Page 53 of Filthy Little Secret

I don’t like that I feel this way, but fortunately, I can tell Mark isn’t interested like that. And even if he was vulnerable enough to let me in right now, as soon as some brat like Greg came along, he would move along in no time and just remember me as this strange period in his life where he had a crazy fling with the school drug dealer.

He’s still looking into my eyes, awaiting my response.

“Nope,” I reply.

His gaze shifts from mine.

An impulse rises within me. One I won’t deny. I lean forward, grab the back of his head, and pull him into me.

He doesn’t push away. Doesn’t fight as I offer him a kiss. Not like the sort of frenzied kisses we exchange when we’re fucking. Softer. Gentler. More meaningful.

A warmth tickles at my cheeks as goosebumps race through my body from a familiar excitement.

I wrap my arms around him and pull myself closer to him. He wraps his arms around me.

I just want to hold him and be held by him tonight. I know that’s what he wants, too. That he’s all alone. And I’m taking advantage, but I’ll take Mark however I can get him.

17

MARK

Tim’s kisses offer the most comforting of sensations.

Each one is like a deep tissue massage. My muscles relax into the experience.

I lie across my bed, him on top of me. We’re fully clothed, and for the first time since we started doing this, I don’t need him out of his clothes or inside of me.

I need him to be here. I need to be close to him.

After we chatted about Becky, I wanted him to take away the pain and the hurt.

I can’t tell if he meant what he said about me getting the wrong idea. If he’s running a game on me now.

He pulls away and gazes at me, assessing my face.

His eyes glisten with the lamplight coming from my nightstand.

He wears a serious expression—one I can’t read, and I do my best to keep him from reading mine.

I’ve always known that he’s hot. These rugged features. The perfect length of his trimmed stubble. Those long dark locks that fall across his forehead when he’s hovering over me like this, his weight pressed against mine.

There’s something different about what I’m noticing tonight, though.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all,” I say.

His expression shifts to surprise. “What?”

“I don’t know that I’m doing this right anymore. I think I’m starting to feel…”

Why am I fucking admitting it? It’s too late for me to take it back, but before I can go on, he says, “Earlier, when you asked me if I was worried about you getting the wrong idea, I said I wasn’t, because you’re not getting the wrong idea.”

He leans down and kisses me again, and it’s the sort of kiss I can lose myself in.

And it’s even better than our other kisses, but maybe that’s because he’s given me hope that I’m not losing my mind. That what we share could mean more than whatever the fuck he had with Keith. That I’m not falling into that same trap.

Or aren’t I?

I break our kiss.

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