Jasper
“WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?” Milo demanded.
“It’s too soon for you to bury yourself in another woman,” I stated plainly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You’re not ready.”
“It’s casual,” he said. “Like what you did with Oliver, right?”
I should have seen that coming.
He turned away and reached for the door. I grabbed his wrist and spun him back, pinning him to the door with my chest. This wasn’t like me—or maybe it was, my usual restraint muddled by the pot, alcohol, and the fear of loss.
“Fuck off!” he shouted, struggling against me. “So what if I wanna distract myself with a quick fuck? It’s just sex, right?”
“You don’t do casual, Milo.” I squeezed, my fingers pressing into bone. “She’s paying attention to you, and you’re in a vulnerable place. We both know how that goes.”
He grew silent, though the defiant look remained along with the intoxicated flush of his cheeks. We both knew this was just another outlet for his self-destructive tendencies, and I wasn’t about to let him go off the deep end again, even if I was the cause.
“I can do casual,” he muttered. “I’m casual as fuck.”
“Milo.”
“What?” he asked sadly, his expression turning vacant. “I just wanna feel something.”
Guilt hit hard, an indescribable ache filling my chest. I wanted nothing more than to make him feel okay again, and I’d do anything to take away the hurt. He moved too quickly, always trying to fill the gaping hole with anything that vaguely looked like it might fit.
I was always too late and never what he wanted.
The thought of something else filling that void was more than I could take. Not Oliver. Not another girl. If we hadn’t chosen to define ourselves as brothers, if we had never taken him in, would he have had the chance to see me as someone who could fill the gaps others had left?
I was desperate enough to take what little I could, even if it was all wrong now.
“If you’re looking for a distraction,” I said, the words feeling mangled and foreign on my tongue. “I can do it.”
“What do you mean?” He laughed nervously.
The confusion was written all over his face, as if I were speaking a foreign language. He didn’t get it. If the options were me or some random girl at the party that would inevitably spiral out into another year or two of pain for him, it was going to be me.
It had to be me.
I wedged my knee between his legs, prying them apart.
“Let me help you,” I coaxed, watching the way his mouth fell open as I began gently grinding my thigh back and forth, testing just how much he’d let me get away with.
“Stop screwing with me, Jas—”
“How many times do I need to tell you to quit being so goddamn bratty?” I interrupted, gripping his chin between my thumb and my index finger. “Get yourself off right here. I’ll make sure you don’t fall in love with the first girl who lets you in her pants.”
“I can’t.” He shook his head in my grasp.
“Can’t, or won’t?” I leaned in close enough for our breath to mingle.
“I’m not gonna ride my brother’s fucking leg.”
Brother, he said, like we hadn’t always been something deeper than siblings.
I released his chin to grab his hips, forcing him to ride my thigh. His cock responded to the friction, the outline of an erection forming in his sweats that matched my own. I’d been half-hard since the moment I tasted him on that fucking coffee table.
“Would it be less humiliating if I fucked you instead?” My voice dropped low.
“Oh my god, no—seriously, Jasper, we can’t…”
I bit down on his ear and was quickly rewarded with a sharp inhale. His body shuddered against mine, and I pressed into him harder, afraid he’d slip away at any moment.
“Take what you need from me.” I soothed the sting of the bite with my tongue. “What else are brothers for?”
“You’re sick,” he rasped.
“So are you.”
For someone who always had something to say, he was speechless now, wide-eyed and red-faced. It was just us, the sound of his laboured breathing, and the thumping of music beyond the door I had him pinned against.
If he really wanted me to stop, he would have put up more of a fight. Those trembling hands wouldn’t have found my shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt while his hips began to move on their own, enough that I could ease up my hold on him if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
My grip was hard enough to bruise as I picked up the pace, forcefully guiding him over the length of my thigh and watching the damp spot on his sweats bleed darker with fascination.
“F-Fuck…” he stammered, turning his face away.
“Don’t hide,” I ordered, one hand leaving his hip to thread my fingers through his hair and yank his head back, earning a whimper.
His eyes were half-lidded and glossy, his tongue darting out to wet his lips between ragged breaths. He was getting into it now, movements urgent as he chased his pleasure, riding me so hard I had to lean more of my weight into him to keep myself from stumbling back.
“Don’t watch,” he groaned.
“Where’s the fun in that?” I taunted. “I wanna see you lose that attitude.”
“Whatever. Don’t think this means I forgive you,” he hissed, doing his best to sound angry despite all of the sounds that accompanied his wildly rocking hips.
I tightened my hold on his scalp, tilting his head to the side and biting where his neck and shoulder met hard enough to make him cry out.
A small punishment for trying to create some distance between us, for being so fucking difficult after he caught me having a quick, meaningless fuck.
So what if it had been his best friend? Oliver had been nothing more than a convenient hole in a moment of weakness, and I wanted him gone.
“Will you be less angry if I choke you?” I let go of his hair and wrapped my fingers around his throat, feeling him work to swallow beneath my palm. “You like that, right?”
“No.” His denial was unconvincing.
“Milo?” A voice bled through the door. Probably the girl I’d dragged him away from and had no plans of sending him back out to.
The door handle jiggled, followed by a gentle tap against the wood. The initial light squeeze I planned to give his throat ended up much tighter. I didn’t want him to be heard, not by anyone but me.
He gasped softly, lips parting and head falling back against the door with a gentle thud. The muscles in his neck flexed, and despite the threat of being found out, his shameless rocking against my thigh never faltered.
After a few more turns of the knob, with the door unmoving beneath our combined weight, the girl relented, her footsteps fading back into the party beyond the door.
“Harder?” I resumed, my heart racing.
Milo gave a slight nod, his body much more honest than any of the words that had been coming out of his mouth. I squeezed harder and felt the air catching in his throat, his cock pulsing against my leg.
“J-Jasper…” My name on his lips sent a jolt of electricity down my spine.
“That’s it, loverboy,” I encouraged, nipping at his cheek, his chin, his lower lip—anywhere I could reach, possessed by the urge to swallow him whole.
Milo’s gaze flitted back and forth between my eyes and lips as I pressed our foreheads together, his brows knitted. I could tell that he wanted—no, needed something more.
But I wouldn’t have enough restraint left to stop myself from taking things all the way if I kissed him. The safety net of our familial bond would go up in flames, and my obsession with needing him to need me would be laid bare. I was already risking too much.
I chose more punishment instead, reprimanding him for his reckless behaviour.
Still choking him with one hand, I used the other to slide under his sweater and raked my nails over his stomach, teasing my way up and making goosebumps explode on his skin.
When I found his nipple, it was already hard, begging for attention that only I could give.
I pinched and rolled the pierced nub between my fingers, his back arching into the stimulation. Every sound that fell from his lips felt forbidden, and I couldn’t stop myself from memorizing each one in case I never got the chance to hear them again.
He was so beautiful like this.
He wouldn’t last much longer, the muscles in his throat flexing beneath my hand as he strained to moan, vocal cords vibrating against my palm. I lessened the pressure. I needed to hear more.
“Fuck, Jas—I’m…” Milo cried weakly, his hips stuttering.
His glazed eyes rolled back, and he grew still, the damp spot on his sweatpants spreading rapidly as cum seeped through and dyed the material an even darker shade of grey.
I continued grinding my knee into his softening cock, making him twitch and whine from the over-stimulation, a disgruntled look crossing his features.
“Too much,” he breathed.
His protest only made me want to torture him even more, but I restrained myself, slowing until I finally found the strength to let the moment end.
I freed my leg from between his, my own cock still throbbing painfully, trapped behind layers of fabric.
I couldn’t take it any further, no matter how much my body screamed for his.
He slumped forward, his forehead resting against my collarbone.
“I hated that,” he mumbled into my chest.
“I could tell,” I said sarcastically.
The only thing that mattered was that I’d stopped him from making another monumental mistake. Moreover, I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. He could use me as many times as he needed to if it meant never seeing him get his heart broken again.
I wouldn’t lose him, not to anyone.