Page 25 of Mistletoe Omega
“I don’t think it works like that.”
He was trying to discourage me, but his body was on my side. His cock was hard against mine and his breathing elevated. “What if I said I want you to fuck me?” His eyes widened, and he tried to pull away, but I held on tight, grinning. “Did I shock you, old man?”
“What are you playing at?”
“This isn’t a game.”
“What is this then? Pity?” Pulling his brows tight, he said, “I don’t need sex just because you feel bad for me. I do just fine in that department.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you.” I frowned. I stood on my tip toes and pressed my mouth to his, slipping my tongue between his lips. His mouth was warm and wet, and the little whimper he gave turned me on even more. I was tempted to rub my hand over his bulging crotch, if only to prove that I knew he was interested, but I restrained myself.
He pulled his mouth away, panting for air. “Shit, kid. Where did you learn to kiss like that?”
“You want to go to your room, or mine?” I whispered.
“Neither.” He swallowed hard. “This has disaster written all over it.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“I didn’t bring you here for this.” His voice was husky.
“I know. But I want you. I know you want me too.”
His gaze was soft. “Yeah. But I like you too much to just use you. I really care about you, Sam.”
“I care about you too.” It occurred to me, maybe I cared about him more than I wanted to.
“Then we shouldn’t do anything stupid that might mess that up.”
Was he right? If we slept together, would that ruin everything? We got along so well now, would sex screw that up? Did I care? His hard, muscled frame felt so good tucked against mine, I really wanted to sleep with him, and I didn’t much care why at the moment. “Come on, Graham. Don’t reject me.”
He groaned and kissed me again, sliding his tongue against mine. When he lifted his head, he clenched his jaw and said, “You should start dinner.”
I was disappointed, and even a little insulted that he seemed able to just turn me down so easily. I scowled and pushed away from him. “Fine.” I marched across the kitchen to grab the potatoes, trying to ignore my erection. I found the peeler in a drawer and began peeling the potatoes as he stood nearby watching.
“Don’t be mad at me,” he said softly. “You’ll be glad about this in the long run.”
“Right. Who doesn’t love blue balls?”
He grimaced. “Come on, Sam. You know I’m right.”
“Uh, not sure I agree.”
Sighing, he grabbed a big pot from a lower cupboard and began to fill it with water. “You feel sorry for me because of Ethan. You don’t have to have sex with me just to placate me.”
I stopped what I was doing, and I glared at him. “You seriously think that’s what this is?”
“Maybe.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, you’re wrong.”
He turned off the water and put the pot on the stove. “Right. For some reason you all of a sudden just have to have me.” He chuffed. “I’m fifteen years older than you. Think about that for a minute.”
“I have thought about it. I don’t care. It’s not like you're eighty and in a wheelchair.”
“I’m old enough to be your dad.”
I scowled. “Please. Aging uncle at best.”
