Page 58 of Skeletons in the Closet

I tugged my tie loose and pulled it over my head. Tossing it aside, I undid the buttons on my shirt one at a time, my gaze locked on Diem’s face.

He didn’t seem to know where to look. Twice, his attention moved to the beer I’d removed like he longed to pick it up and drain it, like he wanted fifteen more to help calm his nerves.

“Watch me,” I said.

He tried. I had to give him credit for the effort, but it was a struggle. His mind seemed to rebel against his body.

“Come on, D. I’m sure you fuck guys all the time. Why is this so hard for you?”

“It’s… You’re not the same.”

“Why? How?”

He didn’t answer.

With my shirt undone, I reached out, ensuring he saw the movement and my intent, and took his hand. I brought it to my abdomen, placing it on my bare skin over my ribs. His palm was sweaty, and a tremble radiated through his fingers, but lust swam in his eyes.

“Touch me,” I said again. “I know you want to.”

Fearing he’d pull away, I kept my hand anchored over his, holding it against me, letting him feel the warmth of my skin.

The color drained from Diem’s face, and his stormy gaze remained locked on my collarbones as I moved his hand over my ribs and across my sternum. I’d never been able to grow much chest hair. What did grow, I had waxed. I was naturally lean—most people were envious of my high metabolism—but I wasn’t muscular. I didn’t sport a six-pack or have a defined V-cut leading to my pelvis. Those were for bodybuilders and gym freaks, of which I was not.

Regardless, Diem’s ragged breathing suggested he appreciated what I did have.

“I almost hit you.” His words were choked.

“Almost, but you didn’t.”

“I—”

“Shh.”

I drew his hand up, over my pecs, along the side of my neck and jaw, and held it near my mouth, grazing my lips over the pads of his fingers, teasing one with my tongue. Diem sucked in a breath and held it.

I smiled. “Do you like that?”

He didn’t respond.

I guided his hand down, following the middle of my chest, snaking it lower. At my navel, I released my hold, hoping he wouldn’t jerk away.

He didn’t.

“Touch me, Diem.” I used his full name and none of the silly nicknames I’d adopted, hoping to penetrate the concrete barrier keeping him motionless.

His fingers twitched. He wanted to. I felt it. Iknewit.

It would have been easier to strip naked, bend over the couch, and let him fuck me like last time. I had no doubt Diem would have done away with intimacy altogether and gone for it, but it would be as cold and impersonal as before, and although I wasn’t looking for great acts of love, I wanted more than a clinical fuck.

I was horny after a night of inactivity. I’d missed out on drinks at Gasoline, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I had a thing for the brooding giant despite his oddities. Maybe I had a thing for challenging situations, and Diem was the definition of challenging.

He managed to keep his hand on my skin for another minute. It didn’t move up or down or side to side. Then, it was just hisfingertips. Then air. I didn’t berate him or put his hand back when it fell to his side. I removed my shirt instead and put it with my tie. Backing up a step, I unbuttoned my pants and lowered the zipper, sneaking a hand inside and stroking myself over my underwear.

“Fuck,” Diem rasped under his breath.

“Do you have a condom?”

He nodded, gaze locked on the attention I was giving myself below.

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