Page 82 of Running With Lions

Shyly, Emir says, “So what do you think?”

“Like, right now?”

Emir shrugs, not making a fuss. But it’s a pretty big deal to Sebastian. He’s nearly choking on his own spit.

Emir says, “If you’re interested.”

Sebastian is seventeen, perpetually horny, and this isEmir; of course he’s interested! Voicing that intelligently is a completely different matter, though. He nods and chews hard enough on his lower lip to draw blood. He pats an empty spot on the bed. “Now is good.”

Heat flashes across Emir’s cheeks. It’s the first time Emir has been this shy around him in forever. He squirms, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his shorts, and—Okay, this is happening.

Sebastian’s keyed up. His brain is fried. His fingers wrap around Emir’s wrist and give a small tug until Emir falls forward.

“Whoa.” Emir has his palms flat on either side of Sebastian’s head, half straddling him, and his eyebrows touch Sebastian’s hairline.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Emir accuses, amused.

“You’re right.”

Sebastian doesn’t know where to put his hands. Great. He’s every bit the virgin Mason teases him about being. A frustrated wrinkle appears between Emir’s eyebrows before he’s inclining until they’re chest to chest, their noses almost touching. Sebastian goes for his hips, a safe bet.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. All the bloody time,” whispers Emir huskily. He gets a hand under the collar of Sebastian’s shirt; his thumb ghosts the curve of Sebastian’s collarbone. “It’s proper annoying.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Both,” Emir rasps. He shivers when Sebastian’s fingers curl into the waistband of his shorts.

“Good.” Sebastian pulls. “I’d hate to think you were losing your touch.”

Something dark and hungry glazes Emir’s eyes. “How did this bloody happen?”

“Not sure.”

Emir’s lips part. Sebastian palms his cheek; the stubble is scratchy and rough against his skin. Emir turns his head enough for Sebastian’s thumb to nudge his lips. His eyes flicker shut.

Sebastian whispers, “Are you mad it did?”

“Yes. No. How the hell am I supposed to know?”

Sebastian has no clue himself. But he figured Emir has more common sense than he does. Maybe they’re both two extremely lost teenagers? Maybe, when they’re older, they still won’t have it all figured out. It’s not something Sebastian needs to dwell on because he’s in bed, with a guy.

This isn’t about reflection. This is scratching an itch. It’s sex, and Sebastian doesn’t need to overthink it.

They kiss. It takes them a moment to find a rhythm between mouths and bodies. Emir’s hand is flat against Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian has fingers in Emir’s hair. Their foreheads thump at a wrong angle. Emir hisses “Ouch,” but then Sebastian attacks his mouth, and they’re good again.

Not perfect, but imperfectly amazing.

Sebastian is wasted on bliss. His legs get caught in his stupid jeans. Emir reclines, biting his lip, and shoves the condom into Sebastian’s open palm.

No turning back.

He gazes into Emir’s glassy eyes, which are bright like stars. Emir’s right. Girls can be handsome and boys—boys like Emir—can be beautiful too.

Sebastian gets his shirt off and goes for Emir’s—nope,his—jersey next, but Emir swats his hands away. “Can I—” Emir pauses, inhaling. “I want to keep it on.”

Sebastian blinks so hard fizzy dots cloud his vision. His fingers release the hem of the jersey; his hands drop onto his belly. Emir’s hunched over; the lamp casts pale light across his features. His breaths come in short bursts. Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that’s—that’s hot.”

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