Pancakes #2
He cut himself off, looking suddenly so hurt and lost that I felt a pang of guilt.
“Why did you drag me up here?” he demanded.
“You’re Jack’s little brother. Someone needs to look after you.” Even as I said it, I knew it sounded weak. I didn’t believe it. Cooper sure as hell didn’t believe it.
He took another step closer, his chest almost brushing mine.
“Saint Jon,” he mocked, his breath warm against my chin.
“I’m no saint,” I muttered. “You need to sober up.”
“I’m not drunk,” he snapped. “You just like to pretend I am because the alternative would be admitting the truth.”
I clenched my jaw. He was so close. I could have run my fingers through his curls, tugged them a little. I wanted to press my thumb against his mouth just to see if he’d bite it—or let me in.
“And what truth is that exactly?” I rasped. I was playing with fire, but I didn’t even care. I was already burning.
“The real reason you asked me to follow.” He gave me a knowing smile. It made my self-control snap like a dry twig.
“I asked you to follow because you’ve been pushing me all damn night, acting like a brat, and I’m losing my fucking patience.”
Hurt flashed across his face, but he recovered fast. This time, his smile was darker. “You know what your problem is, Jon?”
I didn’t answer, knowing he would no doubt enlighten me.
“You’re scared of wanting something for yourself. Because if you admit you want it, you might actually get it, and that scares the shit out of you, doesn’t it?”
There was pressure in my chest, coiling tighter. He was alarmingly close to the truth, but admitting it would mean exposing every messy, ugly feeling I kept buried, and I couldn’t do that to him. He thought I was worth wanting, but I knew better.
I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to keep the distance he was trying so hard to close. I could feel the rhythm of his breathing, that’s how close he was. Something was about to break—me, my sanity, and the last of my self-control.
“Why are you always watching me?” Cooper asked. He’d asked it before and he’d keep asking as long as I continued giving him the cowardly answers he didn’t deserve. His voice was quieter now. He sounded genuinely confused.
“Stop.” I was trying so hard.
“No. I want to know. If it’s not jealousy, what is it?”
“You’re my best friend’s little brother. I feel responsible for you.”
“I’m an adult!”
“Start acting like it.”
He drew a breath. “I was acting like it! Downstairs. With Luke. Until you dragged me up here. For no reason whatsoever, if I’m to believe a word coming out of your mouth.”
I was out of excuses, so I stayed silent.
“I could feel how turned on he was,” Cooper continued, watching me carefully. He stepped between my knees. There was no space left.
“Cooper—”
He was merciless. He had found a crack and he was clawing.
“I could feel how hard he was under me,” he whispered.
I grabbed his wrist, making him gasp. His pulse was fast and wild under my fingers.
“Don’t push me,” I warned. He looked down at my hand, at where I was holding him. Then—slowly—he lifted his eyes up, and my gut twisted. I was so lost, and I didn’t know if I wanted to find my way back or stay here and risk it all.
“What if I keep pushing?” His voice trembled slightly, but he let his lips brush mine. It wasn’t a kiss—it was something worse. A temptation, or a test. “What are you going to do to me, Jon?”
“I warned you.”
His eyes were pleading, but for what? What if I got this wrong? This was Cooper. No one was allowed to hurt him. I shook my head, trying to get my bearings.
Was he asking what I thought he was asking? Was I going to give it to him?
“Are you going to punish me?” Again, his lips almost touched mine. He needed to back the fuck off because I was barely holding on. “Or are you going to keep pretending?”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
I was. But then I stopped. I moved before I could think, yanking him down onto my lap. A startled sound escaped him.
“Do you think you should be punished for being such a brat?” I waited for him to laugh.
I needed him to laugh and break the spell.
To give me—us—an out. But Cooper didn’t laugh, no, he turned his head and watched me, expression dark and hungry, like he was choosing to take whatever I decided to give.
He didn’t look embarrassed or like this was a joke to him.
His fingers tightened in my shirt.
“Yes.”
It was just one fucking word, but the quiet certainty behind it ruined me.
“Do it,” he added, the words cracking with a need that altered me for good. I shifted him over my knees, carefully. He went without resistance, letting me arrange him like I wanted. Pliant, willing, and completely mine to take care of.
He hadn’t hesitated in following me upstairs, and he wasn’t hesitating now. I should’ve hesitated for him.
But I was in too deep. Having him sprawled in my lap, open and vulnerable, was too good, like a drug I was already addicted to.
“Green means go on,” I said, forcing myself to sound steady.
He nodded, like negotiating colors was something he did on a daily basis. I was pretty fucking sure this was a first for both of us.
“Yellow means pause.”
My hand hovered over the tight curve displayed in front of me, and desire gave a rough edge to my voice. “Red means stop.”
He swallowed with difficulty, then nodded.
“Repeat them.”
“Green means go on. Yellow means pause. Red means stop.”
“What color?”
He turned his head, eyes shimmering with raw intensity.
Say red and save us, I thought wildly. Say green and—
“Green.”
He said it like I was someone safe. I wasn’t. Because here I was, taking his trust and shattering it.
I released a slow breath.
Then I started.
I wasn’t trying to hurt him. Pain was never the point.
The point was the claiming and the overwhelming relief of finally touching him.
The first sound he made after the impact of my hand on his ass—a quiet gasp of surprise—ripped through my chest, and I knew I’d never forget it, as long as I lived.
My palm warm and hard, I smacked his left cheek, then his right, my eyes fixated on his barely covered ass.
Each strike strengthened my desire, giving me ideas I tried my best to ignore.
It didn’t help that Cooper’s body responded to every touch, making small, broken sounds that only fed my hunger.
I lost track of time. I only knew the way he felt—the heat of his skin through the denim, the way his fingers clutched at my shirt when he sobbed and rubbed himself against my thighs.
“Jon—” My name broke in his mouth.
I kept going because stopping felt like dying.
I wanted him to stay right there, under my hand, in my lap, safe and mine forever.
Did I want what happened next? To feel him come apart in my lap, to hear that startled, painful moan, followed by the broken, wet sob of, “Red.” Maybe I did. And I had to live with that.
I let go of him immediately, but it was too late: the damage had already been done. I’d taken all his trust and turned it into tears.
I let him burn.
He scrambled off my lap, shaking. He wouldn’t even look at me. That was the moment it hit me—the realization of what I had done. What I’d let happen.
“Cooper—”
“Don’t,” he choked out.
Then he ran.
That night, I learned what I did when I cared about someone. When I finally let myself want something.
I destroyed it.