Page 15 of Dirty Love

“Jesus, will you keep still?” he complains, snatching my head when I try to pull it away. “I need to clean it.”

“I already cleaned it in the shower.”

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job,” he throws back, carefully dabbing the cut on my temple with a cotton ball soaked in something that burns.

I’m sitting on the fucking toilet seat wearing nothing but a towel around my waist, still high on adrenaline and restless thanks to the coke swimming around in my system. My knees are bouncing and my dick is refusing to stay soft and I’m fixing for him to leave so I can get myself off, but he’s dead set on playing doctor and I’m the sucker who can’t say no to him.

It’s fucking maddening.

“Are you done?”

“Almost,” he answers, moving down a bit to do the same thing with my lip.

I clench my teeth and look up at him, narrowing my eyes when I catch the amusement in his.

The little shit’s enjoying this.

Ignoring my half assed anger, he tosses the dirty cotton ball on the counter and reaches over to grab a clean one, then he swings one leg over my thighs and drops his ass down on my lap, fucking straddling me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it used to be, but that was before.

Everything after that night is brand new territory for us and I’m fucking terrified of screwing it all up.

“Nicky—”

“It’ll be quicker if I can actually reach you,” he cuts in, holding the back of my head to keep me still while he finishes cleaning my lip.

My pulse hammers against the side of my neck and I fist my hands at my sides, resisting the carnal urge to grab his ass and pull until he’s grinding on me.

You’re sick, Kade.

So fucking sick.

As soon as he’s done, he lifts my chin and leans in even closer, eyes on my mouth while he blows on it to ease the sting. A choked out noise slips from my throat and I flex my fingers, unsure whether I’m about to throttle him or force him to do it again. Before I have the chance to make up my mind, he chews his lip and looks down between us, then he takes my wrist and lifts it up to his mouth, staring right at me while he spits into the palm of my hand.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He climbs off my lap and I look up at him, watching him with my mouth parted while he collects his trash and walks out to my bedroom. He closes the door behind him and I blink, stupidly staring down at the small pool of my baby brother’s saliva. Instead of washing it off like a sane person would, I lean back and flick my towel open, groaning at the feel of my wet hand sliding over my dick, my fucked up imagination feeding me several images that have no business filling my fucking head.

“Oh, fuck.”

CHAPTER 7

NICKY

We don’t talk about Friday night.

We don’t even acknowledge the fact that he used my spit to get himself off, that I leaned back against the door between us and came all over my hand at the same time he did, that we lay in his bed afterwards and watched a few movies as if nothing ever happened.

Denial.

It’s his favorite game and he plays it like his life depends on it.

Walking down the hall on Monday morning, I side-eye him and steal the coffee he’s holding, jumping when he smacks my hand to stop me.

“Hey.”

“You’ve got your own.”

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