Choosing You (Gravity Hill #3)

7. Chapter 4

S eeing him like this makes me wish I was different. A different man with a different story. Instead, I’m still the cold-hearted motherfucker who toys with the man who loves him. I wish he wouldn’t let me, that he wouldn’t take the scraps I give him when I’m tired of pushing him away.

He deserves more, a life not hidden behind grief and trauma–someone who is willing to do anything for him.

But I’m terrified and can’t be what he needs if I’m too scared to do it right.

Soon enough, my key slides into the lock, and we’re trudging in. The pair of us fighting our own internal battles. Glancing at the bed, I grab random shit from one of my drawers and head into the bathroom.

A good shower will help clear my head, and hopefully, Henry will be in bed when I get done, fast asleep, and I can slip into my own bed to find some version of rest.

The water pressure isn’t great, but I won’t complain because what do I expect in a dormitory with a hundred or so bathrooms? I take my time–too much time if I’m being honest– washing my body and running shampoo through my hair.

Turning the water off, I grab my towel from the rack and dry off. Pulling on the shorts I grabbed in a hurry to get away from Henry’s sad eyes, I grimace when I realize I forgot boxers, and now, if he isn’t asleep, he’ll be able to see my fucking boner.

Not that that’s usually a problem, but tonight feels different somehow. Like crossing a boundary I know will only prolong his sadness.

I decide fuck it and send it. Slinging open the bathroom door, my eyes immediately find Henry’s form laying turned away from the bathroom on his bed. Taking a deep breath, I walk to my own bed and pull myself up onto the mattress.

Fuck, I can’t wait to move into an apartment, these things are awful. I can practically taste the ceiling while I’m sitting up.

Swiping my hand down my face, I lay back, sans cover because it’s hot as shit in here, and I can’t even entertain the idea of sleeping right now. My arm covers my eyes, if not, I know I’ll punish myself by watching Henry sleep.

His bed creaks with movement, and I have to restrain myself from rolling onto my side to check on him. Logically, I know he’s fine. Illogically, my brain tells me there’s a mass murder beside his bed about to off him with a butcher knife.

So I do the only thing that will allow my mind to settle and peek out from under my arm. He’s turned onto his other side now, facing me. The lines of his face are smooth in sleep, I can see his dark lashes fanned across his cheeks from here, hiding the warm brown irises I fall into every time he looks at me. His curls are wild, which makes me smile.

Forcing myself to look away and keep my eyes shut, I hope for sleep.

“Banks,” I hear my name, and feel like I’m on a ship, waves crashing against the boat making it rock violently back and forth. I can’t see anything, though, like I’m standing in a void.

“Banks.”

Henry’s voice, fuck, I’m shaking, trembling in my bed, probably causing enough racket to wake the entire dorm. My tongue is like sandpaper. My mouth is so dry I can’t push any words out.

I hear him sigh and climb onto the bed. I’m still shaking, not as bad, though. His weight settles in beside me, and he worms his arm under my torso to wrap me up.

“Henry,” I croak, swallowing to start again.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” he says against my neck, “there’s no fire.”

His words send me back to a time when I thought I’d never sleep again after I lost my mother and almost my father, too. The night that haunts my every waking moment. Maybe if they caught the bastard that killed my mother and tried to kill me and my father, I could move on. Be the person Henry loves.

But after we called in every favor we could think of, the case ran cold, and my father gave up. The person responsible for killing my mother and scarring my father is free and living.

“Take some deep breaths,” Henry’s steady voice pulls me from those thoughts. I focus on the way his chest rises and falls against my back, how his heart beats slowly in his chest.

I attempt to swallow my tears, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“I’m fine. You can go back to your bed.” I try to put distance between us, so I can cry without Henry worrying. He doesn’t respond, instead, he holds me tighter, and the first tear falls. It hits my pillow without a sound, but for some reason, it feels as loud as a gun firing.

I can’t stop them now. Tears run across my nose, down my cheek, and soak into the fabric of my pillow. As silent sobs wrack my body, Henry holds me through it until my eyes are sore and my nose feels like it’s never going to be clear again.

His arms retreat, but he doesn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he rubs circles on my lower back and lets me stew in my feelings as I calm down from all the tears.

“It’s okay to cry, Banks.” His voice is quiet, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. His hand runs up my spine to my neck, where he runs his fingertips over my buzzed hair. “I miss your long hair.”

“Hair holds trauma,” I snap, “and smoke.”

He sighs, “I didn’t…”

“Just go back to your bed, Henry.” I don’t want him holding me. It only makes the mornings worse and gives him hope that I can’t squash.

His weight shifts, and I hold my breath, praying that he does as he’s told and goes over to his bed where his heart can be safe from me.

Instead, his hand wraps around my shoulder, and he shoves me so I’m on my back staring up at him.

“Let me make you feel good, you stubborn jackass,” his wide brown eyes are determined, lips pursed in defiance. And before I can protest, his lips are on mine. Cool and… fucking perfect.

He takes charge, tongue delving into my mouth with an urgency as if I could pull away even if I wanted to. His palm travels over my exposed stomach, fingers dipping into the ridges of my abdomen.

“Henry-” I begin to protest, but his hand plunges into my shorts and he grips my cock just the way I like, and all words leave my brain. “Fuck,” I suck in a breath through our lips.

He tugs up, thumb swiping over the tip of my length, and drags his soft hand back down to the base.

“Henry–”

“Shut up,” he says, pecking my lips and kissing a trail down my neck, to my chest, and stomach, all while driving me insane with his hand wrapped around my dick.

Pulling the waistband of my shorts down, he exposes me, and the sight of his mouth so close to where I need him makes me nearly orgasm on the spot. Paint his hand and my stomach, and watch him while he licks every drop off my muscles.

Humming, Henry slowly licks a trail from my balls to the tip of my cock where he swirls his tongue and blinks up at me.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I whisper on a sharp inhale.

He smirks and swallows my cock, his hot mouth leaks as my length hits the back of his throat, and the sight makes me groan.

He sucks, working his hand up and down in tandem with his mouth. With a loud pop, he lifts his head, “Use my mouth like you’re dying to Banks.”

I hate that he knows exactly what I want and that he’s willing to give it to me. My head hits the pillow, and I can’t help the hiss of air that leaves my mouth.

“Please,” he licks around my cock like it’s a fucking lollypop in his favorite flavor.

“Fuck it, you want me to make you gag on my cock, Fancy?” I lift my head again to look at him.

“Mmmm,” he nods, eyes focused on mine.

“Open your mouth and stick your tongue out,” I command, and like the good boy he is, he does as I say. Beautifully his tongue sticks out right above my cock, and I run my hand through his soft curls, guiding him closer to me.

Threading my fingers tightly into his hair, I hold my dick up and guide him down over me. Watching as I disappear inch by inch into his mouth should be illegal, fucking shit, I’m not going to stop unless he asks me to.

And from the look in his eyes, I don’t think he’ll ask anytime soon.