Chapter 18: Felix Asks

Felix shut the door and stood against it, holding nothing.

"Take off your sweater," I said.

His hands went to the hem. They shook.

"You don't have to be brave about it," I said. "You can be slow."

"I've never been asked before," he said. "Not once. Not like this."

He pulled the sweater over his head.

His chest was pale, with a scatter of dark hair, and he had ink on his right wrist.

I sat on the edge of the bed and held out my hand.

He crossed the room and took it.

His palm was damp, and his thumb moved over my knuckles, slow and careful.

"Can I touch you?" he asked.

"Yes."

It came out of me easily. I hadn't expected that.

His hands came up and cupped my face. His thumbs found my cheekbones and traced them.

"I stood at the end of this bed," he said. "I looked at your feet, because I couldn't look at anything else."

"I know."

"I wanted to put the blanket over you. I wanted to carry you out."

"You told them to stop. I heard you every time."

His eyes shut. He leaned down and kissed me.

It was gentle and careful and shaky.

I opened my mouth, and he made a sound low in his chest and kissed me harder.

I pulled him down onto the bed with me.

His glasses were on the dresser. Without them his face looked young and exposed.

"Lie back," I said.

He lay back.

I knelt over him and unbuttoned his jeans, and he lifted his hips so I could drag them down.

He was hard already, and he flushed to his ears.

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