Insta Family by Ruth Miranda

Author:Ruth Miranda
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: queer romance, single parents, queer co-parenting, bisexual romance, enemies to lovers
Publisher: Ruth Miranda
Published: 2023-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

Tian

March 2019,

Tashen Wineries,

Da’Luan,

Byanbyan-Ma

The inside of his mouth tastes of wine and something citrusy - one of the desserts being served, perhaps? Think I spotted one with mandarin, and no one loves mandarin as much as Jaesun.

His tongue becomes demanding, as do the palms of his hands plastered against my face, they offer caresses that are verging on the aggressive. Like his mouth, which seems to be fighting mine, to see which of us can last longer. He’s one hell of a good kisser, I have to hand him that.

Letting go of his shoulders, my fingers ride up his neck, cup his cheeks, and I dive in deeper between his lips. The moment I shove him against one of the caskets and use my leg to spread his apart, so I can fit between them, something comes over him. The hands that fondled my face drape over my fingers, pull them away from his cheeks. His mouth leaves mine, and I feel naked without it, robbed of something fundamental.

Our eyes meet briefly, and though I try to search his, Jaesun looks away. And steps to the side, walking off to where I can’t reach him unless I follow on his footsteps. But I’m paralysed by this sudden change and can’t move. No matter how much I want to, I can’t move. My legs are shaking, my pulse is racing, my breath is ragged, and all I can think of is how much I want to go back to kissing him. How much it’s become imperative that he kisses me back.

I sure as hell didn’t expect this to happen.

I fucking did not sign up for this.

“What’s wrong?” I manage to ask.

His back still turned to me; Jaesun rubs his face with both hands, shoves hair back on his head. ChanChan likes to joke we have the same hairstyle, though my hair’s longer than his.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why’s that? I was under the impression you were enjoying that kiss.”

He shakes his head and I can tell by the way it leans back on his neck and the set of his shoulders that he’s got his eyes closed. I can read him just about as clearly as I read myself. I can read him, but still can’t make sense of him.

Seeing he chooses not to answer, I manage to force my feet in his direction. My arms curl around his waist, I rest my chin on his shoulder, kiss the sweaty curve of his neck. It smells of him - the cologne he wears, the shampoo he favours, the soap he uses, the tang of his sweat. It smells of him and arouses me even more, I long to get back to that kiss, to the moment we turn in and go to bed.

My hands, splayed over his stomach, fiddle with his shirt, try to tuck it out of the tight trousers he’s wearing - where the signs of the indifference he affects towards me are contradicted by a visible bulge.

“Why can’t we do this? It’s obvious we both want it,” I insist.

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