Lover (Court University 4)

“Do over?” I fisted his biceps, physically easing him away from me. This was no easy feat.

He was definitely hungry.

Though I had a feeling that hunger ebbed more towards me. Even still, he picked up a fork and speared a piece of melon for me.

He summoned me to open my mouth, which I did, the taste explosion absolute heaven and even better since he fed me.

He allowed me to enjoy myself, sampling what he’d clearly had brought up for me. Everything in front of me was cooked to perfection. He’d even ordered poached eggs for me, which I loved.

His arms ensnared my hips while I ate, what I deciphered as pleasure across his face as he watched me feed myself. I offered him a bit, but he refused. He just liked watching me.

“The do over seems to be going well,” he said, and I noticed he hadn’t answered me the first time. I’d been too busy eating and enjoying his presence to poke him about it. He rested a chin on my shoulder. “Are you happy?”

I faced him, actual worry knitting his brow, and he smoothed a hand over his shaven head.

He sat back. “The last time we did this, you left. Though, obviously not physically. You had me do that part.”

I had, guilt and something else sagging heavy like a sopping blanket on top of me.

He wanted me happy?

At least, he was worried that I wasn’t. That I’d leave. I placed down my fork. “Ramses…”

“No.”

I faced him again, his expression serious. He cuffed his wrist on the other side of my hips, his lips pinched tight in thought. Or maybe hesitance. I’d given him more than one reason to do the latter.

I had run.

I planned to possibly do more of that today, but I said nothing at the present.

He lifted a hand. “Before you say

anything, give me a list of reasons why this won’t work…”

Wow. He knew me so well, didn’t he? At least, thought he did.

I adjusted in his lap, my jaw shifting. He may have thought I was uncomfortable, so he returned me to my chair.

He hung an arm on the back. “Tell me I’m too young for you again or how much it bothers you that I’m your friend’s son…”

He was both those things, our reality. I wasn’t very comfortable with the age gap, but I may be able to get over it, had we not had the other issue.

I’d lied to his mom. I’d lied to my friend, and though he had as well, he was her son. Kids lied to their parents. But friends?

I followed the hard curve of his bicep with my hand, solid and unyielding beneath my flesh. I wished it was different. I wished we were different, our circumstances, and I’d said that before.

Ramses wouldn’t allow me to say it again, cuffing the back of my neck. Bracing me, he caused our foreheads to touch and breathed me in.

I sighed.

“Just,” he started, my skin warming beneath his hand. He squeezed. “Tell me what I need to say. Tell me what I need to do for you to give this a chance.”

He brought my head up, scanning my eyes.

“To be my girl,” he said, basically my entire insides fluttering. “To be with me, as mine and not just for sex. To be out of the dark with all this. To be a real thing.”

My throat thickened, my mouth dry. “Can I speak now?”