“Why?”
“Why do you think?” Jonah jerked his head at the door. “I want to leave.”
Sacha didn’t move.
And after a week of trying, and failing, not to stare at him without abandon, Jonah was abruptly lost in him—his stubbled jaw and strong shoulders. His hot, liquid gaze. “Move,” he whispered.
Sacha shook his head. “I don’t think you want me to.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“WhatdoI want then?”
“I don’t know.”
Jonah glowered.
Sacha’s gaze remained steady and Jonah found himself struck by an overwhelming urge to shake him.
He kissed him instead, crashing their lips together, all the while steeling himself for Sacha to push him away.
Sacha didn’t. He snatched a breath and kissed Jonah back, his arms coming around Jonah in a tight embrace that slammed their bodies together.
Jonah was instantly hard, his dick straining against his fitted suit trousers, but he fought Sacha’s hold on him and reared back, tearing their lips apart as suddenly as they’d come together. “No. We’re not doing this anymore.”
“Since when?”
“Since you decided we weren’t.”
“When did I ever say that?”
Breathing hard, Jonah shook his head wildly. “You said we weren’t friends. I took that to mean you didn’t want to be.”
“I never said I didn’t want this.”
“This? What isthis?”
“It is what it is.”
“Fuck off. That doesn’t mean anything. What are you actually trying to say? That you don’t want to be my friend, but you still want the benefits?”
Sacha frowned, gaze darting as he caught and processed Jonah’s rushed speech. “I am…tired,” he said. “And you speak too fast. Are you asking me I still want to sleep with you?”
“Yes. I suppose I am.”
“Why do you ask me this?”
“Does it matter? Can’t you just be clear on something for once so we don’t have to talk in circles?”
“Why do we have to talk at all?”
“Fuck. You.”
“I like it when you are angry. You are flushed and beautiful.”
“Stop talking,” Jonah growled.