Page 73 of Tempting Him

“How do you see me right now?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever thought of me negatively?”

My brows furrow as I stand up. “No, never. Why would I?”

“Well, I’ve been on my knees for you countless times. I’ve been bent over for you. I’ve done all the things you haven’t because you’re afraid that’ll make you ‘soft’ or ‘less of a man’ or whatever bullshit your parents made you believe, and yet you’ve never thought that of me, have you?”

“Jay,” I say softly.

He sits down and gazes up at me. “Just know I’d never think differently of you. Don’t feel self-conscious around me.” He lays back and closes his eyes. “Oh shit. The room is spinning.”

I pull the covers back on his side. “Come on. Get under the comforter.”

He scoots all the way over, nuzzling his face into the pillow. “Lay with me?”

“Of course.”

I climb onto my side and he makes his way to me, pushing his face into the crook of my neck. “You smell so good.”

I wrap an arm around his shoulders and hold him close to me. He kisses my neck a couple times before going still. It doesn’t take long before his breathing evens out, succumbing to sleep.

Angling my head, I press my lips to his forehead and give him a kiss. My chest expands, filled with warmth and contentment. The small act of affection didn’t make me feel miserable or disgusting. It didn’t make me feel inadequate. In fact, I’m only regretting doing it because he’s asleep, and he should be aware that I did it.

I know it may not make sense to many people. How can I not want to kiss or do certain things with men when I’m still actively attracted to and fucking them? Believe me, I struggle with the same thoughts. My dad beat it into me that being submissive was for the weak. Bending over and kneeling for men was not what another man should do. In my fucked up head, I somehow twisted it and thought that as long as I wasn’t doing those things, it wasn’t as bad. After all, a hole’s a hole, right? The difference between a woman’s mouth and a man’s can’t be that different. If I fucked a woman in the ass, what makes it different if I fuck a man’s? Things were only different if I was being fucked, if I was sucking dick, if I was kissing men.

I shake my head, furious with my parents. Enraged with myself. All these years I never allowed myself to be with a man more than a couple times, and there haven't been many men in my life. Jay’s the first guy I’ve been with this long, and as weird and fucked up as our relationship might be, it’s the closest I’ve had to a real one. We hang out, talk, laugh, eat, and fuck. We don’t kiss, and the fucking so far, has been one-sided, but it’s still a very real relationship, even if I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s not.

I wish he wasn’t so drunk, because I’d wake him up and kiss him right now. I’d tell him I’m sorry for being so stupid. I’d offer him anything he wanted, because this means something to me, and I’m just now realizing it.

As my excitement looms, reality sets in. I’m still leaving Michigan. He’s still going to live here. His Dad will want to kill me if he ever finds out. There isn’t a future for us. This is all we have. Three weeks at most. I leave shortly after his graduation.

Now anger burns in my veins. I wasted so much time. I know in the beginning it wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. It was sex, but somewhere over the past few weeks, something changed. I know it and he does, too, and yet I still chose to play dumb. I still pretended this wasn’t anything, because I needed to keep that separation. I couldn’t develop feelings. I couldn’t make it harder for us, but now it feels like I stunted something that could’ve been better.

Not every story needs a happily ever after, right? Ours could’ve been greater, even if we knew it was going to end. Sometimes, it’s about the journey and the lessons learned and memories made.

Twenty-one days. That’s all we have.

“Jay. Jay.” I shake him slightly, trying to rouse him, wanting to talk.

“Mm,” he mumbles.

“I have to say something.”

“Mm.” His brows lift but his eyes remain closed.

“Wake up.”

“Babe,” he groans, turning over. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

He wiggles his ass into my crotch, seeking my hand with his and pulling my arm over his waist. The term of endearment mixed with his need to cuddle has me grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Okay.”

29

Jayden doesn’t usuallysleep in very late, but the alcohol has him still unconscious around eleven o’clock. I’ve already had breakfast and am planning for lunch while taking care of some work. Close to eleven-thirty, he strolls through the doorway, scratching the back of his head and squinting at the sunlight flooding the room.

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