“And twelve minutes,” Morgan murmured.
“An—an hour andtwelve minutes.”
Morgan didn’t move.
He held him down until Lex stopped wriggling. Until he melted into the mattress, breath stuttering, pupils blown wide with whatever cocktail of arousal and panic anddelightlived in his chest.
Then Morgan finally settled. Let his weight rest fully against Lex’s body. Let his arms circle him tighter, chin tucked above Lex’s head.
“Do this more often,” Lex said after a minute.
That was the worst idea Lex ever had.
Chapter 16
Part Three
Looking at a bruise and thinking,damn, I missed this,was such cliché behavior.
Traumabehavior.
Victimbehavior.
And yet—Lex stood in the bathroom, tilting his face in the mirror like it might give him a better angle of the purple-blue haze along his jaw. He turned his head slightly to the left. Then back.
“I swear, I’m not this fucked up,” he told the mirror. But his reflection didn’t argue, only showed the way the bruise whited-out when he pressed his fingers into it.
His hands dropped to the sink, nails clicking. Drumming a beat that didn’t exist outside his own head.
This wasn’t pain. He’d meant what he said: he wasn’t a masochist.
It was proof.
He’d made Morganfeelsomething last night.
Morgan didn’t rattle easy. Didn’t get jealous anymore. Lex couldn’t blame him for that—what the fuck was he supposed to be jealousabout? Coffee?
But for the first time in months, Lex had seen it.Felt it. The way Morgan acted like Lex hadabandonedhim, not just lost track of the time.
The thought gave him a sugar-high rush. Sweet and sticky, coating his throat.
I would be the most fascinating goddamn guest on a crime documentary. End season episode levels of good.
“Notfucked up,” he reminded himself. “Interesting.”
Lex undid the top button of the shirt. Redid it. Undid it.
Screw it.
It looked better the way he had it the first time.
Cracking open the bathroom door, he peeked his head out.
“Morgan? You back yet?”
Nothing. Only quiet.
Only streaks of bright afternoon light painting the carpet.