.”
Brendon shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “He hates me.”
“To be fair,” Paul pipes up. “I’m pretty sure he hates everyone.”
I chuckle and a smile pulls at my lips. “Paul’s right. He doesn’t like anyone.”
“What was the deal with the suit? Why’d he freak out?”
The elevator opens and a few guys get on while we wait for the next one.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, not comfortable telling them how stressful this was for Preston. That feels private and they don’t get that part of him. I like that it’s only mine. He’s so shut down about everything that those little breaks in the perfection feel like I’ve won a battle. Do I want the pressure of being the only one he kind of trusts? Not really, but I’ll take it if that’s what it takes for him to be okay.
Even I don’t understand my reaction to him. Why do I care so much? I have no god damn idea.
“Dude is nuts. Half the time he’s telling you how much you suck, the other half he’s acting like he owns you or something. It’s weird, man.”
Nothing I don’t already know.
“I don’t think he knows how to have friends.” My voice is quiet in the enclosed space.
It’s finally our turn to get on the elevator. Our conversation dies in the small, crowded space and even when we get out on our floor, we don’t say much.
“Night, see you in the morning.” Paul pats me on the back and I nod to him.
The light is off in my room when I get back. Quietly, I strip off the button up shirt and slacks, put the cufflinks back in the box, and hang clothes back in the garment bag. I don’t have the jacket.
Fuck.
Preston is going to kill me.
Anxiety swirls like my constant fucking companion in my stomach. Is his dad going to use that against him somehow? Should I tell him or wait and see what happens? Maybe his dad won’t say anything.
Pulling on my pajama pants, I jump when Preston speaks.
“Stop it.”
I freeze with my pants pulled halfway up.
Uh. What?
“Excuse me?” I straighten up, still holding my pants at my thighs, and turn to look at him. My dick starts to harden at the idea of him wanting to fuck me. At how his hands feel on my skin. The rough grip he always has. I want marks. Bites, finger tips, anything.
“Stop thinking.” His voice has that menacing bark to it that makes me hard. It’s all I can do to stand still. That damn tone has precum sticking me to my underwear.
God. Dammit.
Is this a test? A trap? What the fuck does he want from me right now?
“Go to bed. We have a game tomorrow.” His sheets rustle as he settles back into his bed.
“What if fucking is good luck and makes us play better tomorrow?” I don’t really expect an answer from him as I slide into my bed, despite wanting to be in his.
“If fucking before a game worked, you wouldn’t be blowing off Brendon.”
Turning my head toward Preston’s bed, I can barely make out the shape of his body pressed against the wall, curled on his side. He sleeps that way most nights.
I hate the fact that he’s right.
“I don’t have the jacket.” In the dark, it’s easier to confess, even if every muscle in my body tightens as I wait for his response.
I swear I can hear his eyes pop open, and his heartbeat shoot up.
“What do you mean?” His voice is so calm, it’s scary.
“I left the suit jacket hanging on the back of my chair at dinner.” Even to my own ears, I sound like a child, hoping I don’t get in trouble. My stomach rolls and I want to fidget or pace the room.
The tension in the room skyrockets the longer he doesn’t say anything. My skin prickles as the energy in my body demands some kind of release. He hasn’t said anything, but I don’t think he’s fallen asleep either.
“I’m sorry.” I blurt out the words and sit up, turning to slide my feet to the floor.
My words hang in the air with no response. I can’t fucking take this. What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t go back and get the jacket now.
The tension in the air is so thick it’s suffocating. I’m going to choke on it.
“Preston.” I snap, getting up and pacing the short length of the space we have in here. I snap my fingers as I move, needing something to do with my hands.
“I swear to fuck, Jeremy, if you don’t sit the fuck down, I’ll choke the shit out of you.” The growl that emanates from Preston sends a shiver up my spine and words fly out of my mouth before my brain has a chance to process them.
“Make me.”
Like a shadow, Preston moves silently until he’s directly in front of me, crowding my space but not touching me. Not yet. His breath fans across my lips as he stares at me.
My body stills, focusing all of my energy on the threat. A flutter of fear and arousal tickles my stomach.
“I will break you.” He licks up my stubble-covered cheek. “And like it.”
A moan gets caught in my throat and precum dampens my boxer briefs. Fuck. I’m painfully hard.
His fingers find my nipple and pinch it hard enough to make my body bow around it, but he doesn’t ease up. I drop my head back on my shoulders, breathing through the pain.
Preston’s other hand grabs my chin and turns my face away from him. He buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply for a moment. I want to touch him, but I don’t want this to end.
My dick aches for attention but I don’t move. I have a feeling he needs as much control as he can get after the shit show that was tonight’s dinner.
And honestly, I want him to use me. No one has ever given me what I really crave, but Preston is dark enough to do it. There’s a part of him that wants to cause pain, wants to take and use and hurt.
Preston’s teeth sink into the flesh of my neck and I groan. My knees go weak and I reach for his arms to hold on to. I need him to ground me while I lose myself in him.
I hope there’s a mark tomorrow.
“Brendon doesn’t touch you again.” His words are hard in my ear, a clear statement, not a question.
He finally lets go of my nipple and I hiss, flinching away from his hand as blood rushes to the abused skin.
“On your fucking knees.”
There’s no hesitation, only the sound of my knees hitting the floor. He runs one hand through my long hair, the other one slaps my cheek hard enough to heat and sting.
Releasing me, he reaches into his pants and pulls his beautifully thick cock out through the fly. I lift onto my knees a little to get the head into my mouth, my face upturned toward him. Preston’s hand once again goes into my hair, but this time he clenches his fist around the strands and uses it to help fuck my face.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I love sucking his dick. I love the way he uses my mouth, thrusting against me like he isn’t concerned about hurting me. Tears trail down my cheeks from him riding my damn gag reflex but he doesn’t care. My dick is hard enough to drive nails. I need to touch it but I don’t dare. Before I’m ready for it to be over, he pulls away from me and lifts me under the arms, all but tossing me onto my bed.
I land on my back, staring up at the imposing man who’s breathing hard. Even in the dark, I can see he’s half crazed. I shouldn’t taunt him when he’s so close to the edge but I want him like this. He rips my pants and underwear off, crawling onto the bed. My knees fall open in invitation and he settles his hips against mine. Biting and sucking at my skin, the rough scrape of his five o’clock shadow gives me friction burns while his nails dig into my flesh to leave bright red scratches down my torso.
My back arches at the sensations overwhelming my brain. Preston cups my balls and tugs on them, teasing around the edge of my hole but not penetrating it.
“Please,” I whimper, desperate to feel him inside of me. He’s fucking huge and it’ll hurt but I don’t care. I want it. Need it. Need him.
My feet hook around the back of his thighs, keeping him against me and using the leverage to grind up into him.
Preston growls low in his chest and takes my mouth in a hungry, bruising kiss. I cup the sides of his head, holding him to me and ravaging him with the same intensity. His tongue tangles with mine as he plays with me, a few tugs, a stroke, his finger around my hole. It keeps me hard and on edge but not anywhere near enough to get me off.
“Lube?” he asks against my lips. “Condom?”
“Top drawer.”
He sits up and reaches for the bedside table.
“They’re no condoms in here.” He looks at me with a questioning brow lifted.
“Your STD panel at check in was negative right?” We all have them with our physical before we can play.
“No fucking condom,” he agrees and coats himself in lube. Without waiting or warning, he lines the blunt head of his cock against my hole and pushes. My body tightens around him, a hiss shooting from me at the burn, but he doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.
“You’re fucking leaking.” Preston smirks at me, taking my weeping dick into his hand and stroking me while he sets a fast, hard pace. With his thighs on either side of my hips and one hand on my chest, pressing me into the mattress, he snaps his body for every thrust, taking me as deep and powerfully as he can. It hurts but sets my body on fire in the best fucking way.
I could drown in the sensations he’s forcing on me and die happy.
The burning stretch subsides, leaving only pleasure dancing in my veins.
I’m throbbing in his grip, my hands pulling on my hair for something to hold on to.
“Oh, fuck,” I growl, my impeding orgasm shooting through me like electricity.
Preston squeezes my cock to stop my orgasm and I all but cry.
“What the fuck?” I snap at him with wide, desperate eyes.
All he does is grin at me, not slowing his pace at all.
Once I’ve backed down, he strokes me again until I’m on the edge.
“Please, please,” I beg, my body tense and ready to blow, but he squeezes me again and this time a single, frustrated sob escapes me.
“I hate you,” I groan as he slows his pace, leaning hard on my chest, and slaps my cheek again. My hot skin stings at the sharp contact, yet I moan.
“Legs up,” Preston orders, pumping my cock once again at the same pace he’s fucking into me. I pull my legs back, changing the angle, and my eyes roll back into my head as he strokes my prostate. He finally lets me cum in a mess on my stomach and chest. I’m breathing too fast, and my heart is hammering. Goosebumps erupt on my skin as he keeps hitting that pleasure spot.
I watch as he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks my cum from his skin. My spent cock twitches and he smirks at me before a shudder rocks through him. His orgasm fills me as he thrusts another few times. When he stops moving, he’s leaning heavily onto my chest, panting with his eyes closed.
“Fuck.” He groans, flexing his softening cock and pulling out. My entire body relaxes, spent and tired with cum cooling on my skin.
We sit there in silence for a moment, relearning how to breathe. Preston reaches for me, drawing his finger through the mess I made on my stomach, almost like he’s trying to rub it in.
“Do you have a cum fetish or something?” I ask with amusement.
“It’s reassuring, seeing the proof that I did well.” His features change from lighthearted to introspective. Like now that he’s said the words, he wishes he hadn’t. He gives himself a shake and gets up, tucking his now-soft cock into his pants. “I’ll let you clean up.”
He’s stiff and tense as he moves, lying down on his bed with his back against the wall, curled in on himself.
Grabbing my pants, I head to the bathroom with my muscles protesting and flick the light on. When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I stop, wide-eyed. “Holy shit!” I have marks everywhere. One of my nipples is probably bruised, huge scratches down my chest look like I got into a fight with a jungle cat, and there’s more bite marks and hickeys than I want to count.
I stand there and touch each one, my fingers tracing the lines his nails left on my skin, the ridges of each tooth impression, and the shape of each hickey.
This is what I’ve always craved but couldn’t ever ask for.
He’s going to break my heart.
I cannot get attached to him. I can’t. It’s not in anyone’s best interest. All I can do is help him to the best of my ability, then walk away when it’s time. I’ve already started thinking about him differently, but I can’t lose sight of the fact that he doesn’t want anything more from me than a fuck every now and then. Sometimes he lets me help calm him when he’s overwhelmed, but he’s already told me he isn’t here to make friends. Maybe getting off and letting off some steam will make him less of a dick.
I get cleaned, up and when I’m done giving myself a stern talking to, I head back to bed. Since I’ve been in here a while, I’m careful to shut off the light and walk quietly back to bed so I don’t wake him up.
“What are you going to tell everyone tomorrow?”
“Jesus!” I jump, my heart rate spiked at the unexpected sound. “What?”
“The guys are going to see you with marks that obviously came from sex, what are you going to tell them?”
Oh. That’s a damn good question. Unease makes me pause, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“That I got laid.” I shrug. “Only Paul and Brendon know I’m gay, so besides them, no one will suspect it was you. A few guys may ask if you saw the chick I was with though.”
“You’re done with Brendon.” His voice says not to argue, but fuck that.
“Brendon is my best friend.” I pull back my blanket and lie down.
“If he touches you, you’ll fucking regret it.” Oh, that’s a dangerous tone. It should probably worry me that it turns me on.
“Why? You’re not my boyfriend.” Why? Why am I riling him up? I want him to claim me. I want him to let me in, to be his friend who he also fucks unconscious. Why am I the one fighting this now?
Self-preservation.
Preston throws off his blanket and in two steps is climbing over me. He grabs my hands and pushes them against the mattress next to my head and straddles my hips.
“Those marks on your body say otherwise.” Fury is radiating off him in the heat of his skin against mine, in the tremble and strength of his fingers.
I look him dead in the eye when I respond. “Those marks mean nothing.”
Looking at him is like looking at a cobra ready to strike. I know he’s going to, and I know it’s going to hurt when he does, but I have to push him. I have to know what he’ll do, where his lines in the sand are. I need to know where I stand.
He lowers his face to mine and speaks through clenched teeth. “I. Don’t. Share.”
He’s a possessive bastard and if I’m going to deal with his jealousy over my best friends, I have to know what this is.
“Why can’t I touch you?”
As if I’ve struck him, he jerks away from me. His hands no longer hold mine down, his face isn’t close enough to kiss. He stays sitting on my lap, rubbing his hands on his legs.
“I can’t.” He drops his head and gives it a little shake. “If it’s that important, we’re done here.”
He climbs off me and lays back down on his bed. I let him go, even though I’m not at all satisfied with the conversation. Is it important? Yeah, to me it is. Not being able to touch the person I’m fucking sucks. No touching at all? Hugs? Holding hands? Cuddling?
“Go to sleep, Albrooke.”
