Chapter 15 #2
“I don’t believe in fate or soulmates,” I start hesitantly. “It’s not my style. Just Norah. She believes in all that witchy stuff—magical realism, I think it’s called—but I’ve always been a realist, much to her dismay.”
“You’ve mentioned Norah before.” His voice has a sharp edge. “She was your girlfriend?”
Jealousy?
“It wasn’t like that. But she was—is—important to me. We were intimate a few times,” I admit as I swallow at the memories, “and she knows more of my secrets than most.”
“Tell me about her.” Jeremy’s voice is smooth velvet in the dark room.
I hesitate. Not many people are privy to my relationship with Norah. It’s a very private part of my life. But with Jeremy, I feel safe. “She was the first person I really enjoyed being intimate with.” I pause. “Well, the only person until you.”
His body stiffens in my arms and then relaxes. “Was she your first?”
I shake my head. “No. Well, yes. In a way.” I feel my face get warm. “I wasn’t a virgin. But she introduced me to . . . other stuff.”
“Such as?”
“You know . . .” I take a deep breath, my heart pounding. “Butt stuff.”
Jeremy giggles. “Butt stuff?”
I bite his shoulder, causing him to giggle louder. “Yes, butt stuff.”
“I need more details,” he says between fits of laughter. “Did she peg you or just use her fingers?”
“Really, Jer?”
“Inquiring minds are dying to know.”
“She didn’t peg me.” My body is on fire. Why is this so embarrassing? I’m a grown-ass man. I can talk about sex. “It was just her fingers and—”
“And?”
“And tongue,” I say quickly.
Jeremy gets quiet, and then he turns in my arms until our noses are practically touching. “Did you like it?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice husky. “A lot.”
He pauses. “Does she know about me?”
His breath coasts over my cheeks with the question, and I can’t help leaning forward and brushing our lips together. The kiss is sweet and makes my insides feel like jelly.
“Of course she does,” I chuckle. “I remember telling her about one time in particular. You had a red streak in your hair, and she teased me because I called you Peter Parker. She thought it was telling that you’d chosen one of Spider-Man’s colors.”
He cranes his neck, and I feel him studying me in the darkness.
My insides twist as I think about the rest of that conversation, unwilling to repeat it out loud. Norah has a way of stripping your soul naked.
“Marcus, love, it’s truly adorable how innocent you are.
I know that you approach everything in a pragmatic way, but Peter is in your life for a reason.
His presence is no accident; there are no coincidences.
He heals you, and you’re connected, whether you realize it or not.
Maybe he’s not your soulmate, maybe he’s more, but you’ll never know unless you talk to him. What have you got to lose?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
“Would it be so bad?” she asks. “To love out loud the way you so obviously want?”
“No, but I don’t love him. Even talking to him scares the shit out of me.”
“You’re scared of love. We all are. But eventually you’ll have to face your fear or let him go.”
Jeremy interrupts my thoughts. “That’s a lot to unpack.”
Jesus, I said too much. I start feeling queasy.
“You called me Peter Parker?”
A flash of panic sucks the air from my lungs because that one question could be the domino that tips this conversation the wrong way. I look away, my body bracing for some sort of devastating emotional impact.
But his fingers are gentle beneath my chin when they direct my gaze back.
“Why?” he asks
My throat feels dry, and the words come out raw. “Well, I didn’t know your real name, and you lived alone with your aunt, so it stuck.” I give him a shy, confused look. “I thought you’d be more concerned about the stalker vibes I was giving off.”
Jeremy laughs quietly, his warm breath a whisper over my skin. The sound eases my tight muscles, and relief washes through me.
He’s not upset.
“It’s not like you did it on purpose. It was like serendipitous stalking. Right?”
“Well, that word implies that some good came out of it, and it led to this.” I cup his cheek, and he leans into my touch. “So, yeah, you’re definitely my happy accident, Starlight.”
“I had that red streak when I was fifteen. How many times were there?”
“What do you mean?”
“In your conversation with Norah, you implied that you’d seen me more than once.”
“Oh.” I lick my dry lips. “Maybe seven since we met.”
“Seven?”
I nod slowly. “In Brighton, there was the arcade, the bus stop, the movie theater, the beach bonfire right after I graduated high school.” I hesitate.
“Then after I finished college, I swear I saw you in Vancouver a couple times after I moved: once on the SkyTrain and once walking up Robson Street, but I couldn’t be sure. ”
The corner of his mouth ticks up, and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. “I lived with my friend in Vancouver for six months after a bad breakup.”
“Damn,” I whisper.
“I wish . . .” His voice is quiet. “I wish you’d talked to me sooner.”
I look away. “I didn’t want to make it real because then I could lose you. But also,” I take his hand, twining our fingers together, “I’m not good for anyone, really. I’ve fucked up every relationship I ever had, even friendships—other than Norah and my siblings.”
Jeremy scoffs. “I doubt that.”
“No, it’s true. I’m a workaholic and an asshole.
” He chuckles at that, but I’m completely serious.
“I have what my therapists have called emotional detachment. I come across as cold and standoffish, I guess. It hurts feelings. It’s hard for me to let people in.
” I trail a finger along Jeremy’s shoulder and down his arm, distracted by his smooth, pale skin.
“And when I finally have let them in, they’ve left because I’m—”
“Too much,” we finish at the same time.
My eyes snap to his, which are swimming with empathy and tears.
I brush the pad of my finger over his teal fingernails. “You always seemed so . . . innocent, I guess. I would’ve been your downfall.” I give him a serious look. “I will be your downfall. I’ll hurt you. It’s why we shouldn’t be doing this.”
He moves his hand to grip mine, then kisses my knuckles. “I’m not the angel you think I am, Marcus, just like you’re not the devil you perceive yourself to be. But if this means I’m going to hell, then bring on the brimstone.”
My stomach flips, and I surge forward, crushing our mouths together because I can’t not. I can’t resist anything about this anymore.
Jeremy Hart has me by the balls in the best and worst way possible.
I deepen the kiss, and he whimpers into my mouth, pushing his firm body against mine, and I swallow the sound.
Silver moonlight glows around the room, giving Jeremy that otherworldly aura I’ve become so addicted to.
I straddle him, my cock hard and heavy between my legs, and push him down into the mattress.
He stares at me, his pale eyes drooping closed, blond lashes fanning his cheeks.
I lean over him, ravaging his jawline and neck, leaving red, bruising marks in my wake. I don’t stop, sucking and biting down his chest, taking one of his nipples into my mouth and swirling it with my tongue.
He squirms and moans while I suck harder, biting at his sensitive flesh. “Marcus, baby, I need you to touch my cock.”
I ignore him and move to the other nipple, and he starts panting faster. He grinds up into me, our bare cocks pushing together, and I let out a gasp, dropping my face to his skin, which is still sticky with my saliva.
I push the sheets out of the way, but he grabs me, his hands shaking, his knuckles white. I frown, looking back at his face. In the pale light, his eyes are shining with moisture, tears already clinging to his lashes.
“I-I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I really don’t want to stop, but . . . can I put my boxers back on?”
“What’s wrong, Starlight?” I wipe a tear from his cheek, the streak of moisture shimmering beneath my thumb. “Why are you so scared?” He swallows, a hand covering his mouth to hold in a sob, but I see his chest quiver with the effort. “Please. Let me touch you the way you deserve to be touched.”
Another tear trickles down his cheek, and I kiss it away, the salt burning my tongue.
I keep my eyes on him as I reach for the sheet again.
He blows out a breath, but his entire body is tense beneath mine.
I trace my fingers down his abs, which twitch under my touch, mapping out every inch of perfect muscle, and I dip my head and drag my tongue along the same path, groaning in pleasure as I do because he tastes and smells so fucking good.
“Marcus . . .” he pleads as my mouth reaches his hip.
I glance up. If he asks me to stop, I will, but he doesn’t. He lies back and places a forearm over his eyes, like he’s hiding from something.
From what I’m about to find.
I inch the sheet down further, and that’s when I see it. A shiny, raised pink scar on his hip about two inches long. It’s perfectly straight as if . . . as if he cut it himself.
“Oh, sweet boy,” I whisper.
My eyes scan the rest of his body, catching on dozens of other scars decorating the insides of his thighs, but they’re much lighter and smaller. Older. My heart breaks for him, but I know Jeremy doesn’t want my pity, so I keep my thoughts locked down as I explore.
This one on his hip is fresh, and I suddenly remember the way he rubs this spot when he’s agitated or anxious. I run my finger over it, caressing it gently, and he whimpers. His dick has softened, falling to one side, and I feel his body tremble as he begins to cry in earnest.
Without thinking, I kiss the scar tenderly, and Jeremy shudders, his face still covered.
“Jer.” When he doesn’t respond, I say it louder. “Jer, baby, look at me.” I graze his hip with my lips again. “Is this okay?”
He carefully lowers his arm, his reddened eyes meeting mine. He takes in a shaky breath, pushing himself up on his hands and staring down his body, his face a mask of grief and disgust.