Wrath (Sinful Secrets 4)

“Well, I only ever want one thing,” I confess, climbing into bed beside him.

I stretch out on my side and brush a soft kiss over his cheek. “I want to make you feel good.” I scoot near him, stopping to tuck my semi up into the waist of my briefs. When he feels me moving in close, he shifts onto his side to face me, and I slide an arm gently around his waist, pulling him so close to my chest that I can’t see his face. I inhale near his hair.

“You always smell so damn good.”

He snorts softly.

“You feel sleepy?”

“I don’t want to,” he says.

“I’m gonna tire you out with random questions. You’re gonna drift off, bored as fuck and thinking about something weird like your favorite month of the year.”

“What?” he murmurs. I can hear a smile in his voice.

I stroke my fingers up his spine and kick off my game. “Justin Bieber or Ed Sheeran?”

“Bieber.” There’s a tiny silence. Then he whispers, “Maybe.” His head is bowed so I can feel his breath on my throat. I can’t see his face, which I guess is his intent.

“I’ll accept this verdict.” I rub my lips over his hair, thinking of a new question. “Beauty or power?”

After a second, he says, “Power. No contest.”

“That’s because you’re beautiful,” I whisper, smiling. “I might be tempted to go with beauty.”

He kisses my chest. “You’re perfection, Millsy.” His lips find my chin. “That little cleft.” His voice sounds hoarse.

“I don’t have a cleft in my chin.”

“Yeah you do.” He leans his forehead against my chest, right under my throat. “And you’re thicc. Love your body,” he murmurs. “Succulent.”

That makes me grin. And leads me to another question. “Aloe vera or cactus?”

“Cactus.”

“Aloe has a purpose, though,” I point out.

“So does cactus.” He yawns. “They do flowers.”

“Do they really?”

“Yeah,” he says. His voice sounds exhausted. “Think they’re yellow.”

“How did I not know that?”

“Look ’em up. I like them.”

“Of course you do. My cactus flower.” My cheeks redden at that dumb endearment, but he scoots closer to me after I say it.

“Motorcycle or unicycle?” he asks in a soft rasp.

“I’m going with uni,” I say. “It seems safer.”

I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Doubt it.”

“Broken bone or surgery?” I ask him pointedly, thinking of motorcycles.

“Neither.” There’s a flatness to his voice, reminding me of what he said a little while ago. What a stupid question. It occurs to me that the start of this new weirdness between us—him acting all distant—happened at the hospital the other day.

I want to ask who hurt him. Why, and how? And where can I find the motherfucker? But I don’t let myself. Not now.

“Coke or Dr. Pepper?” I try.

He laughs, a soft huff. “Blue raspberry Icee.”

I think about that day I passed him walking. The way his face looked as he swung that Icee.

“Sunshine or rain?”

“Sun.” He wraps an arm around me. “Tell me something else, Mills. Tell me about you.”

I can tell he’s close to sleep, or maybe feeling bad. His voice is weak and soft. His arm around my back feels heavy.

“I don’t know what to say about me. I’m just…here. Until next year. Then I make my escape,” I whisper, smirking.

“Then?”

“I’ll be at college,” I say.

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Maybe Tuscaloosa. I could go to Auburn. UAB. There’s always out-of-state schools, too. That’s better for this,” I say softly.

“For the gay?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“You wanna stay close to home?”

“I don’t know. In-state tuition is a whole lot cheaper. What about you?”

He scoots somehow even closer to me, laying his cheek against my chest. Makes my whole damn body go warm. He says, “Wherever I can get the best ride.”

“Football scholarship?” I clarify.

“Yeah.”

He lets a restless little breath out, and then rolls away from me, putting his bare back to me. “That’s an invitation.”

Fuck. My heart is hammering as I slide up behind him. I put an arm around his waist, and he folds his arm over mine.

I lean my forehead against his upper back. “Do you know how many times I wondered what this would feel like?”

“What would?” he asks, so quiet.

“Hugging you. Like…holding you. You know.” I’m awkward now. He’s gonna laugh or something.

“I’m so tired,” he murmurs. “Can you say that again?”

Fuck, I’m babbling as he tries to fall asleep.

“I’m just weird.” I laugh. “I’m saying I’ve been wanting to hug you. For a really long time,” I whisper. “Like some kind of clinger.”

“Why did you want to?”

“Just to feel you. Maybe so I can wrap you up. I’m like a caveman.” I can’t even swallow; I’m so damn scared I’m saying this shit to him.

“Do,” he whispers. “Feels good.”

A minute later, his limbs twitch, and his hand over mine falls slightly away. His head sinks into the pillow and his shoulders relax. And I’m holding him. I’m holding Ezra Masters. My stepbrother. The most infuriating guy I’ve ever met. The smirkiest and the cockiest and by far the most confusing. The most gorgeous…and I think maybe the most broken.