His head snapped around.
For one raw second he was still holding himself, c**k wet, fist tight, my name still in the air. Then shame hit him like a door. He shoved himself back into his jeans so fast it had to hurt, yanked the zipper, and stood with his body between me and the television like he could block a video of my own cunt with his spine.
“What the f**k are you doing here?”
His voice was wrecked. Not the cousin voice. The one from the moan.
On the screen I was still getting used. Two men trying to share me. My masked mouth stretched. The sound kept going because he had not found the remote yet.
I swallowed. No anger came. Something darker did. Heat. A sick, bright thrill that I had been right for years and he had been lying with his whole face.
“Did you just say my name?”
Jay
