Page 129 of Oleander

“You tell me?” I asked, slamming my bottle down on the desk. “What are my eyes saying, Cas? Do I hate you?”

I couldfeelthe alcohol in my bloodstream now, hot and fervid. I was taller now than the last time we’d been face to face, and from this angle I could see the faintest trace of circles beneath his eyes, a dullness in them that had never been there before – even when they were hard and cold, his eyes were always bright and sharp. His lips were pale and dry, but I’d never wanted to kiss them more.

“No,” he said, looking into my eyes. “You don’t hate me. You wish you did, but you don’t.”

I grabbed his arms and pushed, walking him backwards until he hit the wall. The smell of him hit me the way it always did, sharp and clean like the whitest freshest snow.

“I fucking hate you,” I hissed, quietly.

“You’ve always been a particularly bad liar, Jude. I’d have thought all these hours spent with Gideon might have taught you a thing or two, made you better at it, but it seems not”

I used my body to press him into the wall, almost groaning out loud at the feel of him against me after so long. My dick grew hard instantly, the feel of him everything I’d lost and seemed to have found again. Even if it was just for moments.

I said, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

His eyes dropped, slowly, to my mouth. He said, “Yes, well, it seems I have rather a propensity for making mistakes.”

My head was buzzing loud, my blood as wild for him as it always was. But to have him here, pressed to me, body warm and real, felt desperately vital in some way. A fierce, urgent thing beneath my skin. The potential of it breaking loose frightened me.

I brought my hand up, intending to brush it over his cheek, shift that section of hair back so that I could see all of his face, but I couldn’t do it. Was too afraid of touching him. Of what it might unleash. Instead, I thumped my fist against the wall beside his head. His breathing was fast and hard but he didn’t flinch, as though he expected it.

“Jude,” he said.

He wasn’t touching me, not voluntarily, not anywhere on my body; I was pressed against him, and he was merely allowing it to happen. But when he said my name, Christ, whenever he said my name, it felt like the most tender caress.

Against all reason and better judgement, I dropped my head onto his shoulder, turning it so that I could press my nose against his neck and inhale. I nosed gently at the skin, breathing him in. I waited for him to mock me, push me away, or tell me to stop, but he did neither. Instead, he angled his head to give me better access. I breathed deeper.

Then I felt his hand on my dick. I groaned.

Drunk on both him and the cheap vodka, I pushed into it. I was already rock hard, but his hand on it loosened the last of my fear and resolve. I grabbed his face and turned it toward me, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. It opened readily, warm and hot and sweet as I remembered.

I kissed and bit and breathed him in, rough with his mouth, before I dragged my lips down over his chin and his jaw andhis neck. Caspien fumbled with my waistband, sliding his hand inside my sweats as he panted. Before he got his hand around my bare dick, I gasped and pulled back.

I don’t remember how my hand got to his throat, but it was there, wrapped around it, as I held his head against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

His mouth was a ruin. Red and wet and asking to be fucked. His eyes were glazed over with something I remembered painfully well. Lust.

“I’d have thought that rather obvious, no?” He stroked my length, thumbing the tip in a way that sent sparks shooting through my balls.

I squeezed his throat tighter.

“Cas,” I warned. “This isn’t going to stop at a wank, or even a blowjob. If you don’t stop.” I didn’t want him to stop. I let out a desperate moan as his perfect fingers traced lower, over my balls.

“What are you going to do?” he taunted. “Finallyshove your dick in me?”

The image blasted itself across my frontal lobe. Cas bent over, open and begging. Me shoving into him over and over and over. Punishing him for everything he’d done. Taking from him what I’d wanted for so long. What I deserved to have. Drinking up his pleas for me to slow or stop and ignoring every single one. There was no hesitation or confusion about what I wanted when it came tohim. There never had been. I was almost feral with the certainty of what I wanted from Cas.

I sprang back, away from him, alarmed by the realisation.

“You need to leave,” I said, turning from him. I went to the desk and lifted the bottle again, all but pouring it down my throat. It burned. Everything in me burned. Dangerousand unstoppable, on the cusp of something incendiary and uncontainable.

I turned to see him lounging against the wall where I’d left him, watching me, breathing a little quick. It was a long time before he spoke.

“I think about it sometimes,” he said. “Your perfect dick. About how it would feel in me. I do regret ending things with you before trying it out.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I said but my breath was coming in hot, heavy pants.