Page 31 of Break the Rule
Reaching down, Charlie adjusts himself, damn near palming his erection. The only thing better than sex is sex with someone who knows what they want, and this guy wants Charlie—bent over his own art desk and moaning like a whore. Something Charlie is absolutely fucking on board with.
“You’re so eager. Do you want me that bad, Charlie?”
What a fucking question. Want doesn’t seem like the right word for it. Charlie wants a lot of things—the new lemon printed Crocs he saw last week, for Andrew to come with him to his next gallery showing, and for Jason to pull his head out of his ass and realize he’s not straight. This isn’t a want. That implies Charlie will be fine if he doesn’t get it, and that’s just not true. Charlieneedshim—needs to be fucked good and hard in this room where he lives and breathes his art by someone who is more beautiful than anything Charlie’s ever created.
While Charlie doesn’t believe this is some love at first sight bullshit, he is positive this guy standing in front of him is the reason Charlie’s got paint stained fingers and a wet canvas behind him after agonizing weeks of being art blocked. Something about this guy makes every part of Charlie—his arousal, his creativity—spark to life. Charlie doesn't want more, he needs it.
One night to revel in this gorgeous man, and then they can both move on.
“I do,” Charlie confirms, rewarded when one delicate finger trails down over his jaw and close to his mouth. So close he could taste it if he wanted, so he does just that, turning his head and opening his mouth. Kissing and hair touching are off limits, but he didn’t say anything about finger sucking.
“Shit.”
That one half-whispered curse word is the only warning Charlie gets before he’s shoved back until his ass hits the work table and he’s devoured—those pretty lips attaching themselves to the hollow of Charlie’s throat and sucking hard before he shoves two fingers past Charlie’s lips to finger fuck his mouth. Only a solid decade of slutting it up stops Charlie from coming in his pants, but he does buck his hips and moan. Has Charlie ever been so turned on so quickly? He doesn’t fucking think so.
This guy might be small, and seems kind of delicate, but he’s stronger than he looks and just as demanding, thrusting his fingers in and out of Charlie’s willing mouth in a tease of how he might fuck him. Charlie moans around them, bucking his hips and throwing his head back to afford him better access when a terrible thought occurs to him.
“Wait,” he blurts, putting a stop to things before they get too heated and Charlie loses all common sense. “We can’t do this.”
7EDEN
We can’t do this.
White hot rejection burns through Eden. He doesn’t do things like this—go to men’s houses, want them, let himself have them. Charlie was almost a regret, one that Eden avoided initially. Then he showed up at Juanita’s being stupidly handsome and charming, and Eden let himself slip up. Now Charlie isn’t merely a close call but a mistake, branding itself on Eden’s heart—so scarred at this point it’s a miracle it still beats. Then again, ugly things still survive.
“That’s fine,” Eden grits out, trying to keep any emotion from his voice. It’s bad enough he’s being rejected like this, the last thing he needs Charlie to know is that it hurts him.
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” Charlie tries reaching for Eden, but he’s already taking a step back, eager to disappear into the darkness.
It’s been so long since Eden let himself want anything, he’d almost forgotten how much it stings when that something is ripped away.
Growing up, Eden had been a favorite with his blond hair, blue eyes, and angelic features. He’d looked like the dream come true for every parent who decided fostering was their answer totheir inability to have their own biological child. He was so easy to place because he looked like someone easy to love, but looks are fucking deceiving, and there has never been anything easy about Eden.
Things were always so good in the beginning, kindness and affection lavished on Eden. They’d build up his hope like a tower of cards, only to topple it once they realized Eden wasn’t the angel he appeared to be.
Difficult. Defiant. Unable to connect. Struggles with emotional regulation.
He can only imagine the kind of shit that was probably written in his file. God knows they threw it in his face enough times when he got dragged back to a new group home or taken to the precinct after being caught running away. Things only got worse as he got older, mouthier, and desperate for autonomy. A lot of foster parents could overlook backtalk or crying, but they weren’t so lenient when he stole makeup or clothing from his foster sisters or foster moms. Funnily enough, they didn’t care so much about the stealing itself, but in what Eden stole. An angry kid was hard to place, a gender-nonconforming one who metaphorically bit the hands that fed him while wearing a dress and makeup was one no one wanted to deal with.
This is what happens when Eden gets too comfortable. He’s grown soft living with Addy and Ella. Let himself forget how cruel the world is to people who don’t fit in. Love is transactional, and Eden’s got no fucking credit to buy any.
He thought maybe he could have tonight, have Charlie. He wasn’t looking for forever, hell, he wasn’t looking for anything except some hot sex with a guy who looked at him like he actually liked what he saw. Only right now, Charlie looks full of regret, and Eden will be damned if he sticks around to find out why.
Turning on his heels, he’s halfway out of the studio when he realizes Charlie is following.
“Where are you going?” Charlie asks like he has no idea why Eden might be leaving.
Fuck him.
“Anywhere I fucking want,” Eden answers, stepping around Charlie and into the backyard. He makes it two steps before Charlie’s fingers curl around his wrist. It’s not tight, but the pressure is unexpected and unwanted, and the feeling of being trapped has Eden swinging without thinking, his nervous system running on adrenaline and autopilot. He doesn’t actually want to punch Charlie, but everything in him is screaming ‘protect yourself.’
“What the hell?” Charlie curses, blocking the hit with both hands.
The look of surprise on his face might be a little funny if Eden wasn’t dangerously close to unraveling at the edges. This is Eden’s fault for letting go, for giving in to what he wants and showing that to Charlie. No one has ever let Eden be in control. Men have never let Eden be in control.
Shame joins rejection, burning a hole in Eden’s gut. This is why he doesn’t do this. He’s not cut out for normal people.
“Hold on,” Charlie murmurs, lowering Eden’s hand with far more gentleness than he deserves. “Did I do something?”
