Page 18 of Only You
“Never met your prostate, huh?” I tease, and his eyes widen again, but there’s something else there. Intrigue?
No. That can’t be it.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“You should try it,” I say, and I want to call it right back, but I said it. It’s out there, and he’s looking far too amused now. Ready to throw it right back at me.
“So I’m guessing you’re not always a top then?”
I sigh and settle back into my couch, actually relieved to be having this conversation with him. Not because I need him to know details of my sex life but because it feels real.
The other night was great, but there was something missing. It felt a little awkward and forced—this doesn’t. This feels... good.
“There are lots of ways to have sex. Lots of ways to meet your prostate, Tatum. Not just having someone fuck you with their dick.”
His eyes grow comically wide, and then I swear I see a flash of something—something I’m convinced I must have misinterpreted because it looks a whole hell of a lot like jealousy. And that just can’t be right. He recovers fast. “You still didn’t answer the question.”
I guess I am skirting around that particular question. “I haven’t bottomed, per se, but I’m not opposed to my own fingers.”
Something that looks a lot like heat passes over his expression, and I have to shift a little in my seat at the look in his eyes. He can’t be thinking about it—not with interest, but I swear I see it for a moment as his eyes sweep over me. “Oh.” His pink tongue darts out and sweeps over his full bottom lip, and I actually gulp.
Like swallow so damn hard, it’s audible. His eyes rise to meet mine, and we’re at an impasse—because I don’t know what to say, and it appears he doesn’t either.
We just stare at each other.
And then the timer goes off for dinner, and I rush off the couch and as far away from his gaze as I can get at the moment because what the hell was that?
He admitted just tonight to being totally straight. He doesn’t want me that way, and I don’t want him that way either—I mean, not really. Because I have rules I won’t break—but would one time with Tatum even be enough? I know it wouldn’t be.
His hand on my shoulder startles me as I place the hot dish on the stove after taking it out of the oven. Luckily, I’d already put it down. I turn around and can see the concerned look on his handsome face as he studies me carefully. “That smells really good.”
“Yeah, um, I’m starving.”
“We’re okay, right? Like, I didn’t cross the line? Tell me if I did.”
“No,” I say, placing the oven mitt on the counter and quickly moving away from him to gather plates and silverware so we can sit down to eat. But he grabs my arm gently to stop me.
“I don’t want to lose you again, Remy. Please tell me if I went too far.”
I’m lost, looking in his eyes—surprised by the honest admission and the desperation in his voice. “Not too far. I want it.” I swallow hard, my eyes widening when I realize how that sounds. “The honest friendship, I mean.” He’s still watching me carefully. “I want that. Talking about anything and everything.”
His smile is slow and beautiful. “Me too. You’re still teaching me things all these years later.” He releases my arm and winks at me.
My stomach flutters with intense longing, but I force myself to go about setting the table and ignoring it. “Yeah, I didn’t see these topics coming though.”
“Hey, we have to broaden our horizons, right?” He grabs the pasta dish I made and places it on the table, over the potholder he thoughtfully brought over so it won’t ruin the wood.
I laugh as we sit down to dinner—surprised how unembarrassed I actually am.
“Maybe you’ll teach me a few things,” he says, taking a bite, his face lit up with mirth as I nearly swallow my damn tongue, thinking about teaching Tatum things.
“Maybe I will,” I say, my tone dangerously close to flirty, but I tell myself that’s all it is.
Just a little innocent flirting between friends.
No big deal.
EIGHT
