Page 41 of Wicked Truths

Fuck, maybe I am drunker than I thought.

“Because she doesn’t have a dick?” If he’s gay then I guess that makes sense. Bodies have never given me an ounce of pause, but everyone’s sexuality is their own. I’m not about to scoff just because it seems trivial to me.

“Because I didn’t think I was interested in sex for the majority of my life!” He covers his face with both hands as his head shakes. “At all. No interest. Even as a teenager. I could cuddle up and watch movies, smell her scent, feel her hand run over my stomach, and I never got hard.”

“You’re asexual,” I say, suddenly understanding why he put distance between them. If he thought she might pursue a sexual relationship, that was probably outside of what he felt comfortable with.

“Apparently I’m fucking not,” he snaps. “I’ve always known she’s beautiful and that she smells nice, but the last year or so, everything isdifferent.”

“Okay, so you’re demisexual, or maybe graysexual.”

“That’s not even a thing,” he huffs.

“I can assure you that both are. Demisexual means you need an emotional connection and time to feel sexual attraction. Graysexual means you may go through periods without feeling attraction or desiring sexual contact. Or you may feel sexual attraction but have no interest in acting on it.” Sullivan glares so I continue, “Either of those are okay too. All you need to do is communicate. And I don’t mean with everyone, but there’s also a line where I think you’ve got to be real with someone who you know has feelings for you. It’s your sexuality, so yeah, you shouldn’t feel obligated to share it with anyone you don’t feel comfortable with. But if you know she’s in love with you, then rather than making her question herself…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I think you could have saved the both of you a whole lot of hurt by just talking it out, especially since you two were so close.”

Sullivan sighs.

“I mean unless you didn’t feel emotionally safe or something. Is that the case?” I tilt my head, trying to get a read on him and where his head is at.

“I don’t think it’s worth the risk of losing her completely. What do I say? I might be able to fuck you for a while, but considering I’ve never felt sexual desire before, I can’t guarantee it’ll be a forever thing?” He glares like he’s trying to melt the skin from my bones.

“Nah, I probably wouldn’t put it like that, but I’m fairly sure there’s a whole lot of gray area you’re refusing to acknowledge. If you said that to me it would likely hurt my feelings, and I don’t even really like you.” I shrug unapologetically.

“She’s an o—” Sullivan grimaces. “She’s a woman, who I’m pretty sure is going to expect regular sex, and I don’t know if I can handle that.”

“Fair enough,” I acknowledge. “Then perhaps work on rebuilding your friendship. She’s clearly with Marcus.”

“I don’t think I could handle it if she didn’t look at me the same way anymore,” he says like he didn’t hear a bloody word I just said.

“Not to be a dick because I’m truly trying to be compassionate to your situation, but mate, I think you fucking off with her feelings is going to have that effect way faster than if you were just real.” My hand flies to rub my forehead. I’m too drunk for this shit. “I’m going to have a headache in the morning.”

Sullivan scoffs.

“Not because of this conversation. It’s American ale. It tastes like piss. Listen, it’s probably not even my place to get in the middle of your shit. Handle it however you want.” I push myself out of the chair. “I counseled you like one of my friends.” I sigh, shaking my head and heading off. “Or how I would have if they weren’t all dead,” I mutter under my breath. There’s not much I would have let get in the way of our friendship, but it’s irrelevant. I stagger to my tiny ass bunk and face plant on the shitty thin mattress. “Fuck, I really hate thinking about that shite.” I punch my pillow.

It doesn’t matter.

Talking about it, not talking about it, none of it will bring them back.

I fall asleep with an ache in my chest that just won’t quit.

ChapterThirteen

Oakley

What I never expected when getting intimately involved with Marcus? That while he’s a dick ninety-eight percent of the time, once it’s time to sleep, he’s like a giant tattooed cuddle monster. I’ve never slept in bed with a guy besides Sullivan, and that was never super affectionate. I mean, sometimes I’d wake up snuggled close to his chest, or with his arm thrown over my hip, but Marcus takes snuggling to an entirely different level.

I’m kind of obsessed with how tightly he holds me to him while we sleep. If I roll over to face the edge while I’m unconscious, then I’ll wake up with him wrapped around my backside. Otherwise, I usually wake up with my head on his chest and his hand plastered to my ass to keep me in place.

I’m pretty sure if I’m not careful, I’m going to get my heart broken. I don’t want to admit that I’m already halfway there. It’s the weird butterflies I get in my stomach anytime I manage to coax a smile out of him, or possibly the indulgent way he never seems to say no when it’s something important to me. Yeah, I think I’m probably screwed.

Marcus’s hand caresses from my hip up and under his T-shirt as he runs his fingers over my stomach. His skin is rough and scratchy against mine as he moves to cup my breast. His thumb flicks over my hard nipple as he grinds against my ass.

“Good morning, princess,” he growls.

“It’s about to be.” I slide a hand down to tease my clit.

“You smell so fucking sweet first thing in the morning. It makes me hate the suppressants once they kick in and mute your scent.” He scrapes his teeth over my shoulder as I bite my lip to keep from whining. My impulses are a little too fond of the idea of ditching the suppressants. “I love that you’re still dripping in my cum. Such a compliant little fuck doll.”

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