Page 18 of Confession
He’s silent for a second, waiting for more, for clarity, but I don’t give it to him. So he says, “You’re not gay.”
I still have my hand on his hip, but I reach my other up to the back of his head. I curl my fingers in his short brown hair and take a tight hold at his scalp. A sound breaks from him. His eyes close and a shudder goes through his whole body. I pull his hair, tilting his head back, baring his throat.
“Stop,” he begs. His arms uncross and he grabs the edge of the counter on either side of himself.
“If I kissed you now, would you want it?”
“You’re drunk.”
I pull his head back further. “Answer my question.”
I watch his pulse fluttering, watch him swallow. I watch him fight himself. He doesn’t want to answer me.
I drag my hand from his hip to his abs. His stomach contracts sharply. I glide my hand up to his chest, wrinkling his shirt and brushing over one of his taut nipples. I curl my hand lightly around his throat. He shudders so hard that his knee knocks against mine.
I bring my face close to his and let my lips graze his jaw as I repeat, “If I kissed you now, would you want it?”
“Yes,” he confesses.
I tilt his head upright. I move my hands to either side of his face and pull him toward me. I press my lips to his. He twitches at the initial contact—then he melts. His whole body softens. I step closer and deepen the kiss, invading him with my tongue. When he moans, the vibration seems to travel all the way to my dick.
I press my body against his. Through my dress pants and his sweats, I feel the hard ridge of his cock. Mine throbs in response. I’ve never felt another man’s erection against mine, but it feels … good.
Fuck, it feels really good.
Quinn breaks the kiss. “This isn’t a good idea,” he says.
My hands drop to the sides of his neck. “Why?”
“You’re drunk. You’re upset too. Something happened.”
How the hell does he know that?
“I’m not that drunk.”
“Yes, you are.”
“So what if I am?”
“Plenty of men are gay when they’re drunk but straight when they’re sober. And this … it’s not a good idea.”
“You’re pissing me off.”
“That’s because you’re drunk.”
“Are you saving me from myself?” I sneer.
“Yes. And I’m saving myself from you. Go to bed, Vitali.”
EIGHT
Vitali
Quinn was right about one thing. I was drunker than I thought last night. It’s almost noon before I emerge from my room, and I still feel like shit. There are a lot of things that I know I need to sort through, but my brain isn’t really online yet. With any luck, the kitchen will be empty. I need coffee and time to think.
I don’t get that time because not only is the kitchen not empty,everyoneis there. Jesus Christ, why is everyone in the kitchen?
Roman and Sasha are eating sandwiches at the table, Lucas is working on something at the island that I really don’t want to look at this early and that smells of garlic, and Quinn is sitting on the floor in front of an open cabinet with his phone. He’s working on our weekly food order.
