Page 92 of Hard to Judge

He leans forward, presses his lips to mine in a simple brush that can barely be considered a kiss, then collapses on top of me. He steals what little air I have in my lungs before he nips my ear. “Don’t ever fucking forget it.”

“You left the balcony door open,” Hota grumbles.

It’s been hours since I railed him so hard I saw stars. The chill in the air feels amazing on my heated skin. Hota’s arm brushes against mine as we walk down the hallway closer to the cold. He has an abbreviated gait that makes my chest puff with pride.

I kept him in bed as long as I could, mapping his features like I used to. Only this time, I used my fingers. I actually touched his skin and drank in his warmth.

This time, it is different.

He’s mine.

Even though he doesn’t know what that means just yet, I’ll show him.

“I had more important things to handle.” I kiss his bare shoulder and smack his sweatpants-covered ass. I leave him to close the door and pick up his discarded clothes while I head to the kitchen.

His cupboards are pretty bare. A smile tugs at my lips. That’ll change soon.

I begin thawing some rock shrimp I found in the freezer, along with some broccolini, and then pull some angel hair from the fancy little canister I doubt he’s ever used.

“Fucking and a feast?” His brows waggle as he rounds the island and leans a hip against the counter next to me. “I must have been a good boy.”

“If I gave you what you deserve, you’d still have that ring around your cock.” I point the saucepan at him. “You’re the best boy. The best man I know.” I set it down and step toward him. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

“Arlo.” My name comes out of his mouth thick and weighty.

I’ve seen countless men naked. I’ve watched them fuck, but only Hota sparks the animalistic need to mark him.

It’s the same way with Hailey.

Yes, I’ve found other women attractive, but I’ve never been driven to worship any other the way I worship her.

I place my hand over his heart and lift his palm to mine. His skin feels otherworldly against my thrashing heart.

Where Hailey is soft, Hota is hard. Where she is bright, he is dark. Where she is light, he is heavy. Where they are, so goes my heart.

His throat bobs, and he studies me like he’s never seen me before. Maybe he hasn’t. Not this healing version. “Do you hear what I’m saying, Hota?”

The heat of his exhale warms my cheek. “I hear you.”

“Do you see me?” I practically glare at him.

His gaze narrows. “I see you.”

I press harder against his chest and pull his hand closer to mine. “Do you feel me?”

“I feel you, Arlo.”

I kiss his palm and then release him. “Good. Now I need a large pot filled three-quarters with water with a pinch of salt.”

His thick lips press into a line, hiding his smile from me, before crouching to do as I asked. He’s still hiding. Still unsure. Only time and consistent expression of my love, and Hailey’s love for him, will change that.

Instead of focusing on how much I hate his doubt in me and us, I turn my attention to roasting garlic and onions, cooking for the people I love. I focus on that and the fact that Hailey loves Hota.

When she came home after their night at Crave, it was written all over her face. She practically burst at the seams to tell me, which was a gift in itself. She trusts me completely.

Hota will get there.

We fall into an easy rhythm that comes from a lifelong relationship. He chops the onion while I crush the garlic. We chat about hitting up a Rangers game soon. I’ll have to snag another season ticket to go with the ones we already have.

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