"Shit. Shit. Fuck!"
"What?" I groan, rolling.
"Work. Late. Damn."
I groan again when my ass hits the fabric. Both my dick and ass feel like they got a thorough spanking.
Then I start to remember: Sunburn, piano, pillow bed, blowjob, ass play and sleeping with the love of my life.
"Shit," I hiss, shooting up.
His ass disappears down the stairs and I hop up to follow. I have no idea what time it is, but once again, I think I've managed to make him late, or almost late.
I can hear a continuous string of curses being rattled off from his bedroom and I pause, slightly afraid that he's going to be angry with me. Okay, I'm more than just slightly afraid, I'm terrified. I never know when he's going to be upset and I never know when it's going to be directed at me.
I hear the shower running and he begins to curse loudly. I can't just stand there...
"Baby, are you okay?" I ask timidly.
"Soap in my eye," he hisses.
I bite my lip, wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do. Should I ask him if he wants me to leave? Asking him might piss him off more, maybe I should just go. But what if he doesn't want me to leave? God, this relationship shit is hard—having an unpredictable, moody boyfriend only makes it that much more difficult.
I'm standing there in his bathroom, completely frozen and unsure what to do when he gets out of the shower. He doesn't bother with a towel and he's walking right for me and I flinch when he raises his arms at me.
He stops, mid... whatever he was going to do and gives me a quizzical look, his brow creased together. "Jasper, what's wrong?"
I gulp, though my mouth is already dry. "It scares me when you are upset. I never know if it's me," I rush out, my voice quiet and unconfident.
"Baby," he sighs, wrapping his arms around my neck. "I'm not upset with you."
He leans into me, kissing me softly at first. Hesitant, gentle pecks on my lips leave me wanting more and he deepens the kiss after I beg silently with parted, urging lips. The kiss is intense. My fear slips away and his anger dissipates until the only thing left is love, and desire.
He breaks away suddenly. "I'm sorry, Jasper, but I have to go to work. I love you, don't be afraid of me," he begs. I can see the plea in his eyes, and I honestly feel ashamed for doubting him.
I nod. "I'm sorry, I won't. I love you too."
He smiles lightly and steps away from me. "I can feel the heat coming off of your sunburn, it must be painful. Put some shit on there, and take some ibuprofen."
He continues to talk as he walks bare-assed naked out of his bathroom, but I only catch the last half of what he says because his ass is delectable, especially when all wet. He goes on about me staying here if I want to, using whatever I want to, eating everything I want, and wearing his clothing if I want to.
"Just let me know if I need to meet you here or back at your place tonight, okay?" He asks, peeking around the corner at me. I'm still standing there, rather out of it. He snickers. "Can you do me a big favor and have food ready for me? I have a feeling today is going to be a bitch of a day."
I approach him slowly and he winds his arms low around my waist, though not low enough to bother my sunburn. "You're forgetting something," I say.
"What?"
"You made an agreement with someone to double-date tonight, sexy."
"Seriously," he hisses, dropping his head down into my shoulder. "Stupid Johnathon and his butt buddy."
I try not to be offended, but I can't help it, really. "Johnathon and Jacob are a couple," I defend.
He snorts at that. "Has Johnathon ever even had a relationship that wasn't based on sex?" Ethan asks, thoughtlessly. He obviously didn't think that one through at all. I want to let it go, I want to laugh it off, but I'm not Johnathon, and it hurts.
I try to pull away from Ethan but I think he realizes what he just did and he clings to me. "Shit, baby, don't, I didn't mean—"
"I'm the one who is the whore," I say, cutting him off. "Johnathon has had boyfriends, I'm the one who always had 'butt buddies', as you so lovingly put it. I'm the whore."
"No," Ethan argues, begs, trying to hold onto me as I try to fight him off. "Baby, I didn't mean it like that, I was just being an asshole. You're not a whore."
I stop fighting and Ethan grips my arms, pushing away enough to look at me while I stubbornly stare down and away from him. It's not his fault I was the whore, I don't even really care that he said anything, I just hate that Johnathon was the one he was poking at. Johnathon is the one who knows about love and knows how to be in a relationship, I'm the whore, I should be the one Ethan is making fun of. Johnathon doesn't deserve it.
"I can't do this right now," Ethan implores. "If I don't leave right now, I'm going to be late."
"Go," I urge, not looking away from the one spot of stained grout on the perfectly white floor.
"Don't." His hands grasp my face firmly and my eyes are snapped to his forcefully, yet all too willingly I keep his gaze when he releases me. "Don't push me away," he demands, bright green eyes hard with emotion and soft with his plea, and tears.
"Sorry,” I breathe, reaching out to grasp his hands.
"I wasn't calling you a whore," he insists, squeezing my hands tightly, like he's holding onto me, as if I'd flee.
I nod. "I know you weren't. You were calling Johnathon a whore, but he's not the whore. Johnathon is very loyal and he's a good man, he doesn't deserve to be called a whore when the actual whore is standing right in front of you. Johnathon isn't the one who has screwed countless men without a hint of feeling or regret."
"Jasper, don't."
"It's not you I'm upset with," I assure him. "I'm the whore, Ethan, that's not your fault. I made my bed, and now that I have to lie in it, it's not looking so comfortable. Don't worry, okay? I'll meet you at Winslow's."
"Meet me? Can't I pick you up?"
"You already said you think today is going to be stressful at work, I'll just meet you there."
"Jasper—"
"Trust me, okay? Just this once? I'll meet you there. I love you, now go to work."
I urge him away and he goes, but he doesn't go willingly. I can see that I've completely freaked him out now, and he doesn't want to go. But I gave him my word, and he has to trust me.
He leaves, but I hear his fist connect with sheetrock along the way, and the sound of the front door slamming rattles through the house.
He has to trust me. It's not him that I'm upset with right now. I really hate myself, though.