Page 41 of Best Wrong Thing

“Kiss. Fuck. Cuddle.”

“Mm. Did you know those are three of my favourite pastimes?”

Jacob laughs. “They’re my favourites too.”

Chapter 11

Jacob

“Hi, lover.” Archer pulls me into his flat and shuts the door.

We fall upon each other straight away. Groping, stroking, and kissing as we stumble the short distance into his bedroom. It’s always the same. Fuck first, chat later. It’s what we agreed to. It’s what I want. Only sometimes when we’re cuddling, I imagine having more. Not that we can have more, and I don’t know him well enough to want more, but that doesn’t stop my imagination skipping into fantasy land.

“Good day?” Archer asks between frantic kisses.

“Yes. You?”

“Uh-huh.”

Archer didn’t finish work until eleven, and it’s half past now. He can have only been home a few minutes. He smells of the bar. Of spilt alcohol and a thousand different perfumes and colognes. Late-night visits for sex have become our norm over the last few weeks.

My need for him has done nothing but grow. I stupidly thought I’d fuck him out of my system in a week or two. But here we are, almost a month since he got on his knees and sucked me off for the first time, and desire still burns in my groin.

I hunger for the sex but long for the time we spend together afterwards. Naked, tired, and sweaty. We hold each other and talk. Enjoying him within the safety of these four walls has to be enough, so why does it feel like it isn’t?

During the day, I catch myself daydreaming about him. Not about having sex with him, but about hiking through the Dales, casually holding hands. About taking him out for dinner or to see a film. I daydream about the things couples do.

But we’re not a couple.

We’re fuck buddies. And it has to be enough.

The thought of going public, of telling my parents or Molly we’re fucking, leaves me in a cold sweat. They can’t know. Dad and Molly can’t judge the age gap between us—theirs is far bigger—but society will. Everyone will judge me for fucking my stepbrother.Everyone. It’s not right. It’s not the done thing. It’s not okay.

“I need you,” I whisper.

Losing myself in him is the only way to shove my fears aside. Why do I crave the one thing I can’t have? If only I’d met him sooner before Dad had married Molly. Better yet, before he fucked her. We could have been together then. But now? Now it’s wrong. Yet I can’t stop needing him and coming to him and being with him. Is this what it’s like to be an addict? Knowing what you want is wrong, that having it could ultimately destroy you but indulging anyway.

“Oh, fuck, I need you too,” Archer tightens his grip on my shoulders.

“Inside you?”

“Yes.” His voice is a needy whine.

Anyone would think I hadn’t fucked him in a week. I was here last night, although I didn’t stay over.

We undress each other with frantic, clumsy hands. Archer takes lube and a condom out of his dresser drawer, drops them on the bed, and then positions himself on his hands and knees.

“No.”

He looks over his shoulders, brows raised. “No?”

We always have sex doggy style.

I lick my lips. “I want to—Can we try something different?”

“You’re not normally nervous about sex.”

He’s right. It’s only outside the bedroom I’m nervous and fumbling.