Page 32 of The Try Line

I hated that Jase and I couldn't just be messy sometimes. Sometimes I just want to throw shit on the ground and make a mess. I've had full adult tantrums in my imagination, but it's important to her, so I do my best.

Jason watches me as I cross through the kitchen to the utility room, where I toss my wet shorts into the washer and grab what I need. Once I spray the floor around the entryway with the cleaning solution, I rub the microfiber towel around with my foot. Honestly, it's not perfect. But I don't feel secure enough to get on my hands and knees and do it properly when I'm only wearing a towel and I can feel the heat of Jason's stare as I work.

"Have something to say?" I ask, turning towards him once I've deposited my cleaning supplies back into the utility room.

He doesn't answer me, so I feign nonchalance, grabbing a bottle of water before heading towards the stairs to get a dry pair of shorts. I consider putting on a shirt, but skip it. It's hot. It's definitely not because I want him to look at me. That would be stupid. I'm a marriedman, and he's my brother-in-law, and he just admitted that he hates me. The way he looked at me last night after the colossal mistake we made was enough to never let it happen again. I have more self-respect than that. I have stronger morals than I've let on these past couple of days.

With my internal pep talk still running through my brain, I head to the basement, bypassing him entirely. I'm going to get my e-reader from my office, lounge on the couch, and lose myself in someone else's fictional problems until I pass out. It definitely won’t be a gay romance novel about a rockstar that cheats on his fiancé with a K-pop idol. Probably not a romance at all. My dick doesn't need encouragement. I've got a nice thriller that will be fun to read in the dark. I'll read that.

When I step out of my office with my e-reader in hand, Jason is halfway across the room. He freezes like I just caught him doing something, and he looks surprised to see me.

"You were in your office?" Then he blinks like he can’t believe he just stated the obvious that way. Especially when we’re both clearly trying to forget what happened.

I hold up the leather case I keep my e-reader in. "I was just grabbing this. Thought I'd read for a while."

Jason clears his throat and nods, awkwardly looking around. The tea lights are still going, and we've added a few more battery-operated candles. The humidity in the air heightens the tension between us. It's a little too romantic for all the thoughts I keep having to force down.

He points at the couch. "There it is," he says, pointing to his own e-reader like it's what he was looking for the whole time. But I know. I saw that single-minded look of determination on his face, the same one that he had when he found me last night. The same one he had when he opened his mouth and–

Nope. Not going there.Remember the way he looked at youafter. You're better than this. And you're married, for fuck's sake.

That my marriage isn't the first thing I think about when considering all the reasons I shouldn't entertain perverted thoughts about Jason Reinier is concerning. Never mind that guilt isn't even the most overwhelming emotion I have about the shit we've already done.

Fear. Shame. Desperate longing. All of those make the list before guilt, and I think that says something about the kind of person I am. I wonder how many years of therapy it's going to take to come to terms with being this awful? Then again, I've been going to therapy for the past ten years and I've never once mentioned Jason. Maybe this will be what forces my hand.

The silence between us is oppressive. Breaking his stare, I move towards the couch, but Jason's voice stops me in my tracks.

"I hate you."

"Yes. We've established that."

"I hate you because I haven't seen my family in almost two decades. Because I knew I wouldn't be able to bear the sight of seeing you happy without me. I hate you because the moment I arrived and laid eyes on you, I could tell you weren't. I hate you because I thought I was a good person, but the day I saw you holding my sister and comforting her after she told you she was pregnant, I wanted you to bail on her. I hate you because you made me want to break my sister's heart. I hate you because I still want that."

His chest expands with fast, heavy breaths that my body instinctively matches. My mouth gapes open, completely unable to respond or react. I close and open my mouth once, twice, trying to come up with something, but before I can even begin to think of what to say, he holds his hand up.

"I'm not done," he warns me, and then his voice gets lower as he takes a slow step forward, then another one, stalking towards me as he speaks while I'm frozen like a deer in the headlights.

"I hate you because I want you. Because I've never once, in eighteen fucking years, stopped wanting you. I hate you because every time I go on a date or swipe right for a casual fuck, all I can think about is you. And I hate you because I know you want me too, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that you won't say no to me. And that makes me want to do things that will make me hate you more."

He's in my space now, crowding me once more. His face is flushed, eyes hard and filled with rage. And he's right. I won't say no. Not to him.

So when his lips crash to mine and he forces his way inside my mouth, I open for him. I open for him and give back everything he gives me. Every deep swipe of his tongue licking into my mouth. Every clash of teeth. Every moan. I take it all and return it, pouring every ounce of fear and shame and desperate longing that I've been holding onto into this kiss.

When he presses against me, walking me back towards the couch, I go willingly.

And when he pushes me onto my back and stares down at me, I lift my hips and pull my shorts down. He takes control when they're halfway down my thighs and tears them off me completely. His hard eyes watch me lean back and widen my legs, waiting for his next move, practically daring him. Wrapping one hand around my hard cock, I stroke myself slowly, letting my eyes flutter closed. I don't want him to see my internal turmoil, the way I'm debating with myself over whether this is the right thing. I mean, I know it’snotthe right thing. It’s the wrong thing.

It's a very wrong thing. But I've resigned myself to it, justified it in my own mind because it feels so right, like this was how it was alwayssupposed to be. No, my indecision has more to do withhowwe're doing this.

Do I want him to fuck me when he's this angry? When it looks like he wants to shove his rage inside me and break me?

Yes. I do. I want him to give me all his anger. I want to be absolved of my sins through pain. I want to make us both feel better and worse, because I deserve to suffer. I want to give him everything I have to make up for taking everything from him.

And if it hurts, so be it. I want it to hurt. I want to feel him for days.

When I open my eyes, he's gone. Noises come from my office—the swish and bang of drawers opening and being slammed closed, the rustling of each drawer being ransacked, the crash of items being thrown or poured out on the floor. He stalks out with a bottle of lube in his hands, shucking off his own shorts. I barely have time to contemplate the sheer size of him before he's crawling over me, pressing his wide body between my legs. I wrap myself around him as best I can, moaning into his mouth when his bare cock thrusts against mine.

Jason lifts my leg, but there's not enough space. I tear the back cushion off and throw it over the back of the couch, and Jason does the same to another two cushions before pushing my leg up and against the back of the couch. He thrusts two thick fingers into my ass, and I barely grunt at the intrusion as my hole stretches around them. I grit my teeth as a third is added, canting my hips to encourage him to keep going. He fucks into me with three fingers, rocking my whole body. Both of our cocks bounce against my stomach with the movement. I grab for the bottle of lube, pouring too much into my hand in my haste to wrap my hand around both our cocks.

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