Page 25 of Depraved
I press my lips together, trying to find a better way of navigating this conversation. “Something’s wrong. With us,” I gesture between the two of us when his eyebrows shoot up. “You snuggled me in your sleep the first couple hours after we brought you here to recover. But you haven’t … since then, you haven’t touched me. Even subconsciously. And now, you’ll hardly look at me. What did I do?”
“It’s not you—”
“Oh, don’t give me the ‘it’s not you’ line!” I lean forward on the bed, and the mattress shifts beneath me, jostling Jonah.
He sucks in a pained breath.
I hold up my hands in surrender as I apologize. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m not … I shouldn’t have brought this up. I’ll wait. I’m sorry. I’ll wait. Okay?” Tears coat my eyes as my chest cracks like a geode, and sadness sparkles down my cheeks under the sconce light. We’re broken. Something’s broken between us because I hurt him, then I hurt him again, literally, moving just now.
Fuck. I’m messing this up.
My voice is thick as I say, “You’re everything, Jonah. And I could feel something was off between us even though you were sleeping. I know it’s my fault ….”
“How do you know it’s your fault?” he asks.
“Because you’re perfect, you idiot,” I say, swiping angrily at the tears that deigned to escape my eyes.
His expression softens for the first time since I entered the room. He lifts his hand and holds it out to me. “Come here, you dummy.”
Goddess, I don’t want to bruise him further, but the fact that he’s reaching for me—I desperately need that physical reassurance.
Inside my head, my wolf whines plaintively. She imagines curling up inside a den with Jonah’s wolf, their tails intertwined.
I carefully crawl across the mattress and snuggle up against him. “Is this okay?” I ask, ensuring I don’t put any weight on him, settling my head onto the pillow in the crook of his arm instead of on his shoulder where I’d really rather be.
“It’s good.”
His fingers stroke my shoulder, and his icy mint scent wafts over me. I inhale deeply. “Gum is going to be my downfall forever now, you know. Anytime someone’s chewing gum, I’m going to get embarrassingly turned on because it smells like you.”
He chuckles and then hisses and scolds me. “No jokes. They hurt.”
“I’ll try. But I’m naturally hilarious.” I say as I nuzzle his side lightly.
“Says the angry, angsty girl.”
I lean up enough so that he can see me stick my tongue out at him. But then I settle back into our snuggle, and we lay there for a minute, nearly content, before I ask, “Do you remember that time you were in weight-lifting class?”
“The time you came in the middle of class and said there was an emergency—”
“And then we fucked in the locker room while your classmates were just behind the wall, finishing their reps,” I continue the memory for him, recalling how it felt to have him be rougher with me that day after I told him to shove me up against a locker and just take it.
“God, that was hot.” His fingers lightly squeeze my arm, and I can see that he’s got half a hard-on underneath the covers.
Oh. It was hot. I’d loved how he’d dominated me, and yet I’d known I was in complete control of everything that was happening that day. I could have made him stop with a snap of my fingers. But I hadn’t. We’d fucked fast and dirty, and I’d walked out of that locker room with my back coated in his cum underneath my shirt.
I brought up the memory, trying to clear up some of the awkwardness still floating through the air like dust. But now, thinking about it, I’m a little turned on, which only makes things more awkward. I know that my omega scent can be really potent, so I try to tamp down what I’m feeling with some sarcasm.
“I dunno. Some of those guys working out groaned louder than I did that day. It was kind of disturbing.” I imitate one of the lifters from that day, gritting my teeth and making my worst why-won’t-this-shit-come-out noise.
“I said no jokes!” Jonah pinches my arm, but not hard. And I can hear the smile in his voice now, so I know he doesn’t mean it.
“I warned you that I’m fucking funny. Also, I’ve been hanging around Matthew, so his snark rubs off.”
“Well, he’s a bad influence.”
The silence we lapse into is more comfortable than before, but there’s still this niggling pressure. Things aren’t really resolved.
I’m about to ask Jonah about it again when Matthew enters with a massive tray of steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, and about four other types of meat. It smells like a Brazilian steak house. I end up scooting off to the side of the mattress and trying not to make completely shocked and disgusted faces as Jonah eats all of it. Every last bite.
