Page 20 of Marrying the Gardener
I just do not like men and hate the idea of causing them anythingbutsuffering.
Gently contrasting my violent emotions, Kaleb captures my bottom lip between his. I remain stiff, hating the sensation, the tug, the suction. “Crimson,” he murmurs, blessedly freeing me, “I need you to practice with me, sweetheart.”
My heart isnotsweet. It is black and red and full of arsenic.
Reluctant as a bull, I circle my arms around his neck, letting my nails slip against his scalp, and murmur, “If this gets gross, I might vomit on you.”
“It won’t.”
“If you freak me out, I might knee you in the stomach.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just warning you.”
He runs the tip of his nose up the bridge of mine tenderly, more tenderly than any man I know has ever touched me. “I know. Ready?”
“Sure.”
This time when he kisses me, I respond. His lips move. My lips move. It’s all very…weird. It is all very, very weird the way that humans behave. I’m not exactly a fan of it, I think. Even if this has yet to become wet and gross, it’s still just plain odd. Why did we decide that smooshing our mouth against someone else’s was a sign of affection? How does that make any sense at all?
His teeth trap and tug when I’m not expecting it, so I bite him back—possibly hard, possibly not hard enough. He grunts, and his full hand plants against my back, pressing my body closer to him. My inhale rakes my chest against his, and he breaks the connection of our mouths to rasp a swear. Then he kisses my cheek, drops lower, to my neck again.
Except we already did the neck nonsense.
He seems to remember this because he stops, breath hot on my throat, and moves back to cover my mouth with his.
The experience is unpleasant, to be sure, but I’m surviving it. I just need to practice how I’ll survive it whilesmilingin public.
Pretending that Kaleb is Crisis completely fails me here because Crisis and I would not be behaving like this. It’s simply not what twins do. For obvious reasons.
Like autosomal recessive disorders.
And only that.
Because while we are twins, we are also married and very much in love—in the way that all people should be. Which is, of course, platonically.
The very notion that I’ll have to figure out how to look like I’m enjoying whatever is currently going on exhausts me to my bones, so I forget to put in the grand amount of effort it takes to match his motions.
When I stop moving, he stops kissing. “All good?” he exhales.
Limbs heavy, yet limp, I say, “Yes. Sorry. Is it…supposed to be this tiring?”
My feet lose the floor in the very next moment as he lifts me, turns, and walks me to my bed. Laying me atop the comforter, he kisses my forehead and smooths a knuckle down my cheek. “It’s a bit less tiring when you’re into it, I think.”
“Oh.” I blink at him when he moves solidly away, not even pretending that we’re going to continue now that I’m horizontal. “Ew.”
Smiling, he goes to the other side of my bed and lies down. “I apologize that you don’t find me more appealing. Is there anything I can do to change that?”
I slump. “You’re fine. You’re just…male.”
The air itself freezes. Halfway to pulling his phone out of his pocket, Kaleb looks at me, eyes…broken. Devastated. Afraid? I don’t know what’s going on in his eyes. I’m not exactly sure why I care. “Are you…” he begins, “…not attracted to men?”
My brow arches as I take him in. His long legs slung up onmy bed, ankles crossed. His imposing shoulders, rippling with muscle that presses the constraints of his polo. His tan skin, which contrasts the white fabric of his shirt significantly.
He’s all brawn and beauty, isn’t he?
Short dark hair, enigmatic eyes, chiseled jaw, downward turned lips.
