Page 35 of Shiver
Fuck, I’m pulling him toward me. At the last minute, I shift my head so I can bring his face to my shoulder. I tangle my hand in his hair, my other arm still wrapped around him, and hug him to me. This time, I’m not sure why I’m doing it.
His hands flex on my stomach again. They release my shirt to splay across my abs. His fingers trace my muscles and then he’s wrapping his arms around me, pressing close. Bodies flush together. He hugs me tightly.
So tightly. And I realize he still needs the hug. But I’m not sure if he even knows why. I grip him as hard as I can, letting him know I’m right here without speaking. His fingers dig into me, and his breathing is labored once more. I don’t know why he’s upset. It could be a delayed reaction from figuring out Temca was cheating on him. Whatever the reason is, I don’t let go. I return his embrace as hard as he gives it.
We remain like that for a long time. It’s not until his stomach gives a very loud, protesting growl that he pulls away, laughing.
“Fuck, I forgot how hungry I was,” he says, taking several steps back. Then he moves forward again and pauses. His cheeks flush.
Unable to stop myself, I touch his cheek again. Egon’s eyes close and he takes a breath. “Everything okay?” I ask. And I fucking realize I’m going to be upset if he says no. If we’re not okay.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice only a breath. “Part of me thinks I’m stupid and I should have known. But how the fuck should I have? And why does it matter?”
My urge is to pull him to me again, but I somehow refrain and pull my hand away. He leans forward, following my touch, but I turn and head for the kitchen. Touching is fine, but this is a boundary so far crossed that I can’t even see the goddamn line right now.
“I have pizza or…” I open the freezer and check the contents. Pulling out a bag of single pan pasta and protein meal, I hold it up. “This?”
“I should order a pizza. I think I could eat three of those, and I constantly eat your food.”
His voice sounds a little unsure. Guilty, maybe. Embarrassed? Since I can’t bring myself to look at him with my fingers still tingling to hold him against me, I don’t turn around but grab the second bag. “I have two. And frozen grilled chicken.”
“Uh,” he hesitates until I turn to look at him. Embarrassed. That’s what he’s feeling.
Before I can stop the words, I say, “Come here, Egon.”
He sways before moving toward me. And for fuck’s sake, I pull him into my chest again. His arms immediately circle me. His face doesn’t fall on my shoulder but buries in my neck.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening?
The question keeps skipping through my head, even as I slide my hand up his back and tangle my fingers in his hair, urging him to touch me. I feel his lips on my skin. His hot breath. His racing heart that’s matching mine beat for beat.
Fuck’s sake!
“I like feeding you,” I tell him, setting the frozen contents on my counter and shutting the freezer door with my free hand. “I enjoy taking care of you. And I really like that you let me.”
“I need you,” he whispers so damn quietly that I have to question whether I hear his words.
Swallowing, I turn my body so we’re flush again and close my eyes so I can hold him properly. As if I can’t stop my mouth, my next words are, “I’m here, Egon. Right here. Just let me take care of you.”
What’s wrong with me?! Why can’t I stop talking?
The sound he makes nearly breaks something in me and I have to squeeze my eyes shut. Fuuuuck, I’m in trouble. I’m in so much fucking trouble and I don’t know how to get out of it. Especially since I keep digging this hole deeper.
I haven’t stopped assuring him that I’m going to keep him. My mouth won’t stop, no matter how hard I try to shut it.
THIRTEEN
RAKESH
I don’t knowwhat I’m doing. Panic is rapidly rising in me as I listen to Egon reading his health psychology text out loud while I cook the frozen dinner. He pauses, then backtracks and repeats what he read slower. I hear a humph before he carries on.
The familiar habit makes me smile to myself. It’s only a momentary distraction from the panic, though. I really, really,reallyneed to put more space between us. Somehow, as I dish the noodle and vegetable meal into two bowls, giving Egon 30% more than what’s in mine and then chopping the grilled chicken and placing most of it on Egon’s plate.
When I set it in front of him, Egon grins up at me, and the panic in me must be shining in my eyes at this point. I manage to sit in my seat perpendicular to him, thankful when he drops his attention to his food.
Damn hockey players and their metabolism. He’s through half the plate when he slows. “This is good,” he says quietly.
“I can’t take credit. It came in a bag.”
