Forsaken Desires (The Deepest Desires 2)

chapter eighteen

Knox

“Spill.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Just as I assumed, Veronica fucking Mars could tell something was off the minute she looked at me. Before Katie, I liked to think that I was pretty good at hiding how I feel. So, either I’m wrong or she’s just a fucking wolf or something.

“Knox, don’t bullshit a bullshitter. You wear your emotions on your face. Plus, your paranoid eyes gave you away immediately. So, spill.”

“Ugh, I hate you.”

“We’ve been over this. No, you don’t. Come on, I don’t have all day.”

“Fine,” I grumble, taking a very long drink of my water. “I may have… I may have kind of hooked up with Aston. Again.”

I definitely said the last part under my breath.

“What? You hooked up with who?”

“Aston, Katie! I fucking hooked up with Aston again! Are you happy?”

Waiting for her to laugh or yell or anything, I’m slightly unnerved to find her just looking at me, like maybe she still didn’t hear me.

“When?” she finally asks. “Like another blow job?”

Sighing loudly, I run my hands anxiously through my hair. “No… well, kind of. The first time—”

“The first time? How many times were there? It’s barely been a few days since I’ve seen you.”

“Just two.”

“Well, you’ve been busy. Go on, then,” she says, motioning her hands at me to keep going.

“At the party this weekend, I may or may not have seen him take a guy upstairs after grinding with him in front of the whole room. Then I may or may not have lost my shit, stormed upstairs, pounded on the door, and threatened the guy into leaving the room.”

She slaps her hand over her mouth, eyes going wide. “Knox!”

“I know! I get it. Anyway, after the guy left, it just… happened.”

“What exactly happened, though?”

“Do you actually want all the details?”

“Well, yes. Duh,” she responds, like I’m an idiot.

“We, uh, started making out—I basically attacked him—and then he may have jacked us off… together.”

I can feel warmth spread from my neck, up into my cheeks. On my life, I’m not someone who blushes or gets uncomfortable, but Jesus, anytime Aston is involved, I’m like a goddamn schoolgirl. It pisses me off.

“To completion?”

“What?”

“Did he jack you guys off together until you came?” She has no shame. Who asks someone that?

“Yes, Katie. I came. He came. We all fucking came.”

“Damn, that’s kinda hot,” she admits, smirking at me.

“Really? Please take this seriously.”

“Okay, okay.” She runs a hand down her face dramatically. “When was the second time?”

Looking away from her, I groan, hiding my face in my hands. “Uh, before I came here.”

“What?! Details, now!”

I drag my gaze back to her and immediately wish I hadn’t. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s wearing a shit-eating grin. She’s enjoying this too much.

“We were in the library studying and we got into an argument. The librarian kicked us out, so we went to the art room to talk. One thing led to another, and uh… we, ya know… hooked up again. I’m not giving any more details than that, so don’t even fucking ask.”

She’s studying me with an intensity that’s unsettling. It’s like she’s trying to figure out what the right question is. “Aside from freaking out, how else are you feeling? Did you enjoy both times as much as the first? You want to do it again? You want to get a restraining order? Need me to kick his ass?”

Unable to stop myself, I toss my head back and laugh at the last question. Leave it to Katie to make me laugh when I’m panicking.

“You’re ridiculous, Katie.”

“In all seriousness though, Knox.”

“Yes, they were both just as good—if not better—than the first time, okay? As much as I fucking hate to admit that, they were damn good.”

She eyes me curiously while she drinks her water. “I know I’ve said this before, but I think it needs to be said again. Nobody—not your dad, not me, not the president—can change who you are. You’re the way you are and you’re perfect that way. It breaks my heart that you truly believe you can’t be the authentic version of yourself because of the way your father made you feel. You deserve to be true to yourself, you deserve to be happy, you deserve to be with whomever you want to be with. To hell with what anyone has to say about that.”

“I wish it were that easy.”

“It is that easy, Knox. You’re an adult now. You’re under no obligation to do anything just to impress him. If he can’t love you, for you, then he doesn’t deserve you at all. A parent’s love should be unconditional.”

“Fuck, Katie.” Running my hands through my hair, I think over what she said. In hindsight, I know she’s one hundred percent correct. I know my dad is fucked up and I shouldn’t give a shit about what he thinks, but that’s the screwed up thing: no matter how awful he is, no matter how bad he’s hurt me—emotionally and physically—I’m still the little boy who wants his dad’s approval.

“Just think about it, babe,” she tells me sympathetically, reaching out and squeezing my hand.

******

Mid-week rolls around, and we’re all at the frat house. Normally, I don’t prefer to party during the week because it makes getting up for class harder, but it’s one of the frat guy’s birthdays.

I’m a coward and skipped sociology today because I wasn’t ready to face him, but I can’t hide now. He’s here, across the room, stealing glances at me. My skin feels scorching from his gaze and I desperately want his hands on my body again.

Sitting around with Weston and Cash, my phone vibrates and somehow, I already know who it is.

JT: You trying to ignore me is cute.

Me: Don’t know what you’re talking about.

JT: Riiiight.

JT: I can’t stop thinking about how fucking hot you looked on your knees for me.

Asshole.

Now I’m thinking about it, not like I haven’t been thinking about it all freaking week.

JT: I can see you blushing from all the way over here.

Me: Fuck off, no you cannot.

JT: Sure I can. Your cheeks are the softest shade of pink. Your neck, too.

JT: I wonder if I can make you blush anywhere else…

Me: Don’t you fucking dare.

JT: I’m already hard thinking about shoving you onto your knees again.

JT: Want to take you in that room upstairs again, lay you on the bed, and straddle your face. Make you gag and cry beautifully for me.

Slamming my phone down on my lap face down, I shoot a glare in his direction. He looks completely relaxed—unlike me, who’s most definitely fucking blushing. This is stupid. I have never been affected like this in my life, and I’ve slept with many women.

My cock is also hard as fuck and threatening to expose me to the whole goddamn room. That’s fucking cool. My phone is vibrating more, but hell if I’m going to look at it.

“Bro, you okay?” I glance to my right and see that Weston is talking to me.

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“You’re all flushed.” Before I can respond, he leans over, feeling my fucking forehead. “You don’t feel like you have a fever.”

For fuck’s sake. Darting my eyes across the room, I see a barely contained grin coming from Aston.

I shove his hand away. “Get your fucking hand off of me. I’m fine, just hot. Gonna go outside and have a smoke.” Getting up in a way that I hope doesn’t show the absolute tent in my pants, I hurry outside.

It’s cold as hell, but it feels good on my overheated skin. Taking a deep breath, pulling my pack of smokes out of my pocket, I light one up and take a long drag.

He is going to be my downfall. The death of me. He’s crawled under my skin and there is nothing I can do about it.

Vaguely, I hear the backdoor close. I know it’s him; we’re the only smokers. Of fucking course, he followed me out here. Probably to torture me further, knowing him. Taking another drag, I don’t look over at him, even when he comes and stands right next to me.

He’s so close, I can feel his body heat, smell his shampoo. He lights one up too, smoking quietly beside me, but the tension between us is so thick, it’s damn near suffocating.

When I can’t take the tense silence, I peer over at him and wish I hadn’t. Immediately meeting my eyes, they glint with mischief and hunger. Sighing loudly and looking forward again, my pulse kicks up, and I feel overheated all over again despite the frigid chill in the air.

“What are you doing to me?” I whisper, sounding as exasperated as I feel.

“Not doing anything you don’t want.”

My brain and body are so conflicted. On the one hand, my brain knows this is wrong and will only ever bite me in the ass in the end. On the other hand, my body fucking sings for him. My body lights up for him in ways it’s never lit up for anyone before and that’s hard to look past or ignore.

Tossing my cigarette on the ground and putting it out, I continue to stare ahead. I’m frozen in time, torn between what I want and what I should do.

I’m a weak fucking man.

As if he can read my internal struggle, he turns to face me at the exact moment I turn to face him, our bodies and lips crashing together in a brutal battle for dominance.