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I didn’t know a lot about him beyond that he was majoring in structural engineering. And currently minoring in confusing my dick.
I’m about to get down on my knees for you and take you the fuck apart, piece by piece until I turn you inside out.”
“Give it to me,” he said quietly, every word sizzling through me like a high-voltage charge. “Three…” Oh fuck, I was going to. I was totally going to blow my load in a span of seconds just because Eric told me to in that velvety rumble that was pure sex.
“Then get your mouth on me and suck my cock.”
“You’d let me fill you with my fingers. My tongue. My dick. Whatever I wanted. Wherever I wanted. However I wanted.”
“I want you. That’s never been the fucking issue. Jesus Christ, I fucking want you. All the time, every day. To the edge of my own goddamn sanity, I want you—”
“You want to know that I’m suffering. That’s what it is, isn’t it? You want to see me suffering? Then fucking look at me. Because I am.”
“You were right. What you said in my room that night about whether I could get over you? I can’t. I’m fucking wrecked. I want to be with you, asshole, so name the terms, because I can’t do it for you. I can’t make any of these choices for you any more than I can stop wanting you. I thought I could and I can’t. It has to be you who makes the call.”
“I know you want to come, baby. But don’t. Not yet.”
“You’re looking at him. Meaning me. He’s my…he’s mine,” I stammered out, just lobbed the awkward clusterfuck of grammar and poor syntax on the table to sit there alongside the stupid turkey centerpiece. Why I couldn’t say boyfriend, I had no idea. It sounded too cutesy for a guy who regularly turned me inside out in amazing and obscene ways, while lover sounded too fucking bourgeois. Mine was maybe too possessive, but since Eric pretty much owned my body and all my thought processes, it seemed a fair claim in return.
“That’s not handholding. That’s like…hand fucking. Or hand seduction. Your hand is seducing mine, and my hand has zero game. It’s just gonna hop in the bed with yours without even dinner or a drink first. Maybe I need to give it a lecture about standards.”
Heteroflexible. Huh. I turned that term over in my head, considering whether it was a better fit for me than bi and then decided fuck it, I didn’t necessarily need to figure it out because one thing I did know was that no matter what kind of label I attached to myself, Eric fucking did it for me. Up, down, backwards, forwards, and sideways.
“Of course I love you,” he said quietly, the humor fading from his eyes and replaced with resolute intensity. “Can hardly fucking see straight if you’re in the same goddamn room. I could’ve told you before—almost did a couple of times—but I didn’t want it to be some kind of pressure on you.”
