Getting It Twisted (Unforgivable Needs #1)

6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Daniel

The final piece of the puzzle clicks into place: This is what it’s like to hang out with Nathan.

His arrogance? His unrivaled knack of pissing me off? That’s just the start of it. His magnetism for trouble follows soon after, and while it used to excite me as a teen, it now rubs me the wrong way.

We used to get into these kinds of situations all the time, with varying degrees of danger and lawlessness. It sort of comes with the price of being Nathan’s friend, for better or for worse. I’ve had years now of trying to walk the straight and narrow. Years of trying to make something honest of my life.

And the worst of it? He’s right; I did like it. It’s been a long time since I felt as alive as I did just then.

I clench my hands around the steering wheel and take a sharp turn onto the main road. I see Nathan staring after me in the rearview mirror, and the sight hits me with an odd sense of guilt.

He doesn’t deserve my sympathy. There’s something dark and twisted in him that he hasn’t matured out of. I cannot fucking believe the way he acted. You don’t fuck around with tweakers like Joshua; you just don’t. He could’ve had a knife on him, or a gun, and he sure didn’t look like he’d hesitate to use it. But of course, Nathan has never cared what danger he puts himself in. Or the danger he puts me in.

Why did I take him to dinner to begin with? I shouldn’t care if he lives on canned food, cigarettes, and coffee, or if he fucking starves. And I shouldn’t care if he has to walk by the side of the road for an hour to get into town.

I shouldn’t care about his well-being at all, and he clearly doesn’t care about mine.

Right now, all I want is to get home, fall into bed, and forget this day ever happened. Forget how mine and Nathan’s lives are now entangled in ways I didn’t plan for, and under more dangerous circumstances. I’m an accomplice now, damn it. Joshua knows me. If Nathan leaves town before paying that debt, Joshua will come to me to collect it.

The clock is nearing eleven when I get home. I pass the living room, where George and April are huddled up watching TV.

“Late day at work?” George asks over his shoulder.

“I wasn’t at work; I was with Nathan.” I’ll have to tell them sometime, anyway. Might as well be tonight.

“ With him?” George stands up, rounds the couch, and leans on the backrest with his arms crossed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We had . . . dinner.” Since I don’t want him to completely go off on me, I neglect to mention the skirmish with Joshua. This is going to be bad enough as it is.

George blinks, and his face twists in disbelief and anger. “Excuse me? I thought you were supposed to stay away from that guy!”

“Yeah, but you know how he is. He’ll never get his mom’s house in order unless he has someone to kick him in the ass.”

“So now you’re helping him? Daniel, what the fuck?”

“I told you. I’m not doing it out of the goodness of my fucking heart, I’m just helping him with the house so he’ll get the hell out of here.”

“And taking him to dinner!”

I open my mouth to argue, but this day has been too goddamn exhausting already, so instead I say, “Look, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Depends. Is it a favor for you or a favor for him?”

“The cops have the key to his house. Could you talk to Wayne and get it for me?”

“Get it for him , you mean.” George lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Don’t you remember how fucking crushed you were last time he got out of dodge?”

“This won’t be like last time.”

“So you say.”

“I want him gone, same as you.”

“Is that right? Is that really why you’re doing this?”

“Why else would I be doing it?”

George looks at me for a long while, pulls his lips between his teeth, and nods. “Fine. I’ll have it done tomorrow.”

Thank God. Although I don’t share the same aversion to my uncle as Nathan does, I’d rather avoid him if I can help it. “Thanks. You can leave it on the counter; I’ll bring it to him.”

“Why run around doing his errands? He can come get it himself.”

April pipes up from the couch. “He can come to the party on Friday.”

“He can come,” George says, voice tight, “but not to the party.”

“Don’t be rude, honey. He’s Daniel’s friend; of course he can come to the party.”

“Really,” I say, “it’s not needed. And he’s not my friend.”

“Yeah, honey,” George tells April, “you don’t know what he’s like. You don’t want him at our party.”

“If Daniel likes him, I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

“I don’t . . . like him.”

George rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you tell yourself that.”

When he left town, Nathan abandoned me as well as his phone number. I should’ve asked him for his new one, but then again, he used to be notorious for never answering texts and calls. And since I’ve already scoured the web for his social media a hundred times in the past few years and come up empty, my only option is to drive out to his house.

In the car, I think of the way he gazed after me in that parking lot after our dinner. Now that my anger has had a few days to cool off, guilt takes its place. But why should I feel sorry for him? He’s made it quite clear that the only thing he wants with me is to fuck me. Those sad puppy eyes were simply a result of him watching his chances for a hookup slip away.

And yet, days later, I cannot stop thinking about him, alone in that house full of ghosts.

For old times’ sake, I allow myself to ponder. Is he eating all right? How is he doing—truly? How is he coping with his mother’s death? The nature of their relationship aside, her passing has to affect him on some plane.

I park on the patch of grass behind his red-and-black Ford Mustang. He’s home, then. Not at Moe’s or anywhere else he can go looking for trouble. The thought of him giving himself away to sleazy old men twice his age makes me want to punch something.

I settle for slamming the car door shut and pushing my hands into my pockets as I walk up the overgrown path toward the house. Now that I see it in daylight, the yard is a total dump, littered with a random assortment of furniture, junk, broken glass, and what I suppose is Theresa’s run-down wreck of a car. Nathan and I will have to clear it all up before we consider having a realtor over.

The closer I get to the house, the creeping unease from last time closes in as well. I round the corner and climb up to the window. Before I heave myself inside, I call Nathan’s name, but he doesn’t reply. In fact, the whole house is eerily quiet, with no sign of any living creature.

“Nate?” I look into the two bedrooms—first Nathan’s old boy’s room to the right, and then into what I assume used to be his mom’s bedroom. Opposite the double bed is a huge ancient-looking cabinet. A sliver of sunlight shines in from a dirty window, and dust motes dance in the air.

I turn to the kitchen, and there he is, back turned, cross-legged on the floor with his hands in his lap as if he’s meditating. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize where he’s sitting.

The darkened patch of wood.

I think that’s the spot , he said.

“What are you doing?” My unease grows when he gives no sign of attention. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.

What’s going on with him? Is he angry with me? Is that it? Is this some sort of passive-aggressive way of showing it, similar to that childish mood he used to embody when things weren’t going his way? Like when I didn’t cancel my plans with George last second just because Nathan came around. Or like when he wanted us to get deeper into the drug trade, and I declined. His familiar pouting would turn to a blank-faced, sullen, deep- seated anger. He never stayed angry with me for long though. All it took was for me to show up with my bike and offer him a cigarette, and we’d be friends again.

I flick the light switch to my right. The lone bulb in the ceiling flickers and comes to life. “Finally bothered to pay the bill, huh?” When he still doesn’t reply, I walk over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Nathan.”

He turns his head. “What do you want?” He looks pale and hollow-eyed, as if he hasn’t slept for days, and his voice sounds raspy from disuse.

Don’t tell me he’s been like this ever since we parted, several days ago? The possibility makes my throat tight.

“George talked to the officers. He got you the key to the house.”

“Fine. Give it here.”

“I don’t have it. You’ll get it during the party tomorrow.”

“What party?”

“At our house.”

“Why would I want to go to a party with George?”

“Because he won’t give you the key unless you come. I’ll be there too.”

“Whatever,” he mutters and turns back around.

It feels awkward to stand here in the doorway with him barely paying me any attention. Usually, he gives me too much attention.

“We should talk about Joshua too,” I say.

“What about him?”

The bored tone of his voice doesn’t make me as angry as it should. He obviously doesn’t regret putting me in danger. He’s still concerned with only himself and his own needs. Always has been, always will be. I wait for the urge to cuss him out, to argue, but for whatever reason, it never comes.

“Do you even have four grand?” I ask instead.

“Maybe. But not four grand I want to spend on him.”

“If money’s an issue for you, then . . . I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t need to pay for anything. I told you; I’ll handle it.”

I’m not entirely sure what I’ll handle it means. With Nathan in the picture, nothing is certain except for his unpredictable, chaos-prone nature. That particular piece of the puzzle clicks neatly into place, as do his mannerisms: the way he walks, the way he talks. His sharp wit, his impatience. But there are slight differences too: the circles under his eyes, and the deep, weary darkness that seems to descend over him like a menacing storm.

Again, I can’t help but wonder what happened during the years he was on the road. Nothing good is what he told me. Finding him like this—sitting on the very spot where his mother died—makes it all the more obvious. I just have to say it.

“I don’t think you should be staying here.”

“Where else would I go?” His voice is hard, meeting mine with steely deflection.

“How about the motel?”

He scoffs. “That rat trap? I’d rather spend my cash on other shit.”

“Like what—booze and whores?”

“Booze, sure, but I haven’t ever had to pay anyone to fuck me. It’s been the other way around though.”

“Is that how you made your money on the road? By selling yourself to dirty old men?”

“Maybe. You want a demonstration?” He gets up from the floor and saunters toward me.

“A demonstration of what?” I’m not stupid; this is yet another of his attempts to get me into bed, and his need to distract himself from whatever’s plaguing him.

“I think you know.”

“I think you should come to the party. And try to behave, all right? George isn’t thrilled with you being back in town.”

“He’s not? I bet he’d be thrilled to return the favor.” Nathan grins and grips the bridge of his nose. His smile falls as quickly as it came, and his voice goes low and dark. “You think I don’t know what this is?”

“It’s nothing but a party. A party where you’ll get your key.”

His suspicious glare doesn’t budge. He’s unpredictable when he’s in this mood. My best bet is to play it casual and get into the subject of partying, alcohol, and drugs. And sex. Sex always gets his attention.

“It’s not all business, you know. Might be fun too.”

The reaction is immediate: His impassive mask melts off, and his mouth tilts in a sly, suggestive smirk.

“Oh really? More fun than the time I got spit roasted by two guys in the back of a van?”

This time, I can’t help it. My imagination takes off at full throttle, and I picture Nathan sucking cock and getting pounded from behind in some cramped, filthy van. In my mind, he’s fully in his element, enjoying it to the max. But something tells me it wasn’t as much fun for him as he claimed. I have my fair share of self-destructive tendencies, but Nathan takes the prize by a long shot.

I clear my throat and will the images away. “So you’re coming?”

“I guess.”

“What about George?”

“As long as he doesn’t come between you and me, he’s got nothing to fear.”

“There’s nothing for him to come between. Not anymore.” My voice is hard, laced with five years’ worth of sorrow and disappointment. “Everything we had, you ruined. You have to understand that.”

Nathan blinks, and . . . What’s that? A crease of his brow, and a flicker of pain he’s unable to hide.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry, okay?” His dark locks fall into his face as he hangs his head. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”

“Are you?” I can’t help but bait him a little, but the significance of what he just said isn’t lost on me. Nathan doesn’t apologize. Not to anyone. Not with words anyway.

“Yes, fuck . . . Please believe me.”

I’ve waited five years to hear those words, and yet is it enough? In his absence, the depression that always lurked in the back of my mind surged past the surface. It wasn’t entirely his fault, to be fair. He did act like an asshole, but he couldn’t have known the effect him leaving would have on me. And it probably wasn’t his intention to hurt me that bad.

I can’t know for sure though. Goddamn it, why do I keep defending him?

“Just come to the party. And remember to behave, okay?”

His mouth quirks up, and some of his regular old self comes back out to play, eyes glittering under his lashes. “When do I ever not behave?”

Once again, I’m far drunker than I meant to be. When George drinks, he expects everyone else to guzzle as many shots as he does, which is inconvenient tonight, since I planned to keep a sharp mind to handle whatever’s about to go down.

I have a hard enough time handling Nathan on his own. Handling him in close proximity to George? A whole other ball game.

Not that I should care if they rile each other up, but I’d rather avoid a fistfight at least. I also have to reassure George that I don’t care about Nathan, which to my ire has become harder and harder to prove even to myself.

The street illuminates with a new set of headlights. Finally.

I stumble past the crowd and onto the patio in time to see Nathan sauntering up the yard. He’s dressed in a black crop top under a fishnet long sleeve that barely covers his taut pale stomach. As the wind turns, I get a whiff of his scent. He still uses the same perfume as back when he was eighteen, and it’s crazy how vividly that smell takes me back and how it never fails to catch me off guard.

His scent melds with the same inexplicable pull that steals the breath from my lungs and renders me unable to look away from him.

It’s a compulsion. It’s a need—deep and dark and vacant of logic.

It’s telling me I want him, that I need him like air.

And I fear it’s right.

I hate him, yet I want him so bad I could choke.

“Couldn’t wait five seconds to see me?” he drawls as he walks past me up the patio stairs.

My eyes come level with the curve of his ass, perfectly accentuated in his skintight leather pants. He really has a spectacular ass. Round, plump, and with just the right amount of muscle for his otherwise lithe frame, it tapers to narrow hips and a slim waist.

Being annoying is his trademark, but why does he have to be so damn hot too?

I rub a hand over my heated face, ignoring the twitch of my cock in my pants. “Let’s just get inside.”

As we enter the hallway, April gasps at the sight of us.

“Is this him? My god, he is gorgeous !”

Nathan bends over in a bow, real old-timey, with one arm folded at his side and the other grasping April’s wrist. “At your service,” he says, planting a kiss to the back of her hand.

She giggles. “No wonder Daniel’s so hung up on you.”

“Don’t flatter his ego,” George says. “He doesn’t need it.”

At first, Nathan is blank-faced and quiet, as if he’s going to let the comment slide. Then his face twists into an expression I’ve seen many times before.

“Oh. It’s you .” His tone is bored, but the underline of spiteful rage is impossible to miss.

“Told you this was a bad idea,” I hiss into George’s ear. “Give me the key, and we’ll get out of here.”

“We?” George huffs. “Does he need help to unlock his door too?”

“You know what, George?” Nathan points to the bump on his nose bridge. “I think you look better like this. Makes you look a little more world-weary and less like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

“What did you just say?” George growls, the vein in his temple bulging ominously.

I grab hold of his shoulder and lead him into the living room. “Hey, how about another drink?”

“. . . and after that, it’s on to case studies; custody battles, divorce settlements . . .”

George’s words enter one ear and exit the other. All I can think about is how Nathan sits next to me on the couch with his arm slung casually over the backrest. He’s barely touching me, yet his skin is like a furnace, sending heat all over my body.

How did I end up cozying up to him on the couch? Fuck it, I’m too drunk to care.

“Property law almost killed me, but this?” George shakes his head.

Nathan grabs a handful of potato chips and stuffs them into his mouth. “Sounds mad boring, bro.”

George shoots him a glare. “It’s called getting an education, bro . Not that you’d know anything about it. What’s your GPA again?”

“Not everyone wants to be a good little schoolboy like you.”

Oh great, here we go. I take another sip of my beer and try to let their words fly over my head.

“So, Nathan,” George says. “How are you financing your lifestyle out there in that hut? If you’re staying for a while, are you gonna get a job or something?”

Nathan shrugs. “Don’t need to. I’ve got some savings.”

“Of course. ’Cause you wouldn’t work a day in your life if you didn’t absolutely have to.”

“Doesn’t that apply to most people?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

George turns his glare on me. “I guess you and him are two sides of the same coin.”

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Just because George has more ambition than most people doesn’t mean I’m without. I’ve got . . . plans. Can’t really remember which ones at the moment, but that’s just because Nathan has his hand on my knee, drawing little circles with his fingertips. Every little touch sends sparks of heat down my spine.

One time at a party like this, Nathan plopped himself into my lap and shotgunned smoke into my mouth. The memory is so intense, and so unbearably sexy, that I have to close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. My mind might have tried to forget, but my body remembers.

“Yeah, Georgie, what’d you mean by that?” Nathan asks.

George waves a hand. “Just look at the situations you two used to get into.”

“What kind of situations?” April asks.

“There’s the time he slipped you LSD at a party.”

I roll my eyes. “He didn’t slip me LSD; he offered it to me, and I took it.”

“Then there’s the time he almost got you shot.”

“Oh, please, that was an accident.”

Nathan turns to me, eyebrow quirked. “You’ve really been spilling the beans, Daniel.”

“You were gone,” I mutter. “I didn’t know you’d be coming back. And I . . .” I needed to vent to someone. I needed some way of handling you being gone.

“Yeah.” George slurps up the last of his beer and crushes the can. “I’ve been there for him. Unlike you.”

“Well, you’re a shitty replacement,” Nathan says.

“What?” George growls.

I groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“You heard me,” Nathan says. “You’re stressing Daniel out with all your stuck-up bullshit.”

“ I’m stressing him out? He was doing fine before you got here.”

“Fine? He was miserable without me.”

George shoots up from his seat, and Nathan follows. They glare at each other, fists clenched at their sides. George must be at least four inches taller and forty pounds heavier, yet Nathan meets his furious gaze without fear, a smirk at the corner of his mouth, as if he’s just looking for an excuse, as if he wants to be hit . . .

Nope. Not on my watch.

I push myself between them and get Nathan behind my back.

“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head at George, who looks like he would have gladly beaten Nathan to hell and back if I hadn’t intervened. He scowls at me as if I’m the one who insulted him, as if I’m the one who goaded him into this.

“You wanted to say something, Georgie?” Nathan pipes up behind my shoulder, voice sugar sweet yet dripping with vitriol.

The other guests have stopped their conversations to stare at us. Even April seems at a loss for words. Not good. I need to put an end to this, but what my drunken mind summons creates a whole different problem.

“Hey, Nate,” I say, jerking my head toward the stairs. “You wanna see my room?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” With a smug smile sent George’s way, Nathan rounds us both and walks upstairs.

Before following him, I give George a half-apologetic shrug. He remains seething where he stands, hands balled into fists.

So much for an uneventful reunion. If this is how Nathan and George act when they’re around other people, I dread seeing how they’ll act alone.

Nathan closes the door behind us and locks it, then saunters into my room as if he owns the place. I, on the other hand, remain by the door, arms crossed.

“Living in luxury, I see,” Nathan says, nodding to my modest furniture that consists of little more than a bed, a desk strewn with sketching supplies, and a messy clothing rack. “This is a far cry from that mansion you grew up in. What would Daddy Dearest say about his son living in squalor?”

Calling my suburban childhood home a mansion is laying it on thick, but I suppose our four bedrooms, two baths, and well-maintained lawn might have seemed mansion-esque to someone like Nathan, who’d have been lucky to get three meals a day and clean clothes on his back as a kid.

“Shut up. It’s miles better than your crib, anyway.”

Nathan snorts. “Anything’s better than that place.”

“So why do you insist on living there?”

He bites the inside of his cheek and tilts back and forth on his heels as if he’s mulling the question over. But then he just shrugs, eliciting a frustrated groan out of me.

I still haven’t stopped thinking about him on the kitchen floor. His impassive, broody expression. The darkness that seemed to hover over his very being, pulsing with the faint draws of his breath and the slump of his shoulders.

What’s truly happening inside him, he’ll never tell. Not to me. Not to anyone. I should forget about it, move it aside for now, and instead bring up the very real, very recent clash with George.

“What did I say the other day?” I ask. “About behaving?”

Nathan pouts. “You say it as if it’s my fault.”

“You started it. You always start it.” Not entirely true, but it’s true enough.

“Oh, come on,” he says with a smirk. “You love it when we fight over you.”

“That’s what you think?”

“That’s what I know .”

Fine. Let him live in his delusional little world where I’m still as obsessed with him as I used to be, and where I would walk through fire to keep him safe, even from George.

Those times are long gone. Sooner or later, he needs to learn that.

“You interrupted us, didn’t you?” he points out.

Yeah, and why did I do that? Bad habits die hard, I suppose. Nathan inspires a unique blend of violence, fiery attraction, and protectiveness in me, and damn it if that blend doesn’t taste good. It’s sweet on my tongue but bitter going down my throat, especially now with the buzz of alcohol in my veins.

“At least I didn’t break his nose this time, right?” Nathan says with a smirk. “And he didn’t break mine, though he sure looked like he wanted to. You wouldn’t have let him, though, would you?”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“I bet you can take him down, easy.”

“Well, I do usually win when we’re sparring . . .” Why did I even tell him that? Fucking tequila.

He gives me a slow once-over. His gaze feels like a tangible thing, licking me from head to toe. “I bet.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Why? You didn’t say anything about flirting. Flirting’s harmless.”

“Well, it annoys me, so quit it.”

“Maybe I want to annoy you.”

“Not if you don’t want my fist in your face.”

“Nah.” He smirks, something feral in his gaze. “I’d rather have your fist somewhere else.”

I huff out a laugh. “Jesus.” I gave him that one too easily.

He turns around, off to find another way to annoy me, no doubt. My suspicion is confirmed when he grabs something at my bedside table and holds it up. “Ooh, what’s this?”

Shit. The Polaroids I found at my mom’s place. I should’ve put them away when I had the chance.

“Took a trip down memory lane?” He shows me a photo where we must have been around sixteen. His hair is dyed a gaudy orange, and he’s got his arms around me, face screwed up in an exaggerated grimace for the camera.

The next one is of me smoking a blunt, a dazed expression on my face and my long dirty-blond hair strewn across my shoulders. Another is a candid of him in the middle of a party. His face is turned in profile, and he’s talking to someone out of frame, eyes lit up with excitement. He’s so damn photogenic. Stands out in a crowd. I must have asked him a dozen times to let me draw him, but after several attempts in which he could never sit still, I gave up.

“Jeez, was my acne really that bad?” One by one, he throws the pictures on the floor once he’s looked at them. He stops at my drawing of us on the hill overlooking the city. “Mumphrey Hill, huh?” He hums, a smile on his lips.

“Give them here.” I grab for him, but he laughs and dodges out of my reach. I get hold of one of his wrists, then the other. We struggle for the upper hand over the photos, and somewhere in the commotion, we lose balance and end up on the bed—me on top, our bodies pressed flush against each other.

I pin his wrists above his head. He stops laughing and looks up at me through his bangs. I start to heave myself off him, but he gives a frustrated whine of no and squirms underneath me. Arching his back, he aligns our crotches so I can feel his hard-on through his skintight pants.

That’s it. I press him back on the bed, pinning him down with my body.

“You want this so badly? Fine. You’re getting it.”

I kiss him, hard and ruthlessly on the mouth. He freezes for half a second, then he groans and kisses me back. He ruts against me, narrow hips pushing hard against mine. With one hand, I keep a grip on his wrists as I unbuckle his studded belt with the other. I make quick work of his zipper, spit in my palm, slide it down his taut stomach, and wrap my hand around his cock. It’s rock-hard and silky-smooth, leaking precum from the tip.

“I want to touch you,” he gasps. “Want to suck you off.”

“Too bad.”

I’m the one in control. I’ll get him off because I want to get him off, not because he’s tempted me to.

I pinch the head of his cock, and he gives a muffled groan as I kiss him again. I pump my wrist, only bothering to pull his pants down enough to get his length in my hand. While he’s not small, he’s smaller than me.

“But . . .” He gasps against my mouth, writhing in my grip.

“Hold still.”

To my surprise, he stops struggling immediately, and I start jerking him off in earnest. I pump his cock with no particular finesse, only a mechanic quick fix, just to get him off my back and stop him from constantly alluding to sex. I slot my mouth over his and lick into his hot, wet mouth.

He whimpers and sucks on my tongue, cock twitching in my hand. “Daniel, I . . .” He licks his lips and swallows against his undoubtedly dry throat.

“You’re gonna come? Already?”

“Hngh . . . Tighter,” he groans.

I’m already squeezing him hard enough to hurt, but I do as he says and tighten my grip—on both his wrists and his cock. I jerk him hard, quick, and demanding. He goes rigid, back arching, and a few seconds later, he shoots his release all over my fingers and his slutty shirt.

“Oh fuck . . . oh fuck . . .” He races to catch his breath, the whites of his eyes wild and wanting. “Fuck me. Please.”

He looks the same as he did at the grad party: hazy, unfocused. He begged me then too. And I did it; I fucked him face-to-face, and when I came, I whispered “I love you” into his mouth.

If I fuck him, I give him a power over me he hasn’t deserved.

If I fuck him, I might start to care about him again, like I once did.

And that’s dangerous.

“I don’t think so,” I say, pulling away from him. “We should get back.”

“What?” he coughs out. “Come on, Daniel, don’t leave me blue-balled here.”

I raise an eyebrow at his cum-stained shirt. “Have you looked at yourself?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t even fuck me yet.”

“I made you come. You should be grateful.”

He glares at me. “Grateful?”

“Yes. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“You know this isn’t what I wanted!”

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss.

“Why, you scared George will hear us?”

“Go wash your shirt.”

“Fuck you, Daniel.”

“No, thanks. And I won’t fuck you either.”

His jaw drops, and he goes quiet.

I did it. I got the last word. It feels good to win the conversation for once, but not as good as I thought it would.

Nathan gets off the bed and pulls his pants up. Before he leaves, he shoots me a glare so dark and murderous that, if I were anyone else, I’d be worried he really wanted to kill me.

I turn onto my back and slip my fingers into my mouth, groaning at the taste. How can even his cum taste so good? I shove my hand into my pants and grip my neglected cock. I’ve been rock-hard ever since we landed on the bed, and all it takes is a few pumps. When I come, I think of him as he was just now, helpless and splayed out and panting into my mouth.