Chapter 22 #2
I already knew Anthony was gorgeous thanks to living in the same house as him for the past three years and having eyes, but seeing him standing naked next to his bed with his messy hair and kiss-swollen lips feels intimate and special, and it makes him even more beautiful because I know I’m one of only a few people who get to see this side of him.
“No.” He holds out his hand and tugs me off the bed when I take it. “It was us hooking up while we’re hanging out. Now that we’ve done that, we’re going to go back to hanging out.”
“We are?” I ask stupidly.
He nods. “But first we’re going to take a shower.”
“Together?” I ask, or rather squeak.
He gives me another of those half smiles that are somehow even sexier than his smirky ones. “Yup.”
I gape at him, and he just takes my hand and leads me toward his bathroom.
“No way,” I say loudly and emphatically shake my head. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He leans back against the arm of his couch and presses his leg against mine.
“You have to be,” I insist. “There’s no way you were all born in the same year and it wasn’t planned.”
“It was a total coincidence,” he says, still grinning at my over-the-top reaction.
“You expect me to believe that your dads are all best friends, your moms are all best friends, you’re all the first kids in your families, and you were all born in the same year, but it wasn’t planned?” I give him a dubious look. “I’m calling bullshit.”
“It’s true.” He grins. “Do you want to hear something even crazier?”
“Tell me.”
“We were all born on commercial holidays.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.” He brushes a lock of damp hair back from his forehead. “My birthday is February 14th, Rath’s is July 4th, and the twins were born on October 31st.”
“That’s insane.” I shake my head in disbelief. “At least it makes it easy to remember your birthdays. But it also kinda sucks because your birthday gets overshadowed by the holiday.”
“That part isn’t as fun, but it’s not so bad now that we’re older. And the twins love being Halloween babies, so that literally becomes their entire personality for the two weeks leading up to the big day.”
Silence stretches between us, but it’s not strained or uncomfortable.
After taking a shower together, which ended up not being that quick after Anthony dropped to his knees and spent what felt like an eternity edging the fuck out of me until I came so hard I almost blacked out again.
Then it was my turn, and I took my time teasing him until he finally had enough and grabbed my head so he could fuck my throat until he came.
Then we dried off, got dressed, and spent the past while sitting on his couch together, our backs against the arms of it and our legs tangled in the middle while we talked about random stuff.
I’ve never had a friend with benefits before, not in the true sense of the term.
I’ve had casual hookups where we’d meet up and fuck, but we didn’t spend any time together outside of the bedroom, so the actual friends part was never really a thing, just the benefits.
Those arrangements also didn’t last long because I always felt empty when we were done, and it just wasn’t worth it after the novelty wore off.
It’s so much different when you add sex to an already established or budding friendship, and instead of feeling empty, I’ve never felt this settled and comfortable with someone.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask whatever you want,” he says. “And I think we’re past asking permission to ask a question, don’t you?” he adds with one of his smirky smiles.
“Sorry.” My answering smile is tight. “I just don’t want to overstep or say the wrong thing.”
“Again, I think we’re past worrying about that kind of stuff.
” His tone is light, but his expression is serious.
“Remember how I told you I don’t play games?
I say what I mean, and I mean what I say.
Just be yourself and don’t worry about all the bullshit you worry about when you’re with other people. ”
“Me, not worry?” I ask with a laugh. “Have you met me?”
“What’s your question?”
“Have you ever dated anyone?”
He shakes his head.
“Have you really been watching me for the past three years?” I ask.
He nods, and another smirk-smile tilts his lips, making my insides feel funny.
“Why?”
He studies me for a few seconds. “Because I find you interesting.”
For some dumb reason, that makes my cheeks heat with another stupid blush. It wasn’t even a compliment, not really, but I still react to it like he said something flowery or poetic.
“Interesting?” I ask, trying to sound casual so he doesn’t think I’m fishing for compliments.
He nods again. “Especially after what happened during the Hunt.”
“Had you ever done anything like that before?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
“No.”
“Were you disappointed when you found out it was me?” I ask, and I want to dive under his coffee table and hide until next year as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“Not even for a second,” he says. “In fact, knowing it was you only made you more interesting.”
“This is so messed up,” I say. “I’ve spent three years thinking about that night and wondering who it was, and it was you this whole time. You’ve known for years, but I had no clue.
“I should be pissed you hid it from me, but I’m not.
And I should be pissed that you were sending me those messages and being all flirty and making me question everything about myself while you were also being super chill IRL and helping me through my breakup and being a better friend to me than literally everyone else I know.
” I shake my head as the words just keep tumbling out of me.
“So you lied to me when you were being my friend, and you lied when you were being Mr. X, and I fucking hate liars, but I’m not mad about any of it. ”
“And what do you want to do about it?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do you want now that you know the truth?” he repeats.
“Like in life?” I ask stupidly.
He smiles. “I was thinking more like right now, but it’s always good to think of the big picture.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Liar.”
“I want to keep being friends,” I say softly, my throat annoyingly tight.
I can’t see Anthony building me up to just shoot me down and reject me, but I’ve never been good at asking for things.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, and the gentle command in it helps undo some of my unease.
“Maybe we can keep doing this”—I wave between us—“until it stops being fun.”
“And the other thing we’ve been doing?” he asks.
I pause. “You mean the Mr. X thing?”
He nods.
“How would that work since I know who you are?”
His grin is full of heat, and I have to resist the urge to squirm in my seat as my dick goes half hard.
“That’s the beauty of masks.” He’s using his sex voice again, and my dick tents my pants as I go from half hard to full mast. “I can be whoever you want me to be.”
“And you want to keep doing it?” I ask, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
“Oh yeah.” He drops his gaze to my dick and the evidence of how much I like that idea. “And so do you.”
“How would it work?” I ask. “The Mr. X part.”
“The same as it did before.” He points to where our phones are sitting on his coffee table. “But there’s one catch.”
“What’s that?”
He could pretty much ask for anything right now, and I’d give it to him without a second thought if it meant I got to have both versions of him.
“We’re exclusive for as long as this goes on.”
I freeze as my brain does the mental equivalent of a record scratch. I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but that sure as fuck wasn’t it.
“You want to be exclusive?” I ask when I find my voice again. I need him to be specific because I don’t want to read into things that aren’t there.
“Yes.” His tone is as serious as his expression.
“This doesn’t have to mean anything, but I don’t share.
We’re exclusive for as long as it goes on, and if I find out you let someone touch you, or you even thought about touching someone else while we’re doing this, I will destroy both of you.
I don’t give a fuck who they are. And I won’t stop until your entire worlds are shattered and you’re left to pick up the pieces of whatever is left. ”
Just like in the hall earlier, he didn’t raise his voice or even add any sort of threatening inflection to his words. He’s stating facts and telling me exactly what will happen if I betray him, and that’s a thousand times more terrifying than if he were ranting and making idle threats out of anger.
“Do we have an understanding?”
I nod and try to temper my smile, but it probably looks as big and as goofy as it feels.
I know it doesn’t mean anything, but him not wanting to be with anyone else while we’re doing this makes me stupidly happy, and all that possessive talk was way hotter than it has any business being.
Do I have a possessiveness kink on top of all the other ones I’m discovering?
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He presses his leg against mine. “And I’m fine with keeping this quiet if that’s what you want.”
“That’s not what you want?”
He shrugs. “I don’t really care either way.”
“You wouldn’t care if people knew you’re into guys?”
“Why would I give a shit about that?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t give a fuck what they do in the bedroom. Why are they concerning themselves with what I do in mine?”
“What if people knew you were hooking up with me?” I ask softly.
His expression darkens. “If anyone is stupid enough to have an opinion about who I choose to sleep with, then they’ll find out what happens when you fuck with me and mine.”
A thrill races through me. Yup, I definitely have a possessive kink. And even though I know it’s just a “You’re mine” because we’re sleeping together and he doesn’t share kind of “Mine,” I like hearing him say it, and that’s not good.