Chapter 19
Nineteen
“Do you remember how oranges taste?”
—“What Do We Fight For?” The Wooden Horse, Act One
Jonah clicked on the light in his kitchen. The bulb flickered before bursting into a white glow, and he squinted at the intrusion
from the darkness. Dexter wasted no time opening cupboard doors, raiding Jonah’s belongings, before he found a glass, filled
it with water from the tap, and handed it to him. Jonah’s face didn’t hurt as much now, the painkillers Sherrie stuffed into
his mouth before she left the theatre hand in hand with Romana finally taking effect. Dexter watched him, shaking his head
each time Jonah tried to put the glass down, insisting he finish every last drop.
“You’ve got to stay hydrated,” he said when Jonah finally drank that last drop. “Omari said if I didn’t have a stupid face
mask, I needed to at least keep you hydrated. What stuff do you need to take to mine? Pajamas, toothbrush, clothes for tomorrow,
anything else?” His words were loud. Their taxi ride to the house had been filled with silence as they passed the gorgeous
shadows of London, and now everything, including Dexter, seemed oddly deafening.
“I, um, actually I just want to stay here.” Castle Road pulled him into its arms the moment he climbed out of the Uber and
it saw the bruising on his face. He didn’t want to leave its embrace; he could fall into a dreamless sleep and wake to find
the world fuzzy and numb.
“Caroline told me you couldn’t be left alone.”
Jonah pinched the skin between his eyebrows, grimacing at the slight jolt of pain but breathing through it. “I honestly just want to get into my own bed and forget this night ever happened.”
“Well. I could sleep on the sofa, if that’s okay?”
Jonah dropped his hand and studied Dexter’s face. He knew Dexter wouldn’t agree to leave him alone. “Fine. Yeah. I’ve some
clothes you can sleep in.”
“Can I ask you something?” Dexter asked, filling the glass up with water again and handing it back to Jonah. “Why did he do
that? Wes? Because he still thinks you were sleeping with his boyfriend?”
Jonah gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I guess? Edward won’t have admitted the truth; he’s a coward. He’s been texting me, begging
me to meet up with him. He even came to the theatre, all while still posting loved-up photos of him and Wes online.”
“Did you tell the police that?”
God. The police. He hadn’t wanted to talk to them; he wanted to hide himself away in his dressing room, but Colbie insisted.
The officer looked at him with trepidation behind her eyes, which did nothing to calm Jonah’s nerves. When she talked to him,
he let out a laugh and her brow furrowed, trepidation turning to concern, and he didn’t tell her all that was going through
his mind was that his mum’s friend recently spoke to an officer and had to describe a penis. It would bring up too many unnecessary
questions.
“Yeah, of course,” Jonah said. “But if Wes thinks there’s something going on, then . . . maybe that’s why he did it? I don’t
know. Either way, I’m so done with being involved with Edward. This just put the final nail in the coffin.”
“You’re trembling,” Dexter said, looking at the glass of water in Jonah’s hand as the water rippled between his shaking fingers.
“It’s okay, you know, you’re home now. And you know they won’t allow that guy anywhere near you or the theatre again.”
“I just feel humiliated.” He placed the drink down on the counter. “He did that to me in front of all of those people. And . . .
fuck this was your night, and I’ve ruined it.”
“You’ve not ruined anything.” Dexter took Jonah’s hands into his and held them firmly. “This wasn’t your fault.”
Jonah could barely look at him. “Let’s get you those clothes, yeah? Come with me.”
He led the way upstairs to his small bedroom and even smaller bathroom. Dexter peered around the space, taking in each little
detail, and Jonah wondered if his home was what Dexter imagined, if he’d even imagined what Jonah’s bedroom might be like
and if the reality lived up to his expectations.
“Here,” Jonah said, reaching into his dresser to pull out a T-shirt and shorts. “You can wear these.”
Dexter took the clothes from him and balled them up in his hands. “Jonah. I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” Jonah asked as Dexter looked to the window. “Jesus Christ, him hitting me wasn’t something to do with you, was it?”
“What?” Dexter’s head snapped back to him. “No! I’m just sorry it happened to you. I’m sorry you’ve been hurt. I wish I could
make it better.”
“You bringing me home is enough, Dex.”
“It’s not, though, is it? Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
Jonah shook his head, then sat on the edge of his bed. “No. It’s fine. I’m sure it looks worse than it actually is.” He fiddled
with the duvet as he spoke. “Will you stay in here with me tonight? You don’t have to. I just . . . I really don’t want to
be alone.”
“Of course,” Dexter said without hesitation. “I’ll be honest. I would rather be here so I can keep an eye on you.” He tapped
the pamphlet he still held in his hand with the clothes. “Can’t see if you’re unresponsive if I’m downstairs, can I?”
Jonah smiled, the change of expression painful but fleeting. “Can’t see if I’m unresponsive if you’re asleep either.”
“I can stay up.”
“I’m not having you watch me while I sleep.”
Dexter took a seat beside him. “Yeah. I guess that’s bordering on creepy, isn’t it?” He brushed Jonah’s hair away from his face, tucking a curl behind his ear carefully. “Even with a bruised and bloodied face you’re still hot as fuck, did you know that?”
“Oh, shut up.” Jonah smacked a hand against his chest and got up. “I’m going to clean myself up.”
His reflection didn’t shock him as much as he thought it might. Once he washed the dried blood from around his nose and chin,
the bruising beneath his eye and across his cheekbone just looked like someone swiped dark colors across his face. Makeup
for Halloween. He changed into his pajamas, then went back into the bedroom to see Dexter already in the clothes he gave him,
sitting awkwardly on the end of the bed.
“I didn’t know which side was yours,” he said, voice nervous.
“Oh.” Jonah looked to the side that once belonged to Edward. Tonight, it would no longer be his. “I sleep by the window. That
way, if someone breaks in, they’ll kill you first because you’re closest to the door.”
“Charming,” Dexter scoffed as he moved to the side Jonah allocated him and pulled back the cover before a look of alarm crept
over his face. “Do you mind if I sleep under the covers with you? I can sleep on top, if you like, but I get cold.”
“Bloody hell, Dexter, stop being so polite.” Jonah got himself into bed and watched as Dexter slid in then pulled the cover
up to his chin stiffly. “Wow. Dex. You look comfy.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to act.” Dexter laughed. “I’m lying in Jonah Penrose’s bed, and it feels like . . . fuck.” He
groaned, then pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about tonight and all the things I want to
do to you if we ended up in bed together, and now you’re hurt and this isn’t how I thought our first date would go.”
“Hey.” Jonah reached across and took his hands away from his eyes. “The date hadn’t started, so it doesn’t count. And I am
very interested in finding out what these things you’ve been thinking of are.”
Dexter turned on his side to face him, and Jonah did the same. Their knees touched beneath the covers, skin on skin, and Jonah
wished stupid Wes hadn’t hit him and made his face totally un-kissable and he wished they hadn’t wasted so much time being
horrible to each other because they could have been in bed, like this, much sooner.
“Tell me,” he whispered as Dexter trailed his fingers down Jonah’s bare arm. “Tell me everything.”
“I wanted to kiss you.” His fingers found their way to his collarbone. “All along here.” This thumb caressed the side of his
neck. “And here.”
Jonah swallowed. “And then?”
Dexter’s voice went low in his throat. “I want to kiss every inch of you. Run my tongue along your skin.” He dropped his hand
to Jonah’s leg and ghosted his touch to his inner thigh. “Feel how soft you are here.”
Jonah shifted, the pajama shorts he wore suddenly too hot and horrendously uncomfortable as Dexter bit down on his bottom
lip, his face close, agonizingly close. “I’ve wanted to feel you grow hard for me, then taste you by taking you into my mouth
while looking at your pretty face and hearing you moan while gripping your thighs.” Dexter placed his hand on Jonah’s hip
and gently urged him closer, their legs intertwined now, breaths tickling into each other’s skin.
Jonah let out a quiet moan, his eyes on Dexter’s lips, the thought of him taking Jonah’s length into his mouth driving him
wild. Dexter’s touch didn’t leave Jonah’s skin as he worked his fingers down his thigh again, then hooked Jonah’s leg over
his waist. Jonah could feel how hard Dexter was, their bodies pressed together, and he wanted him just as bad, his own erection
straining from inside his pants, the heat between them intoxicating.
“Please,” Jonah murmured, though what he was asking for he couldn’t say. He would take anything.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dexter said, the cadence of his voice changing to that of concern. Jonah knew Dexter wanted to
kiss him, he could practically feel his lips on his, but he could also feel the dull ache in the side of his face, and he
tilted his head to the side.
“You won’t,” he said, moving from Dexter to lie flat on his back, resting his head on the pillow, exposing his neck, showing
him where he could touch without repercussions. “I want you.”
“Are you sure?”
Jonah turned his head back to look at him. “I am. Are you?”
Dexter answered in movement. He straddled Jonah with ease, the roles reversed, and leaned down to press his lips against the fluttering pulse point in his neck. “Fuck, yes.”