Page 42 of Antidote

“Can’t you just be grateful?” I mumble, walking away.

Footsteps follow me to the kitchen, and Oliver grabs my arm and twists me around. I only know it’s him because his little boyfriend would never touch me in this fucking lifetime. He knows I’d beat his ass.

“What, Oliver?” I snap, and he rears back like I slapped him. He hates how I say his name, so I keep doing it—even if I hate it too. He’s never been Oliver, only ever Ollie. Or Blue—my Blue.

“Thanks,” he says, staring at the food on the kitchen island. “You didn’t have to.”

I wanted to.

James needs to get the fuck out.

“I know.” I smirk. “Now tell your boyfriend to get out so we can eat.”

James chooses that moment to clear his throat, and Ollie peers back at him. They seem to share this unspoken conversation that makes my blood boil. I look back and forth between them. “He’s staying,” Ollie says, shattering my composure.

“He needs to leave,” I growl, and James chuckles. I twist toward him, about to rip him a new one, when Oliver jumps in front of him with his hands up in surrender. “I haven’t approved of him as a guest. You can’t just bring whoever you want here. This is my place.”

This time, Oliver laughs, throwing his head back until it meets Murdock’s shoulder. Then he wraps an arm around Ollie’s bare chest. Fuck, I’m going to kill him. “This is our place now, Hunt.” He smirks. “And I will bring my little boyfriend if I want.”

My nostrils flare, and my fists tighten at my sides. I’m about to turn around and say fuck it, but then Jamie’s hand finds Oliver’s chest and he squeezes once.

I. See. Red.

“What the fuck—” I growl, but Murdock is just smirking.

He takes a step back, presses a soft kiss to Ollie’s temple, and whispers in his ear. I can’t make out what he says, except whatever it is makes Oliver grin and shake his head. I think seeing him smile at the expense of the cocky little asshole pisses me off more than anything.

“Bye, babe,” James says, blowing a kiss to Oliver. My Oliver. “See ya tomorrow.”

An awkward silence descends over the apartment as soon as Murdock shuts the door on his way out, and it takes me about thirty seconds to make a life-altering decision.

Why the fuck am I like this?

But I can’t let this happen.

James fucking Murdock can’t take Oliver away from me. He can’t. Especially ‘cause that’s not the Ollie I know. The Ollie I know doesn’t lock himself in his room with a stranger and laugh with him. No—the Ollie I know only does that with me. He’s not willing to share his favorite food with a stranger. He’s not willing to sketch him. No, my Ollie doesn’t do those things with anyone except me.

So who the fuck is this guy standing across from me, staring at me with wide eyes?

“Are you in love with him?” I blurt, unable to stop myself. Is he going to take him away from me? Am I going to let him? “Is that what this is?”

“In love?” Ollie laughs. “I just met him five minutes ago, Hunter!” It’s my turn to flinch at the way he spits out my name with disdain. “And you have no fucking right—you hear me? I can be with whoever the hell I want.”

“The fuck you can,” I growl, closing the distance between us. I grab him by his arm and turn him around, slamming his upper body onto the marble countertop of our kitchen island and pressing my hardening cock against his ass. “I have every right.” You’re mine.

Ollie chuckles, pressing back when he feels my cock twitch. “You have a really fucked up way of telling someone you hate them.” I breathe in deeply and hook my thumbs into his sweats. He’s not wearing any underwear. Fuck. “Because, right now? I don’t believe you hate me at all.”

“Believe what you want.” Just let me have this. “I don’t actually fucking care.”

“Are you waiting for my permission?” Oliver asks me as I rest my thumbs against his hips. “Because you’re not gonna get it.”

“I don’t need your permission to take what’s mine,” I growl, as his sweats hit the ground.

Surprising me, Oliver steps out of them and kicks them away, then rests his whole upper body over the island. He’s staying still just for me, giving me what I want. And even though he just said he’s not giving me permission—he doesn’t have to say it. His body language is enough.

One of my hands descends on Ollie’s ass, smacking it hard until my palm stings. He sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out roughly. “Such a fucking brat, Ollie.” He whimpers when I say his name. Fucking whimpers for me. And my cock grows stiffer. “Are you gonna give me what I want?”

“What do you want?” he whispers.

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