Page 52 of Studs Up
“Because you’re having a panic attack,” I said softly.
“I am not.” He pouted like a disgruntled toddler. Somehow it was fucking cute, and I didn’t know what was wrong with me.
“Don’t be a defiant prick.”
He pulled away and tried to get out of the bed.
“I don’t need you to care.”
“Who the fuck said I did?” I did care. I cared so fucking much it hurt. I pulled him back and, this time pinned him under me. Wrapping my legs all the way around his and keeping him in place. He struggled fruitlessly and without any real effort. “I want to win tomorrow. So shut the fuck up and cuddle.”
“Does it have to be naked?” He grumbled, but I felt him give in just a little when his hand rested on my waist.
“We’re not naked.”
His other hand slid around my back.
“Mostly naked,” he whispered. His heartbeat, pounding in the vein of his neck, was slowing down, and his eyes were getting heavy.
“We’re wearing boxers,” I murmured. He made a noise between a snort and a harumph.
His surrender molded him into my body until he fit perfectly into every curve and nook of mine.
Why hadn’t we slept in the same bed before? This was incredible. Holding him like this gave me a powerful feeling of contentment I didn’t know existed. The world could be blowing up around us, and I’d never know.
Confident he wasn’t going to make a run for it, I loosened my grip on him and rolled until I was on my back, and his head rested on my chest. My hand roamed his back, brushing his skin. I wanted this all the time. I wanted this when he wasn’t struggling and panicking.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked. My fingers traced each of his bones as they grazed down his spine. It was like turning a key to unlock the tension in his body.
His muscles released, one by one. It started in his neck, allowing his head to relax into the curve of mine. His warm breath grazed across my collarbone. Then his shoulders slumped, and his arms went slack.
“Since I was eighteen,” he said. “It didn’t take long to realize that my sexuality and my dreams wouldn’t mix. No one wants a gay man staring at cocks and asses in the locker room.”
“Do you stare at my cock and ass in the locker room?”
He rolled his head, and I could see the feigned irritation. Progress. He wasn’t in his head anymore.
“I do now,” he said dryly. “But I tried really hard not to.”
His breath slowed down, and his fingers began to play with the hair on my chest. It tickled a little, but I wasn’t going to stop him. I liked the way his hand spread over my heart.
“You can check me out any time,” I murmured.
I didn’t need to look to know he was rolling his eyes.
“I wouldn’t want to feed that overindulged ego of yours,” he said dryly.
“If you want to talk about egos, we can do that.”
His body shook with a quiet laugh. It was silent for a while. His heartbeat slowed, and he became heavier as the panic eased.
“I’m doing this under protest,” he mumbled.
“Noted.”
“I still hate you.”
“I hate you too. Go to sleep, Holden,” I murmured and pressed a kiss to the forehead of the stubborn boneheaded asshole until he drifted into sleep.
