Page 32 of Hard to Judge

My knee-jerk reaction is to demand an answer. To make him talk until we work this out. Because we have to work this out before we reach Arlo. I can’t go to him with Hota in tatters, not of my own making.

“I don’t mean to hurt you or scare you,” I explain quietly without turning toward him and taking his hand like I want. “I only mean to give you the things you deserve.”

“I deserve nothing,” he barks.

His volume and the conviction in his voice push me back in the seat.

“I let him go.” Hota turns on me, a rabid panther. His hands are fists, and his nostrils flare. “I let him go, and a part of him never came back.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” I remind him. “He made you promise?—”

“Something I should have never agreed to,” he snarls.

I let him brew and boil with his sad and angry eyes on me. When his shoulders settle and he collapses back into his seat, I grab his hand and sandwich it between mine. He doesn’t protest. So I smooth his palm with my fingertips and slip mine along each of his digits. I map his veins and revel in his pulse.

Arlo and I haven’t been together for very long. I know it’s forever in my marrow, just as it is with him and Hota. Sure, I could wait until our relationship is more established to push the bounds with them, but they’ve waited long enough. Decades.

If given the option, they’d continue this awkward holding pattern for all time to keep from losing each other. Neither can seem to understand that their fear is the only thing holding them back.

They can have it all if they face it like Arlo made me face mine. We can have it all.

We approach the house. I lean over and press my lips to the center of his hand, the pads of each finger, and then his wrist before leveling him with my full gaze.

“Maybe it’s time you do what you want to do and not just what he asks.” I push out the door, wave Leo off, walk to Hota’s side of the car, open the door for him, and then wait.

A split second later, Hota bolts from the car, grabs my wrist, and drags me between vehicles that line the street, across the sidewalk, and up the steps of Arlo’s home. He shoves me into the alcove to the left of the door.

Air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. Not because he hurt me. His touch is rough and not at all what I’m accustomed to since Arlo pampers me. Shock has me gasping.

He crowds in close.

Leonard rounds the car to close the gaping door before clocking us in the corner and making his way back to the driver’s side.

If Hota knows he’s there, he doesn’t care. His gaze is zeroed in on me. “You want me to do what I want, Hailey? Not just what he asks?”

“Yes.” I pant, still trying to catch my breath.

“He asked me to fuck you,” Hota says as he grinds his obscenely large and hard length against my pubic bone. Pain laces the pleasure. It’s only then I realize that my legs are dangling, and he’s got me pinned by his hips to mine and his hand to my throat.

I’m not surprised since we’ve talked about it several different times. I’m more surprised that things aren’t falling into place like I anticipated. Which goes to show what I know about relationships. Maybe I need to shift professions.

Sure, I know love alone isn’t enough. I figured that love, openness, and communication would be. It seems we have more demons to slay than I anticipated.

“How did that make you feel?”

“Cheap.” He growls and thrusts, trying to make me feel the same way.

“I don’t want you to fuck me because you’re gorgeous and attentive and too fucking good with your mouth.” I moan despitemyself. “I don’t want you to fuck me because I need more cock in my life. Arlo’s is more than enough.”

His grip on my throat tightens. “Then why?” He works his length over my clit.

The moan that leaves me is dirty and wanton. “I think it’s the only way he’ll allow himself to have you.”

Hota’s hips still. “What?”

“If we jump, he will follow.”

He drops me to my feet and steps away. His chest heaving. There’s desperation in his pretty eyes. “You’re insane.” He rolls his shoulders. “That’s a feat for a psychologist.”

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