Page 83 of The Idiot

He looked so damn good at dinner all dressed up that it was a feat to keep my eyes off him. Seeing him slumming it in ‘I’ve-given-up-on-life’ jammies, though, is equally sexy in its own way. I’m not really sorry that I won’t keep them on him much longer.

I drop onto the cushion next to him and make a beeline for his neck. Running my hand over his stomach, I’m gentle, knowing it’s probably full of Mom’s cooking.

“What? What happened to having me all to yourself?”

“I’m not sure that you want that.”

He sounds all grumpy. Is he serious?

“Um, hello.” I laugh, motioning to where I’ve practically thrown my thigh over the top of his. “In the words of a guy I know, ‘Do I have to put a sign on it?’”

I go in for a kiss, but his head veers in the other direction. His hand clamps down on my wrist where I was making my way down his thigh.

His gaze is fixed on the television, but I don’t get the impression he’s watching it. What is up?

“Jesse,” he murmurs gravely. “You didn’t even look at me.”

When? Now? I’m looking at him right now.

Wait. Dinner… This is about dinner?

“My whole family was there.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never acted like that before around them when I’m there. You didn’t even talk to me. Your sister asked if we had a fight.”

“I was trying not to make it obvious.” I’m practically sputtering. This is so out of left field, I’m not sure where it’s coming from.

“Why?” he snaps, finally looking at me. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Seriously?” I let out a disbelieving laugh, but his stoney expression doesn’t crack. “What do you want me to tell them? Murph’s helping me explore dick?”

I wait for my logic to break through his touchy mood, but his features melt into a mask of indifference. His eyes look bottomless as he glances back at the TV.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Dowhat?”

“This.” He gestures between us, sitting up, so I have to drop my leg from his. “Whateverthisis. This spillover from the cruise.”

Watching him rest his elbows on his knees and scrub at his face sets off a burst of panic inside my chest. He wants to be done? Already? I knew it would have to end sometime. Heck, I’ve thought about how to stop it myself, but I was miles away from knowing how to do that.

“Why?” It’s silly how small I feel as the word tumbles from my lips, like I’m getting dumped. I guess I just expected us to quit being horny someday and mutually stop attacking each other, not receive this… emotionally charged eviction from Murph.

Sighing, he stands and shoves his hands in his pockets, distancing himself from the couch. “It’s just… not working for me anymore.”

That makes even less sense than him being upset over dinner. “It looked and sounded like it was working for you in the shower the other morning and in my living room the night before that,” I remind him playfully, but he turns a dark look on me.

“Yeah, but I’m done. I’m not an all-access shop. Okay?”

Shit. He’s completely serious.

Running a hand through his hair, he starts pacing, jaw clenched, like he’s chewing nails. My mind is racing, and mystomach has taken a turn for the worse, making me regret that last turkey leg.

What did I do?

‘All-access shop?’ I thought he enjoyed everything we’ve been doing together. Is it because he’s the only one who’s been doing the receiving? Have I made him feel used by not reciprocating?

I’m not going to lie, I love the way I feel when he kneads and strokes my ass. It makes my insides tingle and quiver, even when I’ve felt him hesitantly graze the soft skin between my cheeks a few times. I’ve wondered what it would feel like to have him there, the way he has me. I’ve even stopped worrying about it possibly being unpleasant, but I guess I haven’t given serious thought about exploring it since he seemed so content receiving.

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