by D. D. Miers
"Too many things," I said honestly. "There's a lot to worry about lately."
I ran a hand over his bare shoulder, down to his hip. He was wearing those sweat pants again, and I toyed with the band thoughtfully.
"With Cole today," I said quietly, then corrected myself. "What he said last night. Do you like him?"
Ethan looked surprised for a moment, then looked away, jaw tight. I sensed the sudden tension in him, like he braced for impact. I touched his cheek.
" If you like him. It's okay," I said, quickly.
He caught my hand against his cheek, squeezing it, but he didn't look at me.
"I'm not like that," he whispered. "Please don't think that I'm like that."
"Like what?" I asked, confused. I'd never seen him like this. There was something almost like disgust in the set of his mouth, the tight furrow of his brows. But it wasn't directed at me. "Like what? Bisexual?"
He flinched, like the word caused him physical pain.
"I like you," he said, his voice rough. "I like being with you."
"But you like him, too," I said, not understanding what upset him. He put a hand over his face. There was a tremor in his shoulders, an emotion trying to escape. And his nails looked distinctly claw-like.
"Ethan," I said, softly, running a hand over his chest in soothing circles. "What are you afraid of? I'm not upset. I'm not even surprised. It's . . . it's not a problem."
"It is a problem," he said, dragging his hand down his face to his mouth. He was afraid. Finally, finally, he looked at me.
"I didn't want you to know," he said. "I don't want anyone to know."
"Fine," I said immediately. "I won't tell anyone."
"You don't understand," he said, closing his eyes again.
"No, I don't," I agreed. "This doesn't change anything. I don't care if you've been with guys before—"
"I haven't," he said, sharply.
"I don't care," I repeated. "It doesn't affect our relationship at all. It only matters if you want it to. I just want to know more about you. If this is a part of who you are, I want to know about it."
He still looked worried.
"I really like you, Ethan," I said quietly. "I don't know if this is just a fling to you or whatever. I understand if this is something you're just not comfortable talking about with someone who . . . who might not be part of your life for long. But I really like you. I want to see if this can work. I want to know who you are."
"Are you sure?" he said. "Are you really sure?"
"I'm sure," I said, with as much gravity as I could manage, touching his cheek. "It doesn't bother me. It's part of who you are, and I like who you are."
I saw him swallow hard. He turned his face into my hand and kissed my palm, staying that way for a moment.
"It's not . . . something I'm really comfortable with," he said.
"No shit," I replied, and he laughed softly, the sound touched with bitterness, his mouth moving against my palm.
"My family was really religious," he explained. "Like, really religious. We were at church at least three times a week. And I was neck deep in it, full commitment, purity ring and all. Even after I . . . after I started to realize."
"That's rough," I said, unable to imagine it. My family had never been the churchgoing type, for obvious reasons. "I'm guessing your church wasn't the accepting type?"
"More like the 'organized a protest against my high school's GSA' type," he said, ruefully. "Also abstinence is all that should be taught in sex ed and masturbation is a sin. The whole fundamentalist shebang."
"Damn," I replied. "No wonder you've got hang-ups about this."
"My family would never speak to me again if they knew," he said, barely above a whisper. "Or worse. A girl in my church came out in junior year. Her mother beat the shit out of her. Sent her to the hospital. When she was released, they wouldn't come pick her up. She had to get a friend to bring her home. She found the locks changed and everything she owned on the curb. I don't even know what happened to her. She didn't come back to school. Her friends told me what her mom did and that she'd been kicked out, but they didn't know anything else, either. No one at church would talk about it. Her mom went right back to singing hymns like nothing had happened, with her hands still bruised from trying to beat the gay out of her kid. My dad said he 'admired her resolve.'"
I shuddered and was briefly intensely grateful for my boring but perfectly supportive family. I literally brought dead things back to life, but I'd never worried that my parents would hate me for it or throw me out, let alone send me to the hospital. They didn't understand that part of my life. Couldn't understand it. But at least I knew they loved me, anyway. I took his hand, all I could do to show my support.
"I heard dozens of stories like that," he said quietly, looking down at our hands as he laced our fingers. "No one else from the church. But a couple of other kids at school. And when I was older, people at work. And when I started traveling because of the curse, I just found more. I don't know what's worse, the ones that end up homeless or the ones that are forced to stay with a family that hates them. There's no good option. Do you understand what I'm saying, Vexa?"
I squeezed his hand, wishing I had the words.
"There's no happy ending for people like me," he said.
"That's not true," I said, immediately. His grip on my hand relaxed. He shook his head, pulling away.
"It isn't true," I insisted. "Yeah, it sucks, but it doesn't mean you're hopeless! You're already out of there. You don't need your family's approval to survive and live a perfectly happy life. You can have a happy ending without them."
He forced a smile and kissed the back of my hand softly.
"Thank you for trying," he said. "For listening."
"Any time," I told him. "Really, any time. You want to talk about tragic life stuff? I'm down. You want to gossip about boys? I can do that too."
He snorted, and I was relieved to hear him laugh.
"So who was your favorite boy band?" I asked, teasing, and he made a faux-disgusted noise.
"Don't," he said with a small chuckle. "Really, don't. It's still sore."
"Okay," I said, and laid down next to him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I'll let you bring it up in the future. I just want you to know I'm here for you."
With another soft laugh, he turned to look me in the eyes, his own strangely vulnerable.
"What about this?" he asked, his hand sliding up my thigh to my waist. "Are you still here for this? It's okay if you're not."
I answered by kissing him, hard. Hell, yes, I was. On principle. And after a conversation that heavy, if this was what he needed to feel like I was really still into him, I was more than happy to oblige.
Ethan smiled against my lips and kissed me back, pulling me closer, our legs tangling as his strong hands squeezed my hips.
"So," he said, taking a deep breath as we broke the kiss. "About Cole . . ."
"Yeah?" I was still a little lightheaded from the kiss, thinking about how far we could risk going.
"You like him, too."
That got my attention. Heat rushed to my face.
"I don't know," I admitted. "He's cute. But it's not like I would . . . I'm not planning to—"
"It's all right," he said, kissing my forehead. "You don't need to apologize."
"You aren't jealous?" I asked.
"Of course I am," Ethan said with a forced half laugh. "He's cute, and he's a necromancer like you, and he's got that whole tragic bad boy thing going on. And as much as I like you, you know I have a . . . a time limit."
"Ethan," I said, concerned, sitting up. He shook his head, pushing me back down gently.
"Unless we find a way to break the curse," he said, "one day, sooner rather than later, this thing is going to beat me. I'm not a good long-term investment."
"You're a person, not a stock option," I said. He laughed, but there was a bitterness in the set of his brows.
"The deeper you get involved with
me," he said, "the more it's going to hurt if and when that happens. I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to go through it. So, yeah, I'm jealous of the guy who could spend his life with you, when I might only get a few years. Or less."
I wished I was sure we would definitely break the curse. I hadn't really thought about how little time we might have. Now I could almost hear a clock ticking, precious seconds disappearing. It was a million times scarier than falling in love. I thought I was comfortable with the concept of death, considering who I was as a person, but I never really processed it until suddenly it's approaching, inevitable and implacable, and there's nothing I could do about it.
"But my jealousy doesn't matter," Ethan said at last. "I trust you. Jealousy is . . . people don't understand it. They act like it's a sign of love, or some big impassible obstacle, but jealousy is just an emotion. A symptom of insecurity. You can't just say 'I'm jealous' and end the conversation. You have to talk about it, figure out why you're jealous, solve the problem."
"I don't think I get what you're saying," I admitted, frowning.
He ran his hand down my back absentmindedly, thinking.
"I guess, what I'm saying is, if you want to be with him, it's okay with me."
My eyes widened. "Just because your curse might kill you eventually doesn't mean I'm going to jump ship before we've even—"
"It's not that."
"Are you just trying to give me an out because of the bi thing? Because you do not need to—"
Ethan covered my mouth with his hand, an exasperated smile on his face.
"No, Vexa, that's not what I mean," he said, shaking his head and removing his hand to brush my hair back. "I mean, if he's okay with it, if you want to be with him, too, I don't mind."
That shut me up. It wasn't a possibility I'd really considered. I found my mouth dry and my heart beating a little too hard at the thought.
"I know it's weird," he said, withdrawing a little, embarrassed. "I probably shouldn't have suggested it. I just feel like we have so little time, you shouldn't hold back. You deserve everything you want and so much more. You're incredible and—"
This time I put my hand over his mouth. When he stopped babbling, I removed my hand to kiss him instead.
"You'd really be okay with it?" I asked. He nodded, smiling. I looked for some trace of doubt in his eyes but couldn't find it. "Do you want to be with him, too?"
There was the flicker of doubt. He licked his lips, looking down at our joined hands.
"I haven't . . .," he admitted, "with a guy. I got close a few times. Couldn't go through with it."
"But you want to try with him?" I asked, pressing.
He looked away, fidgeting. I'd made him uncomfortable again.
"No . . . maybe," he admitted. "I shouldn't. But I don't think he'd go for it. Not with me, anyway."
"I don't know," I said, remembering how red Cole had turned whenever Ethan touched him earlier today. "I think you've got a chance."
"Would you be okay with that?" Ethan asked, looking into my eyes. "It's not even a remote possibility, but I don't want to pressure you into any kind of situation you're not comfortable with, even hypothetically."
I thought about it, remembering the way my stomach had fluttered watching them earlier, the pangs of worry and longing.
"I'm kind of afraid of it," I said, deciding that being honest was the best choice. "I'm kind of afraid you'll both decide you're better off without me. Is that stupid?"
"No, no, that's normal," Ethan said, quickly, pulling me close and kissing my head again. "God, that's perfectly normal, honey. I'm afraid of that, too. Hell, it'd probably be a good decision on your part. But you. You're incredible. I know this is still new, but it's not a fling to me. I want to make this last, at least as long as I have left. Things might change, maybe we'll learn more about each other and drift apart, who knows. But I know you make me want to try to make this work. Nothing that could happen with Cole is going to change that."
He kissed me again and I put my arms around him, my heart aching in my chest. I wasn't sure about anything yet, but this felt good. Right.
Ethan's tongue brushed my lips and a little hum of encouragement escaped me that made him squeeze me tighter. I slipped a leg over his hips, and his hand slid down from my waist to pull me closer, the air between us growing heated. I slid a hand into his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and he broke the kiss with a shiver to layer kisses over my throat.
I groaned in appreciation and Mort raised his head from the end of the bed. He huffed impatiently, jumped off the bed, and pawed the bedroom door open, disappearing into the darkness of the hall. Something about the sheer indignity of his reaction and the absurdity of us forgetting he was there made me start giggling, and once I started I couldn't stop. What a crazy intense conversation to be having at the end of this insane week. God, I almost died three times, and now I was discussing an open relationship with my closeted, bi, werewolf boyfriend. I thought my life was weird before all this started. Ethan got up to shut the door and I watched him go, still processing everything we'd talked about, but my thoughts trailed off as I enjoyed the sight of his ass in those sweatpants. It had been a very intense evening so far. As Ethan returned, I smiled at him, and hoped it wasn't quite over yet.
Chapter 11
As he returned to the bed, I rolled onto my back and opened my arms to him, eager to continue the kiss we'd broken a moment ago. He gladly complied, sliding over me to kiss me gently. I slid my arms around him, deepening the kiss and pulling him down into the pillows. I loved the reassuring pressure of his weight on me. It made me feel stable in a world where things constantly fell apart. I slid my hands down toward the waistband of his pants, and Ethan broke the kiss to catch my hand.
"We shouldn't," he said with a reluctant sigh. "You know what could happen."
He was right, but I didn't want to admit it. I wanted to be with him right now. After the heaviness of our conversation, it was important. I wanted to show him how much I wanted him. I wanted to see in his eyes how much he wanted me.
"Let's try something," I suggested, smiling. He raised an eyebrow but obeyed as I pushed him back into the pillows and climbed off the bed to retrieve something. When I returned with the belt from his pants, he looked slightly worried, sitting up against the headboard.
"Until we can buy those fuzzy handcuffs," I said, climbing into his lap. I took his hands, bringing them above his head to the bar of the bed's headboard, looping the belt in a figure eight around his wrists and the bar. I tightened it just enough that I could still fit two fingers between it and his skin.
"How's that feel?" I asked him. "It's not too tight, is it?"
"It feels weird," he admitted. "But it's not too tight."
"Do you want me to take it off?" I asked.
"Tell me what you're planning first," he said, chuckling.
"This is insurance," I said, tapping the belt before I settled more fully into his lap, with plenty of unnecessary wiggling. "The plan is to go very, very slowly."
I rolled my hips against his lap and saw him swallow hard.
"Build up a little at a time so that you never lose control. Sound good?"
"I don't know if that'll work," he said, biting his lip. "But I'm willing to try."
I grinned. "Awesome. Tell me right away if anything hurts or you want to stop"
I started with taking off my own clothes. True to my word, I took my sweet time with it, shedding my nightgown and the underwear underneath with as much pomp and circumstance as I could manage. It was a silly little strip tease, but it made him smile, which was what mattered.
I sat naked in his lap, straddling him as I finished and he smiled down at me, appreciating the view.
"You going to strip me next?" he asked.
I pretended to consider it for a minute.
"Hmm, nah, I think you're fine as you are."
I kissed him before he could say more. I started sweet and slow, then dragged my teeth over his lip,
bit down just enough to make him gasp and slipped my tongue alongside his to taste the warmth of his mouth.
As I kissed him, I rocked my hips in slow circles, grinding shamelessly against him. I heard the leather of the belt creak as my hands squeezed his chest and slide down to his waist. I took my time kissing him, my hands wandering, tracing his collarbone, the muscles of his arms, like I had all the time in the world, until I felt him getting hard against me. I rubbed myself against him for a moment until I heard his breathing beginning to catch. Then I shifted away, smiling at the frustrated noise he made.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, leaning back on one hand, still straddling his lap. "Still all good?"
"All great," he confirmed, his eyes hot as he looked over me. "Wolf isn't even showing its head yet. Maybe last time was a fluke."
"Maybe," I said, running my free hand down the center of my chest as I looked at him. "But I'm not taking any chances. You know, you look really good like this."
The sweat pants had slipped low on his hips. The fuzz of golden brown hair that disappeared underneath the band was a temptation hard to resist, pointing at the obvious outline of his neglected hard-on. The position of his arms above his head emphasized the lines of his well-defined chest, his broad shoulders, the curve of his stomach. Most of all the hunger in his eyes made me ache with excitement. In fact . . .
I let my hand trailing down my chest run all the way down to my lips, running lightly over the outside. I saw Ethan's pupils dilate as he watched my fingers slip inside to drag slowly through my folds, spreading glistening moisture up from my entrance to my clit. I bit my lip, almost able to feel his stare on me, a tingle on my skin as I slowly circled the peak, sighing as I relaxed slowly into the pleasure of sensation. At this pace I could touch myself all night, occasionally leaving my clit to slide through my folds again, spreading myself open for him to look but not touch. I heard the belt creak again, and he groaned.
"Oh, that's not fair," he said.
"What's not fair?" I asked, playing innocent as I laid back on my elbow, feeling the strain in the tops of my thighs as I stroked myself, literally in his lap and yet out of his reach.