Page 60 of On the Edge

“I am sorry,” I say on an exhale, feeling rotten even though I didn’t know until now it was his birthday.

“It’s okay. You must have some sort of sixth sense, since you asked me to dinner the day after.”

“No, I was only being selfish. Also, my brother said I must have some fun.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Oh? I’m fun?”

“Yes,” I agree solemnly, and then try for a joke. “Especially when we are not wearing any clothes.”

Chuckling, he pats my leg. “Well, let’s pay the check and go back to your place. It’s my birthday, and I mean to cash in on that.”

18

Atlas

Losingmy mind wasn’t so much a gradual thing for me. Rather, it was a full-tilt sprint off the edge of a cliff. Agreeing to go on a date was my first strike, and from there the evening has only gotten worse and worse. Holding hands, sharing food, and smiling more than I can ever remember smiling in my life. Hell, we were damn near playing footsie underneath the table. I’ve loosened my grip so much, my control has been obliterated.

I don’t do this sort of thing. I don’t choose people when I know they’ll never choose me back. Love and pain go hand in hand—invite one inside, the other comes along. I bar the door to both and good riddance. I was doing fine before a big, goofy, floppy-haired German brought me an apple.

Now, Henri is driving us back to his dorm after I gave him a goddamn sob story about my family forgetting my birthday. I swear there is something wrong with me. I don’t need to pump the brakes so much asslamon them.

Henri drives us back to the dorms with a small smile on his face, and his fingers tangled with mine. The boundaries I worked so carefully to establish have been destroyed in a single evening, and I have no idea how to bring us back to stable ground. I’m not done with this—with Henri—and even though I know it’s a foolish mistake, I can’t help but let myself be a little selfish. I need to break things off, but it doesn’t have to be tonight. Tomorrow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.

Once we’re parked in front of Henri’s dorm, we walk silently together up the stairs. When we get inside his room, I stop him from turning on the overhead light and instead click on the lamp he keeps on his desk. Turning around, I see Henri standing in the middle of his room, watching me.

I always let him lead when we’re together, mindful of how easy it would be to push him too far, too fast; to coerce him into doing something he’s not in the mood for, or doesn’t like. Regardless of the joke he told at the restaurant, we’ve only had our clothes off one time together. Mostly, he tends toward not being into it, and thankfully, he hasn’t yet had a problem telling me that.

Stepping close to him, and tilting my face upward to keep my eyes on his, I dip my fingers into the pocket of his khaki pants.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he answers automatically.

“Can I touch you?” He nods. I jostle my hand that’s still tucked into his pocket, making it clear I’m talking about below the waist. “Here?”

“Yes.”

Already, my dick is chubbing up at the mere proximity of him and being in a room with a bed. It’s possible I’m a littlebit of a slut for Henri Vasel. Glancing down, I notice he’s not having the same issue just yet. He rarely has a physical reaction when we’re kissing.

“I will do what you want me to do,” he whispers. I shake my head immediately. Blind obedience is the opposite of what I want.

“No, Henri, not that. Let’s just see where things go? If you aren’t feeling it, you’ll tell me and we’ll stop.”

He nods again and reaches up to the collar of his shirt to pull it off. I step back, letting him go through the motions of undressing and putting everything in its proper place. When I shed my own clothes, I leave them in a pile on his desk chair, figuring that’s a middle ground between his own neurotic cleanliness and my more casual kind.

Because he’s far more methodical about it, I’m undressed way before Henri. Crawling onto his bed, I tuck an arm behind my head and just watch him as I wait. The low lighting was a good call. It gives us just enough to see by, while also throwing shadows across every dip and curve on his body. And boy are there a lot.

Until now, I’d never given much thought to what my preferred type of guy might be. I’ve always known I was bisexual, but had never actually found myself in a position comfortable enough to act on it. Women, for me, were safe. Men, on the other hand, felt less so. Particularly as I am well below average height, and pretty weak after years lacking in physical fitness. Henri, with his wide shoulders and thick thighs, probably wouldn’t have been my first choice if I was just going off of body type alone. He’s too big, too strong—too much man.

But the reality of Henri is different. He’s tall and built, yes,but he’s also gentle and kind. Of all the options in the world, he is the safest.

“If your clothes are in a pile like this, they will get wrinkles,” he tells me, finally finished with undressing and walking over to join me naked on the bed. I glance over at my clothes, sitting on his desk chair.

“And what a tragedy that will be,” I respond dryly, eliciting a soft chuckle.

The bed creaks as he lies down next to me. At Christmas, Henri let me have my way with him; tonight, I want the same thing. Putting my palm flat on his chest, I carefully brush my hand over the smattering of hair across his pecs. Why that is so hot, I can’t even explain to myself. Henri’s heart beats a steady, slow rhythm beneath my palm—not a trace of nerves in sight.

I just touch him for a bit, slowly testing the waters and trying to tease reactions out of him. His hands stay flat on the bed, fingers clenching and unclenching steadily until I realize he’s waiting for permission.

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