Choosing You (Gravity Hill #3)

8. Chapter 5

H is cock is so hard and mine drips in response. I’m going to make a mess of my sweatpants with the way Banks is looking at me, controlling me, owning me just how I like him to.

I watch as his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, and his sharp brows rise in challenge. So I hollow out my cheeks and suck, letting my spit dribble out as he controls me by my hair. His hips bucking up, as I suck.

I’m a mess, and I know he’s going to cum soon by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and he groans.

“I’m going to cum down your throat, Fancy, and you’re going to swallow every last drop, understand?”

I can’t think of anything I want more than to have him coming undone under me. It’s a sight to behold, and I can’t help my hips from snapping and rubbing my hard erection against his leg.

“Are you going to cum in your pants, humping my leg like a good dog?”

I nod vigorously and unashamed because hell fucking yes, I am. I can feel it building in my spine, my balls tingle, and the way he snaps his hips up to meet the back of my throat makes me roll my eyes in pleasure.

We’re both chasing an orgasm, our bodies working in a rhythm the way they only can together.

“I’m-” Banks starts, and I gently scrape my teeth against his length, sending him over the edge. His beautiful cock jerks in my mouth and coats the back of my throat. “Henry,” he moans my name as he holds me over him.

My own orgasm explodes and I paint my sweats with cum. Soaking them in the most delicious way. He removes his hand from my curls as his cock grows soft, spent. We lay there for a moment, neither of us jumping to speak after what just happened.

I know it was foolish of me to start, but the way he cried out in his sleep for me sucked me back in. I’ve known about the night terrors for years, and I thought they were getting better. This one seemed particularly rough. I know even if I ask he won’t talk about it. I’ve tried, our dads have tried, Creed and Fern have tried. He won’t say a word about them.

My post-orgasm bliss immediately sours. I know if I slip out of bed now he’ll let me go without a word, and we won’t acknowledge what just happened between us tomorrow… or ever. I swear every time is the last, and yet I find myself here, in his bed, wanting to make him feel something other than pain at my heart's expense.

“One day, I hope you’ll want me for more than just a distraction,” I whisper as I maneuver off the bed as quietly as possible. He doesn’t move or speak as I walk into the bathroom and shut the door.

My sweatpants are sticking to my skin, and I think a shower might do me good. My own distraction from my heart fracturing into little pieces and decaying in my stomach.

The water turns on with a groan, something I’m slowly finding charming. The building creaks and pops at odd hours, as if it’s alive and breathing. It’s comforting in a way, to know that life goes on even in non-sentient things.

Peeling my sweatpants down my legs, I shake my head at the mess and try to convince myself it was worth it. Tossing my shirt aside, I step into the hot spray and stand there, arms crossed, skin soaking in the water.

This place must have amazing plumbing because the water never turns cold, and I love to take long showers, to the point that the room is fogged with steam and breathing becomes difficult.

Suds run along my body from the loofa I used to scrub off the memories of Banks with me before . Memories that torture me with who he was… before his mother died, before he closed himself off, and before he turned so cold and careless.

Like the time Banks stood outside of my door when I told my dad I was gay.

“Okay,” he cleared his throat, “you’re still Henry , and you’re pretty damn perfect to me.” Hearing my father say those words in his soothing timber brought me to tears. “Did you think I would be upset?”

I shook my head because words were hard, and I felt like I would vomit everything up if I did. Dad opened his arms and stood, waiting for me to come to him. It made me cry harder, the way he hugged me like I was little again, and he would protect me from the world.

“I could never be upset about you being happy,” he said into my hair.

When my dad left, Banks came in and cuddled against me until I fell asleep. We didn’t speak. He just held me in my relieved and happy state. It was everything he could have done.

Washing the shampoo from my curls, I let the water run over my skin until it runs cold, and I no longer have an excuse to be in here anymore. Turning the water off, I grab the towel I had hung by the door and dry off.

I wasn’t exactly expecting to take a shower, so I wrap the towel around my hips, grip the handle, take a deep breath, and walk out. Directly to my dresser to step into a new pair of sweatpants as fast as I can so I won’t be naked in front of him. Though I’m pretty sure he’s asleep if the soft snores are any indication.

The material of my t-shirt is soft against my freshly washed skin, and I make sure to hang my towel up in the bathroom before climbing back into my bed and rolling over. Shutting my eyes, I let my thoughts drift off and wait for sleep to come.

Light from the morning sun illuminates the middle of our room, highlighting the rug Fern bought for us. Toby and Talon have the same one because Fern didn’t want our feet to freeze–her words, not mine.

My alarm dings, and I scramble to turn it off. I don’t want to wake Banks. I’m not sure I have it in me to pretend this morning. However, if I work up the courage to ask about the Gator Coffee Co. job, I might be getting up early enough to avoid him almost every day for the foreseeable future.

It’s only been one weekend, and I already miss baking, serving hot drinks, and learning people's orders. It’s why I ran the cafe at Ravard Prep for so long. Though that was high school, college feels more… serious. Professors here don’t give two-shits about who you are or what you bring to the table, they only care if you do your assignments and stay out of their proverbial hair.

So, I can only imagine that Gator Coffee Co. will be the same.

Swiping my clothes from the dresser for today, I head into the bathroom to get ready. My hair is a mess because I stupidly went to bed with it wet. Finger-combing through the unruly curls, I figure throwing them in a bun will save me the most time. Pulling the dark strands up, I wrap the elastic band around the knot of hair I created.

Fear doesn’t give me the luxury of caring what I look like today. Maybe I can find a bathroom somewhere to fix it. Until then, I throw on my clothes and fly out the door, making sure to grab my backpack that I packed last night before we left for the party Toby’s new friend invited us to.

Charlie seems nice. She is a Junior here and room advisor. We met her for a few seconds before she was whisked away to deal with whatever party hostesses deal with. Rubbing my temples with my fingers as I walk, I try to wipe the memories from the party away.

We all have to drive home later today for family supper. Something Fern wants us to do at least once a month, if not every Sunday. I don’t mind, I’m homesick already.

My feet carry me on a path unconsciously, it’s only when I’m pulling open the door to Gator Coffee Co. that I realize I need to swallow my anxiety and talk to someone about a job. It smells like home, comforting with frosting and coffee mingling together.

When I get closer, the guy behind the counter gives me a bright smile, and I respond in kind. It’s automatic after doing this for so long.

“Hi,” the guy says leaning, against the counter, palms out on the granite. “What can I get ya?”

Eyeing the variety of items on the menu, I decide on an everything bagel sandwich and black coffee. Nothing a sausage egg and cheese bagel can’t fix. While he counts my change, I ask, “Are y’all, by chance, hiring?”

He stops, looks at me, and smiles. “Yeah, actually, we are. It’s a front-of-house position, though.”

“That’s perfect,” I nod with a ridiculous grin on my face. I probably shouldn’t look so happy about applying for a job. “Sorry,” I mutter as he hands me my change.

“What for?” he asks, his brows scrunching down over his eyes.

“I just really enjoyed the coffee shop I worked at back in prep school, and my aunt co-owns a bakery here in Gravity Hill. It’s like a little slice of home, and I got a little… over eager.”

Shrugging, I pocket my change and wait for him to hand me an application or tell me the website where I need to apply.

He doesn’t. Instead, he replies with, “When can you start?”