Page 52 of Rooster

I pull out the rolling chair and drop into it.

"I've been thinking," I begin, unsure how to start this conversation without just diving right into it. "Is this not wanting to hook up a ploy?"

"It's not, and before you internalize this any further, please know that I do want to fuck you."

"You do?" I question, turning my eyes from the animated farm on the television to him.

He smiles even wider, another chuckle falling from his lips.

"Of course I do. You're gorgeous. I've hardly been able to think of anything else since that first morning that you were here and pressed your hands to my chest. My restraint, as you put it, isn't because I don't want to. It's because I'd like to see if things could go further than that. If we aren't in the same spot, then one of us is going to either end up hurt or feeling manipulated."

I consider this, and it doesn't take me long to agree that he's right, and that wouldn't be fair to either of us.

"And if I said I was willing to see where it would go, does that mean we wait to hook up?"

He pulls in a deep breath, and I have no idea what's going through his head because the man is a fucking vault.

"We don't have to be madly in love to share a bed," he says.

"What stops me from saying I want to see if there's a possibility of more just to get you naked?"

That's the most frat boy fucking reasoning I've thought.

"I would have to hope that your integrity is enough that you wouldn't do that."

"Are you horny right now?" I ask, needing to know just where both of us are.

He swallows again before speaking. "It's not as bad as Thursday evening when you were wet in the hot tub."

"Who's to say I'm not wet right now?"

My cheeks heat because shit, I just can't seem to turn it off around this guy.

"You're a deviant," he says with humor.

"You didn't answer my question," I prod, watching his mouth as his tongue sneaks out, the tip tracing the outer corner of his mouth.

Instead of using words, he slides his chair out from under his desk, rotating in my direction. Evidence of just how he feels is right there, pressing against the denim of his jeans, and I swear I could trace the outline of his cock head because it's so prominent.

"Does it bother you that I've been with your brother?"

"I hate that he manipulated you into sleeping with him," he answers without hesitation.

I huff a laugh. "He didn't. I promise. I was a more than willing participant."

There's no sense in placing blame where it doesn't belong.

"I'm not going to insult you by saying he only slept with you to get to me because you're stunningly beautiful, but you're not Henry's type."

I don't bother asking him what his brother's type is because I'm not concerned about that.

"He did it because I'm your type."

The thought that his brother has been playing matchmaker thrills me probably more than it should.

"I'm a gift," I whisper.

He pulls in a deep breath before speaking again. "Henry has never been generous for the sake of making others happy. What he gives, he always takes away."

---