Page 44 of Beautifully Conflicted

“You’d do the same for me.”

“Would I, though?” He seems to be asking himself that more than me.

“Since you only pretend to hate me, I’m gonna go with yes.”

I find the shoes and drop them on the floor as Bennet quietly says, “I have to pretend.”

“Why?” I sink to the floor, kneeling between his legs.

He opens his mouth to respond, but abruptly shuts it and shakes his head. Despite the literal pain in my chest from the non-answer, I don’t press him. If there’s something weighing on him, he should have a clear mind when he’s ready to confess it.

Instead, I untie the laces on his running shoes and slip them off. When I look up at him, his normally bright ocean eyes are muted, cloudy almost, but curious.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m waiting for you to make some comment about being on your knees for me.”

“What, like blow jobs are good for getting rid of fevers?”

“Are they?” His pupils blow wide.

“No idea. Personally, I’d say they’re good for lots of things, but I’d be lying if I said they’d bring your temperature down.”

“I haven’t had one in a while,” he says softly. “I haven’t… No one’s touched me since…” His eyes find mine as he trails off.

“Since me?” I pause in the act of sliding on his fancy high top.

He nods.

“You haven’t had a release since you came for me?”

He shakes his head.

“You haven’t even jerked yourself?”

Another shake.

“And now that I’m on my knees, between your legs, you’re thinking about my mouth? You want to put your cock in there? You want me to suck on it?”

It’s a good thing he uses his head to nod yes because my heartbeat is so loud in my ears, I’m not sure I’d hear the words. Not to mention, my cock is so hard it’s questionable whether there’s enough blood in my brain to decipher them.

Sort of like his is so hard I’m wondering if he knows what he’s saying.

Somehow, I manage to tear my eyes away from his dick to push his foot into his shoe. “Ask me again when you don’t have a fever.”

My cock twitches its displeasure as Bennet says, “What if I forget I asked at all?”

If someone told me this morning that Bennet Armstrong would not only ask me to suck his dick, but sound worried he wouldn’t remember making the request, I’d have said they were delusional. I’m sitting right here listening to him myself andIthink I’m delusional, mostly because I’m not taking him up on it. But as much as I want to, I can’t. Not when he has his own doubts about his state of mind.

I’m doing the right thing by saying no. Today.

Looking him in the eye, my gaze steady in spite of the pounding in my chest, I say, “Then I guess I’ll just have to remind you.”

That was two days ago.

The massive storm came through right afterward, shutting campus down entirely, and while the snow has finally stopped, it left behind nearly three feet of fluffy stuff.

Roads are an obstacle course without the right type of car, sidewalks are still buried, but the skies are clear, so there’s no reason I shouldn’t go to Bennet’s to see how he’s doing.

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