Page 47 of Getting It Twisted

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck yeah.”

As our lips meet again, I can’t help but remember the party senior year. How he crawled toward me across our circle of friends. How worried I was to show the others—showhim—how much I wanted it. How I wanted it so much I feared it.

But there’s no performative tilt of his lips as he kisses me now—only his own pure passion. For me. For us. And yet something irks me enough to make me pull away. Our foreheads lean against each other, and I feel his hot breath against mine as he licks his lips.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks.

“What are we doing?”

“I dunno. It feels good though. Keep going.”

“I want to. But I want to know . . . about what Jessie said . . .”

“About staying?” He snorts. “I thought you couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”

“That was before . . . this.” I push my hips forward, and I grunt when he grabs my ass, pressing my groin against his in a mimicry of fucking.

“Told you you’d enjoy yourself.”

If I could flip him over the counter and take him right here . . . But Jessie’s in the other room. What if I can’t always give him what he wants when he wants it?

The image of the biker leaning into him and whispering in his ear resurfaces in my brain, and I scowl at the thought of him going to someone else when he needs to get off.

“Am I going to find you at Moe’s next weekend?”

“Hm?” He kisses my jaw, trails his lips over my neck.

“I don’t want you to do this with anyone else.”

“As long as you fuck me good, I don’t need them.”

“All right.” I dig my fingers into his thighs, feeling him shudder and gasp. “Then I’ll fuck you good.”

“You’ll do it whenever I want? As often as I want?”

“Yeah. Anytime.” I kiss him again, only a peck, but he pulls me in and sucks my tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

When I withdraw, he makes a frustrated mewling sound. I can’t decide if it’s adorable, hot, or simply comical.

“So does this mean you’ll stay?” I ask.

“I already told you I don’t want to leave again.”

“If you’re serious, I still think you should sell the house.”

He frowns. “And why would I do that?”

For anyone else, the reason would be obvious. Too many ghosts are haunting that place, and I’ve had enough proof of its effects on him. Besides, I can’t escape the feeling there’s something he’s not telling me, though I’m not sure I want to find out . . . The stuff I already know is horrible enough, and whenever I think about it, the guilt rubs me raw.

I should have done something—anything—to help him back when we were kids. Having him move in with my family wouldn’t have worked, but I could have—I don’t know—built us a shelter somewhere, just so he could get away from his mother’s clutches. But I was just a kid, and I didn’t know what to do. Still, I should have donesomething.

Here’s my chance to make up for it, right? If only he’ll accept my help.

Chapter 9

Nathan

I was right.

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