Anders clears his throat. “I … uh, I can take it from here.”
Right. I’m still touching his thigh. I remove the peas and grimace at the large red welt beneath.
I stand, not realising how close we really are, and come within an inch of him. Yet, I’m unable to step back. He pins me with heat in his eyes. Eyes that are locked on my mouth.
“Here.” I hold out the peas.
Anders blinks but doesn’t move.
My breath hitches.
Anders’ hand reaches for the peas. Or, I think it does, but I’m so wrong. The peas drop into the pile of marinara as Anders cups the back of my head and pulls my mouth to his.
It takes more than a second to get my bearings.
Yes, his mouth is definitely on mine, his beard soft against my skin.
The groan that comes from Anders goes straight to my cock, and any other guy I’d think it was a sound of encouragement. With Anders and everything I learned last night …
I try to pull away, but Anders doesn’t let me. If anything, he holds me closer and kisses me harder. His tongue seeks entrance, and I open for him, letting Anders take the lead, because I’m way out of my league.
My thread of control frays with every second Anders continues exploring my mouth.
Even though I’ve wanted this for months, I now have two voices in the back of my head telling me I should stop. One voice says he’s my roommate, and the second tells me that with Anders’ PTSD and his admission that he’s not completely comfortable around me, this might be taking advantage or something.
Anders pulls back, but his lips still ghost mine as he says, “Stop overthinking and kiss me properly.”
And apparently that’s all it takes for me to tell my two inner voices to shut the fuck up.
I dive back in, kissing Anders with more enthusiasm and focus than before.
His beard, so much softer than it looks, feels amazing against my skin.
Our feet stumble back as I push into him, trying to close an already impossibly tight gap between us. Anders’ back hits the kitchen counter, my thigh finds its way between his legs, and the slight friction of my cock against his is almost too much.
The grunt that comes from Anders this time is definitely not one of pleasure. That much I’m sure of.
I back off. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s my leg.” He reaches behind him, gripping the counter tight.
I move quickly and get back down on my knees. One look and I know it’s not good. “It’s blistering already. We should go to the hospital.”
“Hospital? It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.” His panicked tone sounds a hell of a lot similar to his shaky voice from last night, and I’m reminded of his vulnerability.
I pick up the bag of peas again, but the tea towel is covered in sauce. I reach for another one hanging on the oven and lightly touch the coldness to Anders’ leg again. “Don’t like hospitals?”
He shakes his head. “Not since waking up in one thinking I was dead.”
“Oh, shit.” I can’t look at him, so my eyes go back to my hand pressed against his leg. “Can we at least get you to the after-hours doctor? It looks really bad. Like, might not need a skin graft bad, but bad enough for maybe prescription ointment or something. It’d kinda suck for you to die of infection after that kiss.”
Yeah, his leg is severely burnt, and I’m wanting to talk about that kiss. Priorities.
“I’ll go to a doctor,” Anders says.
“You hold this, and I’ll run and get changed out of my marinara pants.”
I’m quick to move and already halfway to my bedroom when I hear him say he’s fine to get there on his own. That only makes me move faster. I’m going with him. End of story.
It’s lucky walking while holding ice to his leg slows him down, because I catch up to Anders at the elevators.
“I’m driving,” I say.
“Fine,” he grumbles.
9
Anderson
I hate myself, but what else is new?
I hate that I kissed him. I hate that he drives me to the clinic, stays by my side the whole time, except when he goes to a vending machine to make sure I eat something, and even goes in to see the doctor with me. Who the fuck does that?
But even worse, I hate that I like it. A lot.
While he was kissing me, it was the closest to normal I’ve felt in years. That safe feeling surrounded me, covering me like a fire blanket during an inferno.
The thing about that though is just like covering yourself in a blanket, you still need to get the fuck out. I wanted to stay where I was, in the false safety of his arms, but I knew I’d get burnt if I didn’t escape.