Page 93 of Twisted Little Game

I run my palm down the side of his head, my thumb skating over his jawline. “Do you want me to leave you to yourself?”

He quickly grips my wrist. “No. Stay… please stay with me. And tell me you aren’t upset with me.”

I frown. “Why would I be upset with you?”

“Because I didn’t tell you the moment I got the messages. I was keeping a secret. I wanted to have a good night so badly that I drowned it out with liquor, so stupidly, and of course it still didn’t fucking work. When is my life going to be normal again, Roman? When will I ever be able to live⁠—”

“Tate, I am so proud of you,” I say with zero hesitation.

And when he looks up from the ground and meets my gaze again, the look on his face is so broken.

“I’m not someone to be proud of.”

“You told me, Tate. You could have kept it secret. I know it took you a while to warm up to it, but you told me. Every word I told you on night one is still the truth. You are safe with me.”

I keep one arm on Tate as I reach in my pocket for my car keys.

A little beep-beep sounds out behind us, and I open the back door to my Escalade.

“In,” I tell Tate. “It’ll be just us. We aren’t going to go inside the house yet.”

I climb into the long back seat of the vehicle and he follows after.

When he closes the door, it shuts out the sound of the world. Rain patters gently on the windows and the roof, and now it’s just me and him, shrouded from the world.

He shoves off his bomber jacket and lets it drop to the floor, pulling in a slow breath.

His damp white long-sleeve clings to every muscle, and he still looks so strong, even now.

“It’s weird how my chest feels heavy as fuck and hollow, all at once,” he tells me. “Is there some scientific reason for that in the human body?”

I run my knuckles gently down the center of his chest. “A lot of emotion rests here. Yes, it is normal, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The sound of the rain is soothing, and for a while we just stay like this.

And I realize that I’ve never felt more comfortable with another person before.

I know he’s not just waiting for me to speak. He actually trusts me, and he’s comfortable in silence, even if he’s the best talker in the world.

“Fuck,” Tate whispers softly a few minutes later. “Thank you, Roman.”

I hum deeply. “Always.”

I feel his eyes land on me. “What are you thinking about?”

“You. I’m always thinking about you.”

He exhales. “Yeah, I think about you all the fucking time, too. What were you thinking about me?”

I release his hand and then drag my palm up his thigh, lost in thought.

“Would you have let that boy fuck you tonight, Tate?” I murmur. “If I weren’t there?”

“Is that what you’re thinking about right now? Kian?”

I run my free hand through my damp hair.

“No. I am thinking about shoving you down into this seat, and fucking you until you forget anyone else’s cock other than mine.”