12

-MALCOLM-

I LIEon the bed listening to the hum of the shower in the en suite. After I carefully untied him, I carried him to the shower and washed his perfect body with warm water as he lay there and let me, eyes glazed and a blissed-out smile on his face.

I stayed silent while the warm water washed away the cum. It felt painfully intimate, and I'm still dazed. After he was clean I gave him some space to soak on his own, and he didn't seem to mind as I slipped away.

My fingers brush my lips. They're still swollen from the long messy kiss I gave him. I'm feeling strange. Like the ground has lost its stability.

He looked so good, ruined and debauched, so needy and . . . open. Like he was showing me his soul through his blue eyes. I couldn't not kiss him. And I don't know if I'm scared or not.

The box I fetched from the car rests on the foot of the bed, and a healthy dinner and drink is laid out on the side table with some of his new clothes; a soft T-shirt and comfy sweatpants. After that session, he'll need time to recover. I lie and wait for him, staring up at the ceiling, feeling oddly empty. But not in a bad way. More like a calm lake. It's kinda nice.

The water shuts off and he emerges in a cloud of steam wrapped in one of the towel robes, skin clean and pink. He stops and frowns, seeing me on the bed, like he's surprised I'm still here in his room.

"Hey," he says.

Water drips from his hair and down his jaw. I watch it for a moment, and then point at the box.

"I got those for you."

He turns his frown from me to the box. "Like a present?"

I roll my eyes. "No, like a ‘don't be a fucking idiot again' reminder."

He snorts. "What is it?"

He opens the box and looks inside. His mouth opens but he doesn't say anything, just stares and blinks for a while, then looks up to me. "Are these . . ."

"Don't worry, I checked. They're the ones you use."

He pulls out a pack of EpiPens.

"How much were all these?"

I shrug. "Don't know, didn't check."

His eyes go round and shiny. I shift uncomfortably as he stares at me, his big blue puppy dog eyes going soft. Oh shit, he isn't going to cry is he? Please don't cry.

"This is . . ." He blinks a few more times and I cringe inwardly at the emotion in his voice. "Thank you, Mal. This means so much to me."

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." He shakes his head and makes a noise somewhere between a wet laugh and a scoff. "You have no idea." He rummages through the box still shaking his head. "You know these are probably going to expire before I use them? They only last about a year."

I shrug again. "Then I'll buy you new ones."

He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and sits down on the bed next to me. Ok, this is getting a little too emotional for me. The warning voice that's always at the back of my head is starting to panic, telling me it's time to go. And I want to. I want to get out of here, back into my own room where it's safe and empty and there's no North looking at me the way he's looking at me.

But . . . I also don't want to.

It's a fucking weird feeling, and I have no idea what's going on inside my own head. So I just keep very still and wait to see what'll happen.

After a long silence he says, "So. You and Paul?"

Right. I clear my throat. "We used to fuck, that's all it was. I ended it a few months ago."

"What was he talking about? Outside the diner?"

I groan internally. I've had enough of Paul for a lifetime. "It was nothing," I say.

"He said something about . . . whipping?"

"Yes. He did. But it doesn't matter."

"I'd still like to know," he says.

I avert my eyes, but I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my face. "He wanted me to whip him as part of our practice, but I don't do that."

"Why not?"

"It makes me uncomfortable," I say. It makes me more than uncomfortable, but he doesn't need to know that particular one of my many weaknesses.

"Oh, ok." Out of the corner of my eye I can see him frowning.

"Are you disappointed?" I ask. It's not something he's ever shown interest in, but maybe he is.

"No."

There's a long pause, and I risk looking back at him again. I can see the thoughts whirring in his head. What's going to come out next? I dread his next question, but we need to get this over with, and I haven't died yet so—

"Is it something to do with your scar?"

My eyes snap up to his and I take a sharp breath. Damn. It's easy to forget how sharp he is. I don't know if I can talk about this. My throat already feels like it's getting too tight. Should I lie?

But seeing the way Becki was with him was a wake-up call. While I'm busy keeping a separation between us, other people won't be so eager to stay away from him. I thought I could deal with not being exclusive, but I was wrong. North is mine, and I don't want anyone touching him, or even looking at him. The compulsion to own all of him is more than just a desire. It's a driving force that I have no control over. His thoughts, his body, and each and every one of his desires—I need them all. And this barrier I keep between us keeps me safe. But he wants more, and how long is he going to settle for what I can give him before he gets sick of trying?

The barrier might be protecting me, but it's holding me back. To keep him I might have to step outside my comfort zone, way out. I rub my palms on the legs of my pants. The thought of making myself vulnerable makes me feel sick.

But I have to decide which I want more, safety? Or North?

Everything inside me is rebelling, but I already know the answer before I've even finished asking the question, and it fills me with panic and excitement at the same time.

North.

I want North more.

I clear my throat. "Yes. It is," I say.

His eyes widen, shocked that I actually answered his question. I busy myself scratching my jaw while he stares at me, heat burning across my skin, up my neck, over my face.

"He didn't . . . Paul didn't give it to you did he?" he says. He actually sounds worried. It's . . . sweet. I rub my hand over my neck, deeply uncomfortable.

"No. I've had the scar for a long time."

"Can you tell me about it?" he asks quietly.

Can I? I honestly don't know.

"Not yet."

"Ok." He nods.

And somehow that makes my throat even tighter. He's not going to push, he's happy with the answers I can give him. I flex my shoulders and try to swallow around the lump in my throat. If I cry now I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus.

My stomach is churning, and I feel too open. A snail without its shell. Giving him even that small truth was like pulling teeth.

Slowly, like he's afraid I'm going to spook and run off—and honestly, I might—he lifts his hand and rests it on my shoulder. I roll my neck, fighting the urge to pull away.

"Can you stay here tonight?" he asks. "With me?"

I take a deep breath. "Ok."

The smile that spreads across his face is almost blinding.

"Thanks."

"But no cuddling or whatever," I say quickly. Damage control.

His face is so fucking smug I want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. "Sure. Let's not go crazy."

Smug little shit.