Chapter Seventeen #2
He spun around and spotted Vincent at the top of the stairs, dressed in sweats, his hair tousled.
“Did you just wake up?” he asked, grinning as he hopped up the stairs.
He balanced against the banister as he leaned up for a kiss, only a little surprised when Vincent granted him one that tasted like toothpaste.
“I fell asleep.”
“Bad sign when cooking tires you out,” he said, his laugh turning into a moan when Vincent groped him in response. “How long until dinner’s done?” he asked, hoping they had time for a quickie at least.
“It’s done. It’s keeping warm in the oven,” Vincent replied, slipping his hands under Jasper’s shirt.
He moaned and stepped onto the landing. “So we can work up an appetite first?”
Vincent’s lips twitched as he nudged Jasper into the bedroom. “Mm,” he said, backing Jasper into the dresser with a few kisses against his neck.
A surprised yelp escaped him when Vincent grabbed the backs of his thighs and lifted him onto the dresser.
Mmm. Good height. He grinned and buried both hands in Vincent’s hair, mussing it even further.
He leaned in for another kiss, only to pull back in confusion when Vincent didn’t return it.
He started to ask what was wrong, but the expression on Vincent’s face made the words die in his throat.
That wasn’t a “ready for sexy times” expression.
Usually that kind of look preceded some sort of serious conversation that tended to end with everything blowing up in his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said, panic fluttering in his chest. Fuck.
No way was he getting dumped now after the shitfest of a week he’d already gone through.
Vincent pulled back, brow somehow furrowing even further. “For what?”
Jasper shrugged. “Whatever I did that pissed you off.”
“You didn—” Vincent started, but he stopped and let out a slow breath.
He shook his head, his fingers flexing against Jasper’s hips as he took another breath.
Then he reached back and pulled off his T-shirt, hesitating once it was over his head, before pulling it off completely and tossing it onto the dresser.
It took Jasper a moment to clue in enough to realize what it meant that Vincent was standing shirtless in front of him.
His eyes dropped to Vincent’s chest and the elaborate scarring there with a soft, “Oh shit.” He vividly remembered the feel of those scars, rough and too smooth by turns, and he knew how gnarly burn scars could be, but seeing them with his own eyes was different.
He followed the angry red pattern of thick spiderwebbing with his eyes, medical curiosity distracting him for the moment.
He tilted his head when he spotted a faint curved scar near Vincent’s ribs.
He slid his hand down and lightly traced a fingertip over it.
“Skin graft?” he asked, glancing up when Vincent let out a shaky breath.
“Yeah.”
“They did a pretty good job.” He wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t known what one looked like.
More noticeable was the tension practically thrumming through Vincent’s entire body.
It wasn’t anger at least, but it still didn’t bode well, and not only because it meant little chance of getting lucky.
He considered ignoring it and trying to seduce Vincent again, but that felt like a dick move.
Even if they weren’t in any kind of relationship, this was still something he couldn’t simply shrug off.
With a sigh, he slid his palms up Vincent’s chest, winding his arms around his shoulders again. “Are you okay?”
Vincent gave a neutral “Mm,” in response, eyes fixed on Jasper’s chest, but he didn’t pull away.
He leaned back, brushing a thumb against the faint shadow beneath Vincent’s eye. “Have you not been sleeping?”
“I’m fine,” Vincent replied, finally moving enough to flick Jasper’s fingers away.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say If you were fine, you’d be fucking me right now, but he bit the words back. He dropped his hands and braced them on the edge of the dresser, clamping his mouth shut against the hurt until it flared into irritation instead.
“Liar,” he muttered, bracing himself when Vincent tensed.
Panic slammed through his chest again, but he breathed through it, tightening his grip on the dresser to keep from running for the door.
He was far too close to Vincent for that anyway, and his instincts knew it.
Better to stay as still as possible and try to keep his mouth shut.
Confronting someone rarely turned out well for him, but he was getting better at it since moving in with Amber. It helped not being near his sperm donor anymore.
“They don’t bother me,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to Vincent’s scars again, “if that’s what’s got you so on edge.” Why Vincent even bothered to show him was a mystery. Not like seeing them changed their contract.
Vincent shifted back half a step and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I could have handled that better.”
Jasper shrugged, not about to deny that. He’d already reached his limit by calling Vincent out.
“Sorry,” Vincent said, resting his hands on Jasper’s knees. “I had to know if it was going to be a problem.”
Why would it be a problem? Jasper kept his mouth shut since he didn’t know what the fuck he should say to that.
He was pretty sure the offer to work up an appetite was off the table now, but this also didn’t feel like something that should be a concern.
They weren’t dating, and their contract only had a few more weeks.
He straightened a bit as that really sank in. He didn’t have much to lose at this point. “Make you a deal. I won’t let the scars bother me if you don’t let my clinginess bother you.”
Vincent’s lips tugged into a frown. “You haven’t been clingy.”
Jasper snorted softly and shrugged. Maybe not yet. But he would be, especially knowing this was going to end soon either way. That was inevitable when he liked someone. “Deal?”
Vincent studied him a moment, a bit of the tension easing out of his body as he nodded. He glanced down when Jasper offered his hand, lips twitching in amusement, but he took it in a warm grasp and shook.
That settled, Jasper slipped his arms around Vincent’s shoulders and leaned in.
“Good. Now feed me.” He gave in to the impulse to kiss Vincent’s nose, then hopped off the dresser.
He glanced back as he reached the door and couldn’t read Vincent’s new expression to save his life, so he winked and hurried downstairs.
VINCENT TOOK a moment to breathe once Jasper left the room, leaning all his weight against the dresser with his head hanging between his shoulders.
He wasn’t certain if he’d completely fucked everything up or only gotten close.
He hadn’t even meant to pull his shirt off.
Last night he’d finally decided to wait until the last week of the contract to bring his scars up again, but… he couldn’t wait that long.
He was already getting far too attached, and if Jasper had looked at his scars with even a hint of disgust, he would have had to spend the last few weeks of their contract distancing himself. Waiting even a few more weeks for his answer wasn’t worth the prolonged stress or potential heartache.
Except now he needed a plan to figure out Jasper’s reactions, because even sleep-deprived and stuck in his own head, he was intimately familiar with a response of panic.
That and the way Jasper froze when he’d asked for a belt made him wary.
And then the way Jasper spoke on the phone the other night, like he was aching for contact yet refused Vincent’s offer to come over.
Was that what he’d meant by being clingy? Was Jasper holding himself back, afraid of asking for too much? Even if Vincent could understand the sentiment, it still didn’t sit well with him.
He dragged his fingers through his hair and pulled his shirt back on, then headed downstairs for damage control.
Jasper had already pulled the lasagna from the oven and filled two plates.
Vincent caught up with him as Jasper was grabbing forks from the drawer and hooked an arm around Jasper from behind.
He pressed his lips against Jasper’s neck with a quiet, “Thank you, pet,” and meant for more than getting the table set.
Relief flooded him when, after a few moments of silence, Jasper relaxed into his chest. He took the offered fork, using his other hand to turn Jasper enough for a proper kiss—slow and thorough, like he should have done from the beginning.
It took longer than he liked for Jasper to relax with a soft, sweet sound of surrender.
“Every day,” Jasper murmured against Vincent’s lips.
“Hmm?”
Jasper’s fingers twitched where they’d latched on to the front of Vincent’s shirt. “Contract. Sex every day.”
He pulled back with a soft laugh. “What happened to once a week?”
“Not enough.”
“Hmm. I suppose I’m open to negotiation,” Vincent said, pressing a light, quick kiss to Jasper’s forehead before moving to the table.
He wasn’t willing to agree to an every-day clause—not only was it impractical, he didn’t want sex becoming a chore.
Jasper wanted more than a once-a-week guarantee, which was fine.
By the time they finished eating, they’d agreed not to part ways without being satisfied, barring emergencies or unexpected situations.
Once the dishes were cleared and the leftovers put away, he nudged Jasper back upstairs to the bedroom, where he took his time unbuttoning Jasper’s shirt, brushing his fingers against every inch of exposed skin.
Jasper shivered, clutching Vincent’s hips. “Should undress me more often, Sir.”