Page 121 of Almost Ravaged

He jerks back, his head lifting so suddenly I swear I hear his neck crack. “What the actual fuck, Merce?”

“I’m just letting you know.” I shrug. “I fucked her tits and came all over her chest.” I take two steps forward. “Then I ate her out. I laid her out on my desk and feasted on her perfect pussy.”

I inch closer, a predator sizing up an adversary. Is he going to fight back or cower as prey?

“She’s so fucking sweet,” I taunt. “Wet and juicy. Just like that honey you love so much.”

His eyes flare, and he clenches his fists.

He’s right there. On the edge of losing control, on the precipice of free-falling and letting himself admit the truth.

I feel awful for what I’m about to do, but I need to fucking know. How badly does he want her? Is it a crush, or is he prepared to man up and admit his feelings?

I look him right in the eye and smirk. “You should see the way her chest heaves and all that creamy pale skin flushes red when she comes.” I get right up in his face, teeth gritted. “You should hear the sounds she makes when she’s choking on a cock and begging for more.”

I’m hit square in the chest, the blow like being hit by a high-speed train. I stumble back. He follows, shoving at my chest, raging and cussing, until I slam into the storage shed in the corner of the barn, making the doors rattle.

With one forearm locked against my sternum, he keeps me pinned in place and grinds his forehead into mine, seething. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

There it is.

The answer I didn’t want but needed to hear. A truth that changes everything.

I grunt, sucking in shallow breaths, unable to take in more oxygen because of the pressure he’s applying to my chest. With the type of fury that’s coursing through him, he’d be fully capable of cracking my ribs.

My lungs burn, but I don’t push him away. Only when I cough and gasp for air to ease the pain does he let up a fraction.

“You like her,” I accuse. “Your reaction just now? That proves it. You just have to admit it to yourself.”

His eyes shutter closed and he pulls back a bit more, allowing my lungs to fully expand.

I fight back a shallow cough and try to focus on steadying my breathing. All the while, I glare at my best friend, silently challenging him to deny his infatuation again.

We both know the truth. Why won’t he fucking admit it?

I push him off me with a forceful shove and jab at his chest. “You like her.”

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, his expression tortured, he shakes his head. “She deserves more than me.”

“Bullshit.”

He jolts, going stock-still.

I lean back against the storage shed, letting him see just how little of his self-loathing I plan to tolerate today.

The hat comes off again. He strangles the bill and wrings the worn fabric in his hands before he chucks it across the barn and clutches at his hair, tugging on the strands. “I’m not fit to be with anyone. I can’t keep my shit together for more than a week at a time. I barely feel human most days. I spent half of last week in bed, for fuck’s sake. I can’t give that girl anywherecloseto what she deserves.”

He rights himself and paces, his boots scraping against the worn cement floor and kicking up dust with each pass.

“I’m not enough,” he murmurs, his head bowed. “Not anywhere near enough for the likes of her.”

The somber reality of his revelation chills my blood.

He believes, down to his bones, that he’s not worthy. It breaks my fucking heart.

Deadpan, I tell him, “I don’t need a lecture about your self-loathing. Don’t bullshit me here, Noah. Without any pretenses or excuses, I just need to know: Do you want to be with her?”

He halts, yanking on his hair again.