Page 9 of Sweet (Chicago Underground 7)
My throat felt thick and swollen as I swallowed.
I was privileged. I knew that. My brother had money, influence, and everyone wanted to get close to him. I had been propositioned plenty of times with suave smiles and calculated remarks from guys who wanted to get to know me better. After all, getting to know me meant getting introduced to the family. It meant financial advantage in the form of my brother’s favor. I didn’t want to be used, didn’t even want serious. I just wanted sex.
“You would say yes…for me? Or because you think Philip would like you better if we were an item.”
He shook his head, not offended at my accusation. A simple refute: no, try again. “Philip would kick my ass if he knew, but aside from that, I don’t need your help to stay in his good graces. I’m as close to him as anyone, maybe more than you.”
That was true, he didn’t need my help. Unlike any of the other men who had come on to me, he wouldn’t really gain more access to Philip with me than without.
Was that what made him so attractive? Though attraction wasn’t really what I felt for him. He didn’t pull me to him with charm or seduction. His very presence flipped a switch inside me. I became alight with anticipation and arousal and other things I didn’t have the words for. I wanted to feel like this all the time. He’d said he wouldn’t deny me.
I swallowed, wondering if I had the courage to ask for what I wanted.
Drew opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to reconsider. “Well, I guess I should head downstairs. It will feel better if you leave the ice pack on.”
He turned to leave, and I blurted out, “Would you do it for me?”
A beat passed, then two.
“Do what?”
“What…what I did last night.” Strip. Masturbate. “Would you be willing to do it for me?”
His body tightened. Even through the barrier of his shirt, I could see the muscles of his back go taut. His hands fisted in the air. “You want to see that?”
I had dreamed of it last night. “I want to. I promise not to touch.”
“Is this supposed to be convincing me?”
A surprised laugh escaped. “I won’t touch…this first time.”
“Ah,” he said quietly. “Then I suppose I don’t have a choice but to wait and see. How would you like me?”
Well, that was a loaded question. Weighted down with other questions like how long until Philip comes looking for him? and where will we go from here? I don’t know, I don’t know.
I stood and dimmed the light, leaving us bathed in soft yellow from my reading lamp. The same as last night, only closer and more intimate because he was here with me. I locked the door too, just in case we had less time than he thought.
I turned to face him, leaning back against the wall. “Wherever you like.”
He looked at the bed. He looked back at me.
He sat down in the armchair by the corner. The message was clear and heartbreakingly thoughtful—no pressure to go further, like a bed might imply. And there was a sweet symmetry, in the place I had stripped myself and where he would do the same. Our reflections caught by the same window, faint impressions trapped in glass where only the two of us could see.
But even while I appreciated the gesture, unease nudged at me. He seemed so alone in the corner, as if this were a perverted sort of punishment instead of my reward.
He reached for his zipper, and my breath caught.
“No,” I breathed.
His hands froze. He raised his eyes to meet mine.
“How can I make this…better for you?” Inwardly, I winced at my bumbling ignorance, but I held my ground. This was my room, my show. I could make of it what I wanted. And I never wanted him to hurt.
“If you were here with me.” His voice roughened. “Near to me. I would come so hard.”
I knelt on the floor at his feet. My knees cried out in pain, but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding of my pulse. It beat a rhythm of wanting and waiting, a tribal song I somehow knew by heart.
“Your knees?” he asked.
