26. Robert
twenty-six
Robert
She turned around, her cheeks flushed and embarrassed, as my cum dripped down the inside of her leg.
Her eyes darted to mine briefly before dropping, her vulnerability palpable. When her eyes met mine again, I reached out and cupped her chin in my hand, jerking her head up to look at me.
“Don’t say his name ever again,” I growled, the words coming out rougher than I intended. “I hate hearing it from you.”
She blinked, her lips parting in surprise, but didn’t argue.
I reached down for my sweater and shirt on the ground, shaking out the fabric. I peeled my shirt from the pile and handed it to her to clean up with.
It felt like such a youthful thing to do, to clean up with a shirt. She brought back memories of being a young man. She made me feel young again.
Wincing, she took the shirt and wiped at her thigh with it, her movements brisk and self-conscious.
I smirked at her, the sight of her cleaning herself with my shirt sparking a possessive streak I couldn’t deny. I liked seeing her with my cum on her. I liked making her mine, if only for a moment.
She cringed and said, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I asked, my smirk deepening as I pulled my sweater over my head.
“Like I belong to you,” she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration.
“Don’t you?” I asked, tilting my head, watching her reaction carefully.
She sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging slightly as she pulled her pants back on. I tried not to show that it hurt.
Finally, I said, offhandedly, “You know, you seemed pretty happy about being mine when I was inside you.”
“You just seem so happy about marking your territory. It’s…” she groped for the word, her eyes roving. She landed on “unbecoming.”
I chuckled. “Unbecoming. What is this, a Jane Austen novel? So I like seeing you covered in my cum. Is that so wrong? I’m a man, aren’t I?”
Delia squeezed her eyes shut, and I watched her process my words. When she opened them, her tongue was prodding at her bottom teeth again. She was upset. “It’s not…I can’t promise you anything like that.”
“Why not? I can promise you everything,” I told her, frustration mounting internally.
I was sick of her fucking games. Either she wanted me, or she didn’t. I wanted her. She seemed like she wanted me only when she was bending over for me.
“Robert, as much as I care about you, this isn’t realistic,” she said, her voice softer now, like she was trying to talk herself out of something.
“Do you care about me?” I asked.
Her eyes snapped up to meet mine. “Of course, I care about you. How can you ask that?”
“So then what’s not realistic about it? All it takes is two people who want it,” my voice was firmer than I intended, but I was fighting the instinct to tell her to keep her arguments.
I wanted to run. I couldn’t. She mattered to me. I needed her to know what my intentions were. I shoved my feet into my jeans and bounced into them slightly.
“You don’t even want me to say his name! That’s not possible. Our lives are so intertwined,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the door.
I got her point. He was right outside. He was so present in our lives. It was true. I couldn’t make any requirements that dramatic. I needed to understand that he was around.
“Fine, you can say his name,” I conceded, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “But I want to keep seeing you. I like you, Delia. And I think you like me.”
She smiled a small, shy smile as she buttoned her pants. Her hands lingered on the button for a moment as if stalling. “Yeah, I like you, too.”
Grinning, I rubbed my hands up and down her arms. “So do this with me. Be with me, Delia. Try.”
“I just think that’s going to be hard without Jeremy finding out eventually. I mean, he’s your best friend. Plus, he’s your therapist, as weird as I think that is. And he’s still my practicum supervisor. I know you want to protect his feelings, but... is it really possible to keep him from finding out?”
I ran my hand through my hair, pushing my curls out of my eyes, and shook my head. “I don’t know, Delia. All I know is that I don’t want to lose you. Maybe we could just tell him.”
Her head snapped up, and her eyes went wide. “No!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with panic. “I can’t risk my place at the clinic. Please, Robert, we can’t tell him.”
“You wouldn’t be risking anything,” I said quickly, stepping closer to her. “He’s not going to hold it against you. If anything, I’d be risking my friendship. But you’d be safe. He can’t hold it against you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her brow furrowing. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to tell him. And I don’t know how to keep him from finding out. Especially if we keep doing this in such close proximity to him.”
“You’re right,” I admitted, with a heavy sigh. “We’d have to be more careful. But I want to keep seeing you, Delia. I need to keep seeing you.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes distant and unfocused as she considered my words. “Be more careful,” she repeated softly, almost like she was speaking to herself.
Finally, she looked up at me, her expression torn. “Would that be possible? I mean, we keep finding ourselves entangled in the worst possible places. Could we tamper it down?”
“I would do anything to be with you, Delia,” I said, my voice earnest. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and a feeling I couldn’t place flashed across her face.
“Are you okay? Is that okay? I mean, you feel the same way, don’t you?” I asked, my chest tightening.
“God,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I think I do.”
I exhaled, relief flooding through me. “I know it will be hard. But you don’t have that long until you graduate, do you?”
“Six months left,” she murmured, almost like she was reminding herself.
“Okay, so we’ll keep it under wraps for six months! We can do that, can’t we?” I grabbed her impulsively, pulling her into a tight hug.
She stumbled slightly, losing her balance, and I steadied her against me. “Can’t we?” I asked again, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“We can,” she said with finality, lifting her face to mine. I craned my neck to kiss her, but just as our mouths were an inch away, she said, “But what happens to your friendship at the end of those six months?”
I didn’t answer. That was something I’d have to find out. I couldn’t think about it or plan for it. I had no plan. Instead of answering, I kissed her lips, the lips that were wrapped around my cock just minutes before, the lips that had told me they cared about me and hated me, the lips that had lied to me and told me truths. Complicated lips that stole my breath when they met mine.
Lips that I would betray my best friend for.
What kind of man was I? Who was I without loyalty to a brotherhood?