Page 51 of Shiver
“We shouldn’t. However, we do say, hey, Deryke Schneider is the German goalie who plays for Montreal.”
Egon grins. “Yeah, I guess. But that’s not associated with a negative connotation. Gay is.”
“But it can be. To some people, you say German and automatically you’re a Nazi.”
He hums but doesn’t say anything further. We watch Sports Spot until dinner gets here. Then we eat at the table while studying. Dinner is prolonged because of this. I think we’re both trying to eat slowly because once the food is gone, we don’t want to be talking about school.
I’m still stupidly annoyed by how jealous I’d been over Egon. I can’t remember the last time, if ever, I’ve felt such hot possession surge through me like that. Instead of feeling off kilter because of it, I’m driven like a fucking neanderthal and need to mark him so the fucking world knows he’s mine. No one else can touch him.
But I don’t bring him to bed when we finally push the books aside. He cleans the cartons of takeout while I stack his books. We end up back on the couch with his big body laying on top of mine. His hand rests on my hip, his fingers flexing on me periodically as if he’s a cat kneading my skin.
I have one hand possessively in his hair, keeping him close, while the other trails up and down his back.
“I didn’t like her touching me,” Egon admits quietly. “I was too shocked by my reaction that I couldn’t get away fast enough.”
Because I’m concentrating not to have a physical reaction, my hand doesn’t stop its slow circuit down his back. “Yeah?”
He nods. His shoulders tense. “I don’t want someone else to touch me,” he admits. “It felt gross.”
A part of me should be thrilled with this declaration. And I am. But it weighs like lead in my chest. Because he’s not talking about wanting to only be touched by men. He wants to be touched by me alone.
This is the part where I’m supposed to call this a win and walk away.
I don’t. “She shouldn’t be touching you without permission.” My voice is a growl.
“I agree,” he says. “But the puck bunnies, they assume that they’re allowed to touch. You know?”
“No,” I answer. “That’s not an acceptable excuse.”
Egon nods, turning his face into my chest. He kisses me before pulling himself up. He doesn’t meet my gaze when he pushes at my shirt, wanting it off. I pull myself up and then yank my shirt off and toss it over the side of the couch so we’re not tripping over it later.
I lay back down, and Egon’s watching my abs. He groans, splaying his hand across my stomach. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he murmurs before coming back down on me. This time when he kisses my chest, I feel his hot lips on my skin. His tongue licks me tentatively as he continues to kiss me. Slowly. Softly.
It’s intimate, and I know I should push him away. Or turning this into pleasure instead of personal.
Again, I don’t. He pauses, his lips brushing over my sternum where my heart is slamming into my chest. “Rake,” he whispers.
All I can do is grunt in response. I’m still rubbing his back, but my hand is gripping his hair tightly. Not forcing him down, but making sure I can keep him against me.
“I wanted to tell them,” he whispers.
“Tell them what?” I ask, too distracted by his mouth to pay attention to the context of his question.
“That I’m sleeping with you.” I shiver at his words. “That Ionlywant to sleep with you. Not her. Not any girl.”
Just you.
His unspoken words hang in the air and I get the sense that this is him asking permission to do so. I swallow as his mouth moves over my chest again. Right now, I’m glad he’s not looking at my face, because I can feel the way it’s scrunched up. In slight panic, yes. But discomfort, longing, and dread, too. This is going to end. He just doesn’t know it yet.
I realize at this moment that I don’t think I’m going to get out of this and keep our easy friendship. If I had come clean initially and told him that I’m all for fucking around as long as he understands that there’s not going to be an ‘us’ in this anywhere, it might have worked. Egon understands straightforward expectations. And he can abide by them. He follows rules really fucking well.
As long as he knows the rules up front.
But I never told him about this game I’m playing. And now I’m going to fucking hurt him. Not yet. Not for another month and a half or so. But I’m going to. I don’t have what he needs. I can’t give him that.
Not only because I don’t want the same thing, but because I don’t know how.
He drags his tongue up my chest and neck, causing my hips to come off the couch to press into him. He moans. I love that he’s so vocal. His mouth covers mine, but his kiss is tentative. Telling me he wants to make out but wants me to take the reins. I do, kissing him with filthy licks and all the possession in me.
