He lifts his head off his arm, blinks at me as if he didn’t quite expect this question.
Good. If I catch him off guard again and again, maybe he won’t be able to hide anymore from me. I need to see the truth of him. The whole truth, good or bad.
He looks away again, avoiding my gaze, and shrugs. “Pain,” he says.
I process that. “You like pain?”
He huffs a laugh. Shoots me an amused glance and damn, it shouldn’t be so hot, and it shouldn’t get me hard right on the heels of the most intense orgasm of my life, but it does. Jason Vega laughing, smiling… it’s beautiful.
He’s beautiful.
“I didn’t say I like it,” he says softly. “But I can take it. I understand pain.” He shrugs again. “And it’s something. Gotta feel something, or else…”
A chill goes through me. “That’s fucked up.”
And of course I’m running my mouth without connection to my brain.
He blinks as if he’s just realized what he’s said, and what I replied. A scowl tightens his features. “Fuck you, Raine. Like you know anything about it.”
He turns around and goes, leaving the doorway empty.
Hell. I don’t move from the spot, trying to process everything. Because he seemed painfully honest, and what he’s saying is…
Pain. He’d rather feel pain than nothing. But he doesn’t like pain, he likes… pleasure, like that’s any fucking wonder. He’s used to pain, but that doesn’t mean he wants it.
And he said… that he gets off with me. Okay, not really, but… he likes it? He wanted me to fuck him, and shit, now I’m so hard I have to give my dick a squeeze to relieve some of the pressure.
Shit, what’s he doing to me? His words, the expressions on his face, the shadows in his eyes… I don’t know why they speak to me like that, straight to the heart, why they turn me on and twist me up inside. He’s so broken I don’t even know where to begin picking up the pieces. And I shouldn’t fucking care.
But the problem is, I do.
Too damn much.
I find him holding his jacket like he doesn’t know what it is. I pry it gently from his hands, and he lets me.
“Come sit with me.”
“I should be on my way.” But he doesn’t move to take his jacket back and leave.
It gives me hope. “I meant what I said about sleeping here. Did you know it’s a sofa-bed? I’ve never opened it, but it’s supposed to be comfortable.”
He scowls at it, then at me. “Raine—”
“I’ll put a sign on it. JASON’S. If it makes you feel more comfortable.”
“More—” He huffs another laugh, and it seems to catch him by surprise. The expression on his face is priceless. “No.”
“Okay.” God, I love these soft, huffed laughs that mean he’s forgotten to be defensive for a moment. “No sign. But it will be free for you every night. You can bring your stuff, wash your clothes, use the shower.”
“Why?”
“You like that word, don’t you?” My mouth is pulling into a smile without my permission. Just as well.
“Not really.” He glares at the sofa so hard I’m afraid he’ll set it on fire. “I just never get any answers.”
Here we go, that twisty, achy feeling returning to my chest. This guy will be the end of me. “The sofa is yours to sleep on for as long as you need it. As to why, it’s because…” I think again of all the things I’ve wanted to tell him, my apology, my insistence that he’s worth it. That I like him. “Because you shouldn’t have to ask why.”
I expect him to scoff, or snap at me for being vague, for evading his question like everyone else. But he just turns and stares at me with huge eyes.