Page 80 of Phobia
To appear as though I didn’t care at all.
Untouchable.
Not the way he was, all warm, starry eyes. With sprawled limbs akimbo, his long muscular legs testing the fabric of his worn patch-riddled trousers. He blinked away the wetness, his nose scrunching up as he stared at me, clearly waiting for a fight that would never come.
How could it?
When his words bounced around my head like ping-pong balls.
You’ve never sucked a cock for a warm meal or stolen scraps from dumpsters just so you didn’t starve. Jealous of you? Of course I fucking am.
How many cocks had he sucked?
Two, three, four?
Twenty?
I couldn’t help but trace the shape of his lips with my gaze. The cupids bow. The stubble that shadowed his cheeks and chin, the plush of his lower lip, the little divot at the middle. The scar that bisected the left side, an echo of a beating he’d taken.
I imagined his lips cherry red.
Swollen.
Soft.
Kissable.
I bit back a groan, confused by myself. Not once had I ever looked at Oliver and thought—no. No. That was a lie. The moment I thought it, I realized that. The entire month I’d spent being punished by my father he’d tried my patience, over, and over, and over again. We hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to each other, but I’d watched him.
Lord, had I watched him.
At the time I’d thought it was because I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
Now I realized…no.
No.
That wasn’t it at all.
He fascinated me.
He vexed me.
I’d thought I hated him, and it was becoming clear to me that I—
“What?” Oliver asked, the lips I was admiring flattening as he glowered at me. “It’s true.”
It took me a moment to remember he’d just been chewing me out.
Water. Water everywhere. Dark, angry, lapping. The scent of salt in the air, storm clouds in the sky—and yet…yet. The only thing I could think about was how it would feel to push my cock between those lovely chapped lips and listen to Oliver choke.
I’d never been a violent person. Nor had I ever been the kind of man who let his desires get the best of him. I was pragmatic. And the only time I hadn’t been, I’d learned my lesson quickly.
“I didn’t fuck him,” I said simply, because that was the one part of his rant that had been untrue.
Oliver’s eyes widened like saucers, his mouth falling open till I caught a glimpse of the pink inside. It was hard to see in the dark, and the splatter of water on my glasses wasn’t helping, but still, I managed.
“You…” He trailed off, clearly confused. I fanned my fingers along his boots, sliding them upward till I had both of his ankles squeezed tight in my grip. There was an inch of exposed skin at the bottom of his pants above his boot, and the moment I brushed it with my palm he sucked in a startled, stricken breath.
