15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Emil

Christian looks drop-dead gorgeous tonight.

Frankly, he looks gorgeous all the time. But tonight, he’s like a jewel. A ruby, maybe, with all the red. And it’s not just me. Guy after guy has tried approaching Christian to no avail. Each time, he’s brushed off their advances and sometimes, quite literally, their hands. Just a minute ago, when one guy touched his ass, Christian spun around, said something I couldn’t make out clearly but that sounded a lot like hands off unless you want to lose them , and then he turned back around and looped his arms over my shoulders with a smile.

Christian hasn’t once tried to move my hands away, not in all the time we’ve been at the club. Not even now, when my fingers not-so-accidentally skim the soft underside of his ass cheek as we spin in a slow circle beside Alex and his boyfriends. He simply raises an amused eyebrow my way.

It makes me feel bold, and I trace the swell of his ass, feeling the curve of it, uncaring if anyone notices my hand beneath his skirt.

“Are you being naughty, Specs?” Christian asks, leaning close.

In answer, I let my other hand slip between our bodies, over the front of Christian’s skirt.

This time, he does catch my hand. But still, he doesn’t push me away.

“Specs,” he says, my name a gentle admonishment. “You told me not to let you do that.”

“I told you not to fuck me,” I counter, inhaling Christian’s scent from his neck. It reminds me of wintergreen.

He chuckles, something I can feel more than hear. “I think it’s time to go.”

“What? Why?” I groan, wanting to stay right here where I can touch Christian all I want and he lets me.

His lips skimming my ear perk me up as much as an electrical zap. “Because I made you a promise, Specs, and I intend to keep it. And right now, you’re acting like you’re two seconds away from pulling out my cock here on the dance floor.”

God, that sounds good .

“Come on,” Christian says, stepping back, my hand in his. He says something to Alex, who waves at me wildly, and we head for the exit.

There are a few people out on the sidewalk waiting for rideshares. It doesn’t take long for our own to arrive, and I follow Christian into the backseat of our car, trying my very best not to stare at his ass as he gets situated. It’s a losing battle. When we pull away from the curb, the thumping beat of the club continues to pulse in my ears, everything still a little muddled, as if I’m swimming underwater.

Christian eyes me. “Okay, Specs?”

I nod, head feeling heavy.

“You’re not drunk,” he says, almost a question but not quite. His next word is a whisper. “Horny?”

I groan, and Christian laughs. It’s a light sound, not mocking, so I laugh with him.

“I’m messed up,” I mutter, letting my head fall back against the seat.

Christian grabs my hand. “No,” he says firmly. “Not in the least.”

Neither of us says anything more, mindful of the driver in the car with us, but I’m positive not everyone gets a raging hard-on from the idea of pleasing another man in front of a club full of people. I would have dropped to my knees right there and worshiped Christian’s cock if he’d let me. It would have been so good . Thrilling. I wouldn’t have cared about the repercussions. Not until later.

There’s a reason I rarely ever dance. Rarely ever date.

How do I know who I can trust?

“Specs,” Christian says, pulling my focus. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

I swallow and nod, but I’m not sure I believe it.

When the driver drops us off outside our apartments, Christian heads toward my building without a word. I follow, my bravado faltering now that the haze has passed and we’re back in the real world where I’m just Emil, nerdy psych major who prefers solitude apart from his hermit crab and the company of his books.

Although that hasn’t been the case lately, has it? Christian has been nice company, too.

My neighbor stops outside my door, waiting for me to unlock it. I do, and we head inside together. I flick on the lights as Christian unzips his ridiculously tall boots. I try not to stare, instead making my way over to check on Arthur.

I can sense Christian as he walks into the room behind me. He hums, drawing my eye.

“I’ve seen these before but never really paid attention,” he says, stopping in front of the art on the wall behind the couch. There are three frames. “Are these brains?”

“Yeah,” I admit a bit sheepishly, crossing the room to stand beside him. He’s looking at the leftmost piece.

“It’s lit like a city or something.”

“Yeah, uh, it’s a representation of the portions of our brain that light up in response to fear.”

“Seriously?” he asks, looking over at me with wide eyes.

I nod, pointing to the one next to it. The middle one. “That one is pleasure.”

Christian examines it for a long moment. “It’s so different,” he says, almost in awe.

“Yeah, it is.”

“And this one?” Christian asks, stepping over to the third.

I clear my throat. “That one is love. See this here?” I tap a portion that’s lit. “That’s the midbrain’s ventral tegmental area. Its primary function, above all else, is the assessment of need. It’s what drives us to eat and drink to stay alive. People like to think of love as this wild, intangible thing, lust-driven and passionate. But look.”

Christian looks over at the brain map for pleasure again.

“It’s not the same,” I point out. “When you fall in love…that person becomes a necessity. Your brain lights up the same way it does when you eat or drink or breathe air. That person— loving that person—is something your body has adapted to and now views as essential to your survival. And that…” I huff a laugh, shrugging. “I don’t know. I guess that’s more romantic to me than passion ever could be.”

Christian is quiet, and when I look over at him, he’s staring right back. “That’s remarkable, Specs.”

“Is it?” I ask, knowing I tend to enjoy this stuff vastly more than the average person.

He hums, looking back at the neural representation of love. He stares at it for half a minute before looking at the electrical activity for fear again. Christian swallows, something passing over his face I’m not sure how to decipher, but then he shakes his head and says, “I like these. They’re very you.”

“Cerebral?” I ask with a chuckle.

He tilts his head. Appraising. Thoughtful. “Pretty,” he answers. “Smart and pretty.”

My pulse takes off like a shot.

“I had a scene with Alex this morning,” Christian says, throwing me for a loop. He heads toward the hall, and I follow.

“Um, yeah?”

I knew Christian would be filming with other guys at the studio, of course. And sure, maybe I already checked the schedule and saw he was slated for a scene with Alex. I was curious, sue me.

Christian nods, flipping on the light in my room. When he doesn’t say anything more, I start to worry.

“Was it bad ?” I ask.

“Oh, no,” he says quickly, shooting me a small smile. He takes a seat on the edge of my bed, crossing his long legs and leaning back on his arms. His skirt rides indecently high up his legs. “It was fine. Just…different, I guess. He’s very exuberant.”

I huff a laugh. Sounds like Alex.

“It was scripted, too,” Christian says, his leg swinging. “It felt more like a production, you know? Like I was acting. There was a lot of ‘ Ooh, baby. Faster, yes. My God, you’re so tight. ’”

I snort, and Christian grins.

“But even so,” he goes on, expression turning almost pensive, “it was just sex, you know? It wasn’t… Well, it wasn’t the same as my scenes with you.”

For a moment, I forget how to breathe. “Sex with me is more than sex?” I ask.

It takes Christian a few seconds to answer. His leg keeps swinging, but his face…his face goes through a myriad of emotions, the last of which is resolve. “Yeah, Specs,” he finally says. “I guess it is. At least, it feels that way to me.”

“Oh,” I say, unable to produce a single other word. Wow . That’s… My head spins. Say something! “Um… Thank you?”

Christian’s lips twist into a smile, his expression smoothing into something fond and familiar. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Holy—

“Yes,” I squeak out. “Um, sure. That’d be fine.”

He nods, dropping his foot back to the floor and standing. “Do you have face wash I can use?”

“Uh, yeah. In the cabinet behind the mirror.”

“Thanks,” he says, walking from the room.

I stand there. Staring at the empty doorway. Contemplating my life.

I get changed for bed while Christian is in the bathroom. It doesn’t take long for him to return, his makeup gone and his face looking freshly washed. Some of his hair is a little wet, too, as if it got dampened during the process.

“Do you have something I can wear?” he asks, tugging his see-through shirt off over his head. His belly chain shifts as the fabric rolls over it, but then it settles once more along the curves of his stomach. He folds his shirt before setting it on my desk. “Specs?”

“Um, yeah,” I say, heading to my dresser.

“Can I have the bottoms with the crabs?” he asks, a soft sort of amusement in his voice. “They’re my favorite.”

My cheeks flame, more at the knowledge of Christian knowing what I wear at night—having seen me through the window, of course—than embarrassment over the print on the pajamas. I grab them from the drawer, grateful that they’re clean. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he says, unceremoniously unzipping and dropping his skirt.

I swallow my tongue. And my moan.

Christian pulls the pajama bottoms on, covering his skimpy black thong. He sets to work taking off his jewelry next, and I get caught up in watching the process. The way he handles the silver chain is mesmerizing.

“Not the most comfortable to sleep in,” he says, catching my eye.

“Sure,” I manage. “Does, um… Does it ever get caught during sex?”

He huffs a small laugh, setting the neatly rolled chain on his folded shirt and then picking up his skirt from the floor, adding it to the pile. “It can happen, yeah. The tug isn’t pleasant.”

“I can imagine,” I mutter, making a mental note to be extra cautious next time Christian wears one during our scenes.

“Ready?” he asks.

My mouth pops open. “For?”

He cocks his head slightly, a small smile on his face. “Bed, Specs.”

Oh God. Right. Bed.

“Of course,” I say quickly. “Um, did you want a shirt?”

“No, that’s okay,” Christian says, throwing back my sheets and climbing onto the mattress. He sinks into place opposite my normal position, and something about that makes my head reel. “Coming?”

“Yep.”

I hit the light, and then I carefully scoot into bed next to Christian. He still smells like wintergreen, all fresh and light. I set my glasses aside before trying to close my eyes.

“Hey, Specs?”

“Yeah?” I answer, voice quiet.

“I’ve never slept in a bed with anyone before.”

The admission shocks me. “No?”

“No. Would it bother you if I were the big spoon?”

I huff a laugh, part disbelief, part giddy nerves. “That’d be fine.”

Christian hums, a sound I’ve gotten used to hearing from him. The next second, he’s rolling me onto my side and slotting into place behind me as if it’s the most natural thing. His arm comes around my waist, our legs fitting together like magnets, and then he lets out a breath, his nose brushing the back of my head.

Slowly, I cover Christian’s arm with my own.

“I think I like this,” he says.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

It feels as if his lips press a soft kiss against my hair. “Night, Specs.”

“Goodnight,” I say, my pulse skidding along as Christian breathes quietly behind me.

What does it mean that we’re sleeping together? That Christian says sex with me doesn’t feel casual?

I don’t know what to make of it, but my heartbeat settles, my eyes slip shut, and I sink into the same sense of calm I feel anytime I’m in Christian’s arms.

As I drift to sleep, I can’t help but wonder what parts of my brain are lit like Vegas lights.