Page 105 of Say It Again

Aaron hooked an arm around his chest and lifted him to kneel on the bed. His voice was a deep hook as he said, “What did you say to me?”

“You fucking heard me.” It didn’t matter. The evening was a mess. Their relationship might have been a mess too, and if they were both going to burn hot in a husk of fury, they might as well go ham. Not to mention, Aaron already thought he was a brat. Why not act like one? He reached back and patted Aaron’s cheek. “Back to work, sunshine. I’ll stop by the ATM later.”

He grunted when Aaron twisted his cheekbone into his lips and purred against his cheek, “Yeah? You need it harder?”

“Well, unless you’re tired already, sweetie?”

Aaron chuckled and licked his hand, starting to stroke him. “You might be insane. Tell me not to stop.”

He leaned back against Aaron’s body while their chests rose and fell in matching cadence. As much as he couldn’t believe it, he could absolutely believe it, because he heard himself say it. “Don’t stop.”

Aaron grinned against his ear. “Say my name.”

“Aaron.”

“Again.” Aaron kissed his neck, stroking him harder. “Like it’s the only name that matters.”

“Don’t stop, Aaron,” he said in some throaty version of his voice.

“You perfect precious brat.” Aaron thrashed him back over the bed. “Now loud enough that the neighbors call the cops.”

That was easy, because Aaron bottomed out inside his body. He was so good at what he did. He was good with the way he pinned Daniel’s wrists behind his back and the way he read his body. He was good with the words he spoke and his hungry, unhinged grasp on dominance like some kind of a mob boss in a movie.

Daniel bowed his chest to the mattress and surrendered again and again. Over and over. He’d turned into a whimpering mess, drooling, clutching the sheets hard enough to sprain a finger, screaming Aaron’s name into tangled bedding like it was the only name that mattered. He probably did it loud enough for the neighbors to call the cops.

Then the urgency, the temper, the sweet hate-not-hate peaked, and Daniel found himself skirting an edge without warning. He clawed at Aaron’s hand, his voice trembling. “I’m about to—”

“I know,” Aaron said, like the confident professional he was. He flipped Daniel onto his back, tugged his legs off the bedside, and fell to his knees before him.

Daniel propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes rolling closed and his head falling back. He couldn’t even moan as Aaron took him into his mouth. Not really. It was more of a gasp mixed with a prayer, and it caught somewhere in between his throat and the word “You.”

He gripped Aaron’s hair to ground himself in a moment that was far too intense, and so good he might die, and so saturated with the weight of the whole night that his IQ dropped to his shoe size. He fell over that cliff with all the cells in his body stiffened as violent quakes of pleasure ripped through him, one right after the other.

You. I hate you.

The room twirled around itself in a dizzying dance of angles and corners as he collapsed back onto the bed. Everything hurt. And stung. And throbbed with the kind of pleasure that’d be visceral enough to make him laugh, if only he could move.

You. I love you.

His eyelashes were a sweaty jungle as he fixed his gaze on Aaron. Aaron, who hadn’t met him on this side of the husk of fury yet. Things were so calm over here. On this side, he wasn’t combative or angry. He was limp and boneless. Over here, he was himself again.

But Aaron would be meeting him soon because of how wildly he stroked himself, wincing through his teeth, staggering to keep himself lifted.

“Right here,” Daniel whispered, softly arching his spine, merging into a canvas with the sheets so that Aaron could paint them both in ribbons of white. “My face. My body. Wherever you want.”

He stayed motionless and let Aaron choose. It splattered his belly, chest, and neck as Aaron emptied himself in this stunning display of veins, muscles, and wild blue ice.

Then he was different too. They were both different, reuniting on the other side of the hate.

Aaron’s touch was so strange after the past hour, so delicate as he cleaned Daniel with a soft towel and sprawled long in the bed beside him to thumb his cheekbone and silently hold his gaze. He wasn’t shaking nearly as much as Daniel, whose fingertips quivered as he tried to smooth the crease in Aaron’s brow.

They blinked at each other through a mist of uncertainty. A mist of new meaning. Things might have been calm on this side of hate, but they were also less defined.

“Aaron,” he whispered, his voice barely there. “I’m so sorry for what I said to you—”

“No, I am.” Aaron licked his lips. “I’m the one who should be sorry. Will you, um. Will you say—?”

“I love you.”