I can’t. But not for the reason he thinks. So I say nothing. Just die quietly until he sighs and loosens his death grip on my arm.
“Sol, you deserve a life that’s more than work and fretting about everyone else.”
“So do you.”
Jack snorts. “I’m not going to fuck anyone, am I?”
“Why not?” I press, even though it rips me apart. “There’s nothing wrong with your dick.”
Not unless he’s broken it since a few weeks ago when I woke up to it digging into my back. And why can’t I say that? Why can’t we laugh about it? Why can’t this…thingbetween us fade to a dull roar I can live with instead of this heartrending pain?
My eyes sting. My chest burns. I need Mal to come out of his room again. I need Skylar to save me. Hell, at this point I’d take the Morgawr, or even a call from my dad.
I shut my eyes.
Open them again to find Jack staring into space. But he’s not lost—he’s deep in thought, and he has no right being so disarmingly attractive while he’s at it.
I’m hooked. Can’t look away. Can’t resist peeling myself from the couch cushions and losing myself in the set of his unshaven jaw and the rough ink I glimpse on the skin not covered by his faded blue t-shirt.
Blue looks good on Jack. Goddamn, anything does. The only thing better is all the things I can’t contemplate, but he doesn’t make it easy.
I nudge his knee. “What are you thinking about?”
“What you said about me fucking someone.”
My gut recoils. “What about it?”
“I think it would kill me.”
I miss a beat. “In what sense?”
Jack makes a sudden and fractured noise. He swipes my mug and rises from the coffee table. I read his intention to leave without answering the question and it’s my turn to snag his wrist and hold him in place. Because he lets me—he could easily break my strongest hold. But if I have to leverage his visceral fear of hurting me to check he’s okay, I’ll do it.
“What do you mean, it would kill you?”
Because I know he doesn’t mean he’s disturbed by the idea of fucking someone who isn’t me. That the mere thought of it makes him want to shear his cock right off and fling its corpse at Bucca Dhu.
Jack purses his lips.
Tugs his arm a little.
I let him go.
He retreats to the kitchen, but he’s not gone long. A few seconds. A lifetime. It’s all the same to me. Then he’s back and rubbing the base of his neck, awkwardness marring his features. “I meant I can’t imagine blowing my load without having a fucking seizure.”
“Can’t imagine it, or haven’t tried?”
“You know I haven’t fucked anyone.”
I do, and I wonder if it would be easier if I didn’t. Like the old days, when he had his life all over the world and I had mine here. But that’s not really the point. I know Jack. Even when I don’t know what he’s thinking, his emotions are a beacon to me, and right now?
He’s worried.
Embarrassed.
And maybe I can help.
“What about when you’re alone? A cheeky wank hasn’t killed you, has it?”