Chapter 8
Eli
If this were a dream, I wouldn’t want it to end.
But it isn’t. I’m awake, and the hottest man I’ve ever met is asleep on top of me. He’s heavy, simultaneously hard and soft to the touch, and the heat between my buttocks is a reminder of what we did last night.
Cesar wanted me.
He wanted me so much he initially wanted to sleep on the floor to avoid scaring me, but then I found out, and the jolts of mutual desire brought us together.
It’s been so damn long since I’ve been fucked—over a year, since my breakup with Spencer—but when he climbed on top and helped himself to my body as if it was his God-given right, I didn’t have a single doubt that it was what I wanted too.
He smells like a summer breeze in the woods, all fresh herbs, with a bit of salt and musk from last night’s sweat. And while I am going to need the restroom soon, I don’t have the heart to wake him up after he drove me to safety, and then made sure to pump me full of cum.
I blush just thinking about it. And the way he rimmed me?
Like there was nothing he liked better. No one’s ever done that to me before, and now I know I was missing out.
Such a skilled tongue. I’d chastise myself for losing my mind and going bare, but what is that in the face of me becoming a murderer and wanted fugitive?
And the things he said to me? I’d be fanning myself if my arm wasn’t trapped under his delicious weight.
I can only hope he meant at least half of them.
No one’s ever been that intense with me, not even the guy I planned to propose to one day.
As if I’m not just someone who ‘will do’, but the only one he wants.
I don’t even mind if Sullivan’s death is the main reason motivating his desire.
I’m wondering how much longer my bladder can last before it bursts when Cesar rolls off me and to his back, presenting me with yet another reason to stay in bed.
I could admire his body for days. Too bad I’m no artist, because he’d be my new muse.
I want to learn his tattoos by heart and find out what every scar is from, including the massive one in the middle of his chest.
It’s time though. I ease my hand from under him ever so gently, to not wake him up and run off to the bathroom for a leak.
I take a shower while I’m there too, and as I clean myself, the tenderness in my hole reminds me of how hungry this model-handsome man was for my ass. Each lick and tease sparked fireworks deep inside, and if he only agrees to rim me again, I’ll massage his feet and fan him whenever he’s tired.
No one’s ever been this passionate with me. I thought maybe that kind of stuff didn’t happen in real life, but Cesar, my savior, made me feel like I’m the hero of a romance book being ravished by some handsome prince whose darkness can be combated through love.
I’m ridiculous.
We’ve only just met.
He’s helping me out of gratitude and surely just likes gangly guys with long legs.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it and give back.
And oh do I want to give back. My foot, while tender, is looking less swollen today, so I’m happy to throw myself into a whirl of cleaning the cabin and preparing the most luscious breakfast I can out of the groceries we’ve got.
After yesterday’s storm, I was expecting to be met by gray clouds and dirty piles of slush, but instead, the sky is blue, and perfect mounds of fresh fluffy snow adorn the driveway.
It’s still over two weeks until Christmas day, but I’m already starting to wonder what I could get Cesar.
Since I’ve got nothing, no access to internet, and barely a few bucks to my name, it’s probably my best bet to make something.
We might be on the move by then, so starting on any handmade gift now is not such a bad idea, is it?
My mom taught me how to make origami angels and Christmas trees.
Those could be arranged into a long ornament if I made enough of them.
I could also make a papier maché bauble, like one of those my family used to make for every Christmas.
I’m not sure if it’s a practical gift while being on the road, but maybe we’ll get a van to sleep in, go off-grid, and then we could put such a garland inside.
I imagine Christmas day somewhere in the forests of Canada or Alaska, just the two of us.
I could make him French toast in a skillet over a campfire outside as he prepares hot chocolate, and then we’d exchange thoughtful gifts, all to do with what we experienced on the road by that point.
Maybe we could even include my family’s old tradition of a Christmas morning snowball fight?
But I’m getting way ahead of myself. I’m not sure what time it is, since we fell asleep early in the morning. Could be midday. Could be three in the afternoon, for all I know.
It doesn’t seem Cesar is anywhere near waking up, so I start with cleanup.
With the furnishings so sparse, there isn’t that much to do, and within an hour, the whole cabin (with the exception of the bedroom) has been swiped, dusted, and polished.
I used an old magazine to make a simple paper chain, which I draped above the couch, then folded the paper into tree-shaped ornaments.
The sun is heading for the horizon by the time I hear movement in the bedroom.
I’m stunned when I see him in the corridor, because yes, he’s that hot. I thought maybe I just over-exaggerated it in my head, but he most definitely looks like a super soldier. He’s got his sweatpants on, but they sit low on his hips, giving me the most perfect view.
“Good morning! Or afternoon.” I beam at him.
I’m wearing black sweatpants that are a bit on the short side, but at least they don’t pool at my waist, and a blue T-shirt which hugs me.
Both these items are probably women’s, but are unisex enough to not make me feel weird.
I didn’t find any spare underwear, so I’ve gone commando, but I do have socks.
I added wood to the fire, so it’s nice and toasty inside. Almost like we’re at a couples’ retreat, not trying to evade the law after my murder rampage.
Cesar watches me from the doorway leading out of the main room. “I don’t know either,” he admits with a smile, and my toes curl when his gaze slides down my body. Is he making sure I look good enough in different light?
Maybe I shouldn’t have so much self-doubt, but how can I not, when I’m average, on the side of thin, and he—drop dead gorgeous?
“I’ll make food. How do you like your coffee?” I ask, rising from behind the table. A jolt of pain trails up my ankle, but I manage to hide it from him, because the last thing I want is for him to get nothing in return for all he’s done for me.
“Black,” he says and steps inside after a moment’s hesitation.
Butterflies rush up my throat and my neck tingles in anticipation.
It’s all still so fresh and new I hope I manage not to fuck it up.
“Coming right up!” I all but chirp and walk over to the kitchenette.
I try not to be too obvious about the soreness in my hole, which I choose to treat as a badge of honor, but Cesar can’t be fooled.
I’m leaning down to open the small fridge when he stands behind me and places his hands on my hips.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Why?” Other than being a murderer with the catchy name of Festive Fugitive. My nape tingles at his touch as I proceed to put instant coffee in his mug. He bought it, so I’m guessing that’s what he likes.
Cesar hums and presses his hips to my butt. “You walk like you’re sore. Did I overdo it?”
I must be going red because heat climbs up my face. I can’t see him, and his presence is almost too much to handle for my touch-starved body. As soon as I turn on the electric kettle, I put my hands over his.
“Just a little. It’s fine. It’s just that it’s been a while, but I was too horny to care.”
He exhales, and his scratchy chin rolls against my sensitive neck. Fuck, he smells so good! “Might need to kiss it better later.”
I get goosebumps as if he’s promised to get me flowers.
Which I wouldn’t actually even want, but I guess he doesn’t know me that well yet.
Nor do I know him that much. I don’t wanna think about that, so I chuckle and nod, because what he’s saying is that he wants to have sex again.
I’ll do it with him any time, any day. To be wanted this much…
I never thought it possible for someone like me, and the sense of pride it grows in me is addictive.
“Y-yeah, that would be… nice.” I rub my thumbs over his hands, amazed I’m getting to touch this stunning human being. Me. The homeless guy with no friends.
He shoves his nose and lips to the side of my neck, making me rise to my toes with sudden pleasure, but then he’s gone, as if he only wanted a sample of my scent. “Quick shower, and I’ll be back. Sorry I overslept.”
I spin around, salivating at the sight of that broad back covered with intricate ink. “I’ll change the sheet—”
“No,” he says, spinning his head my way, and the sharpness of his voice screws me to the floor.
Have I done something wrong? Was I meant to stay quiet and let him have this time to himself?
Spencer hated when I bothered him after work, when he liked to have solo time before bed, and all of a sudden I feel the thin ice I’m standing on is starting to crack.
But before I can utter an apology, Cesar shakes his head.
“Stop running around. Sit with your ankle elevated. I’ll deal with the bed. ”
And with that, he’s gone.
Now I want to treat him even more.
While I do see how changing the sheets could be a bit tricky, doing a few things in the kitchen isn’t that hard. I already prepared a lot of the food before, so it’s a question of arranging it on the table so it’s all spread out for him when he’s back.