Page 141 of Look, Don't Touch

I jerk in Arlo’s hold, pressing my back to his front, reeling to look into Hota’s eyes. Searching for what, I don’t know. We’re so close, I can see the individual flecks of black and dark brown in his irises.

“Hailey?” The hand around my throat slips into my hair and turns my head to face him. “Do you want Hota to eat my pussy?” His brow hikes as though he’s asking if I want parm on my pasta.

I’d love parm on my pasta, but should I get it?

There are consequences. The potential for animal cruelty. The possibility of heart disease. The gluttonous excess.

“He’s really good at it.” Arlo’s voice rasps over my cheek. “I’ve watched him make women scream and grown men weep.”

My mouth opens and closes. No sound leaves.

“This isn’t about what’s right or wrong, Hailey. It isn’t about consequences. It’s about give. It’s about want. It’s about take.”

“What about what he wants?” I croak out.

“He wants what I want. Don’t you, Hota?” Arlo turns my head so I’m even with Hota’s beautiful face.

He licks his lips. “I want, Hailey.” He leans imperceptibly closer. “I want whatever he gives me, whenever he gives it, however he gives it.”

I get it then.

Hota loves Arlo, not like a brother, but like a star-crossed lover.

Hota has loved Arlo for a very, very long time. He has only been able to love him a certain way because of Arlo’s trauma. Whether he likes it or not, he’s taken it and loved him still because that’s what Arlo can give.

And Arlo? How does he feel about his guy? If he had been free to touch and be touched, would Hota have been the one to take his heart? Is this his way of having Hota in the only way he thinks he can?

I’m nodding before I realize it, wanting whatever madness this is. And it is absolute madness.

Why do I want to ease the pain of someone who loves the man I love?

Why do I want to let in someone who’s loved the man I love longer than me?

No matter how it might sound to my relationship therapist ears, it feels right.

The corners of Hota’s pouty lips go up. The sorrow in his eyes lifts. “You are his. He is sharing you with me. But before I touch you, I need your words.”

I nod, gulp, and then hope my voice works.

“He gives. I want. You take.” They are crazy and empowering words.

Hota’s mouth parts. The tip of his tongue glides over his white teeth.

“I told you.” Arlo grips my thighs in both his hands and pulls them impossibly wider. “The best girl gets everything.”

I’m so exposed. More exposed than I was at school after the murders. More exposed than on the floor at the gala.

And I revel in the freedom it brings.

Hota crouches low, wedging his big shoulders between Arlo’s thighs. “Is this okay?”

We all know what he’s asking. Is the touch okay?

Arlo’s grip tightens on my thighs. “Okay isn’t the word I’d use to describe it.”

“How would you describe it?” I ask, just like I did all those weeks ago.

“Indescribable.” Arlo groans. “Now quit fucking around and get this pussy nice and wet for me.”

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