Page 47 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

“Well, it could be their size, or maybe they’re just as inexperienced as you are.

Like maybe they don’t know how to take their time yet, or make it feel good.

It took a few tries with Quentin.” I looked at Quentin, expecting him to make some joke about it definitely being a size issue, but he sat stiff, jaw clenched.

Did he want me to be more general about what I said?

Elliott was too busy hanging on my every word to notice the shifting emotions in Quentin’s gaze.

“Um…” I licked my lips. “The position you’re in matters too. Some positions hurt more.”

“You never look like you’re in pain,” Elliott said, still picking at the loose thread.

“I mean, yeah, but we’ve been doing it for a while now, and pretty consistently—which helps a lot. There’s the stretching part, and touching yourself helps too. But sometimes going a while without bottoming can make you feel like you’re back at square one.”

“And you’d know this how?” Quentin gritted out.

“It’s common sense,” I retorted through my own clenched teeth.

Elliott was too focused to allow whatever Quentin and I were going through to deter him. “But how does it feel when it isn’t hurting? In words,” he added, because he already knew how good it looked and sounded, thanks to me.

“It’s equal parts mental and physical for me,” I started, scratching my itchy palm. “I get off on knowing how much he wants me, on knowing how good I’m making him feel.”

Elliott nodded, riveted.

“When he’s moving inside me…” I trailed off, finding it hard to put into words, and also not wanting to for…

reasons . “It can feel intense. I have to remind myself to relax sometimes because it’s just too much.

Especially when he angles himself a certain way.

” I closed my eyes, thinking about how it felt right before I came.

“Feels like every nerve in my body is being tapped. It builds until it feels like I’m going crazy, like the sensations are too big for my body to contain.

” I opened my eyes again, both Elliott and Quentin staring at me.

“It starts to feel like a race, like you’re about to explode and you want to hurry up and do it.

” I wanted to use the orgasm he had in the shower as an example, but he’d looked more scared than blissed out.

Maybe it hadn’t felt the same for him. “You stop caring about anything else, start saying things you normally wouldn’t say, asking for things you’d normally be too embarrassed to ask for…

At least that’s how it is for me. It’s just out of this world.

You feel completely depleted when it’s over, but down to do it again the second you can.

And when it’s not there anymore, when it’s gone—”

“He means when the big, bad dick is no longer dicking you down,” Quentin drawled like an asshole, clearly trying to scare Elliott.

I scowled at him before looking at Elliott’s flushed face again.

“You feel empty, like a part of you is missing. Which is strange because sometimes when it’s in, it feels like it shouldn’t be there at all.

” I shrugged, signaling the end of my horrible explanation about gay sex.

If anything, Quentin should be happy. Elliott would never want to let anyone touch him now.

“S-sounds great.” Elliott swallowed.

“Did you forget the ‘it hurts like fuck’ part?” Quentin deadpanned. Elliott seemed oblivious to his obnoxiousness as he sat deep in thought, going over everything I’d said.

“Would you ever bottom?” he asked Quentin.

“Nope,” Quentin replied without missing a beat.

Elliott turned to me next, his voice lowering. “Would you ever top?”

He’d unknowingly asked me a loaded question. Quentin would never bottom, so I’d never get to top him. So, if I said yes, I would top, then Quentin would predictably think I wanted to fuck someone else. The truth was, I’d be open to it.

“I’m happy bottoming, but I don’t feel the need to pick a side. I bottom because he’s my top, and I love doing it.” That didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy topping too.

“Okay, I’ll be back,” Elliott said abruptly.

“Hey.” Quentin latched onto the hem of his dress to stop him from standing. “Where are you going?”

“Through the woods. I need to get something.” Through the woods meant he was headed to Amelia’s place. He called our house home.

“Why don’t you just move the rest of your shit over here?

” Quentin asked for about the tenth time.

“She’s never home—like, for real never home now that she has all your money—and she doesn’t even want you there.

There’s a For Sale sign on the front lawn, for fuck’s sake.

She doesn’t give a damn about you.” His rant was a bit aggressive, but he was scared and hurt right now.

Most of Elliott’s things were at our house anyway, but he liked to have an excuse to go through the woods for privacy sometimes. Those instances were rare, but they never failed to leave Quentin and me unbalanced. Quentin just sucked at not letting it show.

“I’ll be back. I promise.” Elliott tried to stand again, but Quentin held on tighter to his dress.

“Let him go, Quentin,” I said softly, touching his hand. Elliott clearly wanted space. He still got like that sometimes, even though recently he’d just go to a different room for a few minutes. I guess this time, he needed more space than this huge house provided.

Quentin didn’t argue with me, but he didn’t agree either. He was in a sour mood, and Elliott only now seemed to pick up on it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked him.

“Nothing,” Quentin grumbled.

Elliott watched him for a few moments, then smiled and whispered, “I’m gonna miss you too.” Getting to his knees, he kissed Quentin on his cheek. Quentin mumbled something unintelligible before grappling Elliott onto his lap for a bear hug.

“You’ve got one hour, then I’m hunting you down.”

“Promise?” Elliott grinned.

“I swear it on my fucking life.” Quentin pushed Elliott’s mop of red hair away from his face. Elliott kissed him again, then changed his clothes and dashed out of the bedroom.

Quentin headed over to the window to watch him exit the patio and rush past the tree line. The sun’s rays painted the room in shades of golden light as it set, illuminating Quentin’s grumpy face.

“What are you thinking?” I ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m thinking next he’s gonna want a boyfriend, and they’re gonna wanna spend time together, then they’re gonna wanna fuck.” He ground his teeth. “Between school and him fucking his asshat boyfriend, he’ll never have time for us.”

“We’re his friends. He’ll always make time for us.” To be honest, I felt the same way, but someone had to be Quentin’s voice of reason.

“Who’s gonna hold him when he wakes up screaming?” he whispered. “Not the asshat, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe the asshat makes his nightmares go away.” I didn’t know why I said it. Maybe as a test. Maybe to see the look Quentin gave me in return. It was a look I hadn’t seen before, and I’d seen all his looks, knew how to read him well. He turned back to the window, leaving me wondering…

“He watches us have sex, Quentin. We know at least once he got turned on.”

“Yeah, I know, but that time was out of his control. He hadn’t even touched himself.” He shrugged. “I just thought…”

“You thought what?”

“I thought it was a fluke. That he was different. That watching was all he needed, or something stupid like that.”

I sighed, running his words through my head. “You hoped it was a fluke. You hoped he was different. For all we know, it wasn’t the first or last time.”

“Huh?”

“That might not have been the first or last time he orgasmed, Quentin.”

Quentin turned his whole body to face me, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. “Are you saying he could already be fucking?”

“No, Quentin. Think. He just finished asking me how it felt. If he was already having sex, he’d know the answer to that.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’m saying that as much as we hate it, it’s not like he’s with us every second.

Sometimes he needs a little time alone. Sometimes he hangs back in the shower after we leave.

He uses the bathroom, and he stayed by the pool for a little while after we came up last night.

He goes through the woods occasionally…”

The lightbulb went on behind Quentin’s eyes, and he glanced out the window again. “Why wouldn’t he just tell us he’s getting himself off? He could do that right here.” He seemed genuinely confused.

I grinned, cupping his cheeks when he turned back to me. As strong and capable as he was, he could be a ditzy teddy bear sometimes. I loved that about him. “Because sometimes people keep things for themselves, Q.”

“Q for quarterback,” he whispered, and I sighed, squeezing his head between my hands, not wanting it to swell any more than it had. Quentin kissed me, sucking on my bottom lip before releasing it. “I’m glad we don’t keep anything from each other, Guelly.”

I looked away, wishing that were true.

“Hey.” He lifted my chin. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” From the look on Quentin’s face, my smile looked as fake as it felt.

“What are you keeping from me?”

“I could ask you the same,” I said softly in return. Quentin said nothing, and I traced his top lip before tugging his bottom lip free from his teeth. Seemed neither of us was ready to go there yet.

I stepped away, and he grabbed my wrist, yanking me into his chest. “I’d die for you, Guelly.” His voice trembled. “I’d kill and die for you.” Pretty words weren’t his thing. Macabre declarations of his intrusive thoughts were his idea of romance.

“I love you, too, Quentin. I’ll never stop.” I made to walk away again, but he tugged me into a hard, heated kiss, tearing my shirt down the middle in the process.

I pulled away, staring into his scared, feral eyes.

He knew that I knew—or that I at least suspected—and now he wanted to compensate for it.

He wanted to quiet the fear screaming in his head by taking my body, by reminding himself that I was his.

I needed to be reminded, too, because while I did a better job at hiding it, he wasn’t the only scared one in the room.

“Not now, Quen—”

He kissed me again, taking me to the floor and dragging my sweats off before using his bulk to cage me in. He pinned my wrists above me with one hand as he shoved the waistband of his own sweats down with the other. Spitting into his palm, he reached between us.

“I’m not in the mood,” I panted, bucking wildly beneath him.

He lowered his face to mine until his breath fanned my parted mouth. “Make me believe it, then watch me fuck you anyway.”