Chapter 2 #2
“Fuck,” I groan, hooking my arms under his thighs and pulling him to me so I can go deeper. He’s light and lets me move him the way I want.
“Oh my God,” he moans. “Yes, that feels so good.”
I fuck him hard and steady, watching the way he tenses, frantically looking for something to grasp onto. The sheets, my sides, my arms… his nails scrape into my skin, across his own chest. He’s animated while being fucked, and that is something I really like.
He’s beautiful like this, speared on my cock and lost to the pleasure that I’m giving him.
“I’m… so close,” he breathes out, grasping onto my forearm. “You feel so good.”
I wrap my hand around his dick, stroking him along with my thrusts. He tenses further, tightening around my cock, and knowing he’s about to come has me about to come, too.
His dick erupts, covering his chest and my hand. I fuck him a little harder and the orgasm hits me suddenly. I spill into the condom, my dick throbbing its release. The orgasm rushes through my whole body, and for just a split second, everything in the world is good. It’s calm. It’s quiet.
I almost forget why I walked into that bar tonight.
Almost.
But the second it fades, the weight comes back tenfold. Smoke. Heat. The sound of someone begging me not to leave. The cries. The screams. The bullshit excuses. The empty bed. The lonely nights. The broken promises.
Miles brushes his fingers down my arm, his eyes closed, as if he’s doing it instinctively and not on purpose.
There’s a drunken smile on his face that has everything to do with pleasure and nothing to do with the alcohol he consumed tonight.
Still, it’s too much. I flinch back and get to my feet, pulling off and tying the condom to toss into the wastebasket beside the nightstand.
My hands tremble. My vision starts to blur.
“You okay?” Miles asks.
Why does he sound like he’s underwater?
I force myself to take a breath and look back at him.
He’s covered in cum, watching me curiously.
The nice thing to do would be to find him something to clean up with, but I’m panicking and I can’t think straight.
My pulse is racing. The room is too small. Too quiet and too loud all at the same time.
I stare at the wall over Miles’ head and I can see it—the hallway. The smoke crawling low. The sound of coughing. It was a bad shift, and I shouldn’t have come here. Alcohol and hookups don’t fix anything.
Fuck.
“JJ?”
I suck in air, but it’s not doing any good.
My chest won’t move and I can’t breathe.
It’s so fucking hard to breathe, like there’s no oxygen.
There’s no smoke here, though. It’s clear.
There’s no heat. No orange glow. No black smoke.
It’s just me and Miles in his bedroom. The stranger I met at the bar, who took me home.
We fucked, and now I need to go. I need to go. I have to fucking move.
Move, JJ! Go!
Someone’s arm is on me, and I jerk away, hitting my knee on the nightstand so hard I almost knock it over. It hurts enough that it clears my head.
Miles’ face comes into view. Soft. Sweet. Concerned.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. I clear my throat, grabbing for my underwear and jeans to shove on.
It takes three tries for me to get my boxer briefs on the right way.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I don’t normally do this.
The, uh…” I gesture around, my hand still trembling.
“Hooking up and definitely not this. The panic.”
“It’s okay,” Miles says softly. “Sit for a minute. Please?”
I stare at him, everything in my body telling me to run but there’s something in his eyes that makes me sit anyway. He crawls over to sit beside me. His pants are back on, but I don’t know when that happened.
“I can’t believe I’m acting like this in a stranger’s bed,” I mutter.
“Um, it’s okay,” he says simply. “I cry in my bed all the time.”
“Fuck,” I growl quietly, running a hand down my face. I take a deep breath, then turn to face him. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. And I’m not crying. For the record.”
“Right.” He smiles, his tone playful in a way that would piss me off if it were anyone else. But why not him? He’s no one. I don’t know him. So why doesn’t that tone piss me off? “For the record,” he adds. It’s quiet for a few moments, then he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Definitely not.” I shake my head.
“Okay, well…” He gets to his feet and digs through the nightstand drawer, pulling out a small pad and pen.
That says a lot about him. Keeping a pad and pen to write on.
Why not use your phone like everyone else?
“Here.” He offers me a slip of paper. “If you ever feel like talking about it, just call me. Any time.”
“Thanks.” I take the paper, fold it neatly, and put it in my jeans pocket, then stand to button them and find my shirt so I can get the hell out of here.
“You could stay if you wanted,” he says, not at all sounding embarrassed or like it’ll mean anything. More concerned, maybe. “I have a spare bedroom you could use.”
“Thanks, but I’m coming off a 24-hour shift and it’s best I go home and sleep for the next day. I wouldn’t want to mess with your… uh, routine or anything.”
He nods, but I can sense he wants to say something else. He doesn’t, though, and I appreciate that in a way I can’t express. Not right now. Maybe not ever. It’s more like a feeling, something that settles right in my chest.
I clear my throat. “Thanks. For… tonight.”
“Do you feel better?”
“No,” I say with a humorless laugh. “But I will when I wake up.”
I always do.
Miles follows me to the front door, helping me get my coat and smiling as I step over the threshold. It looks a little forced though, that concern still clear in his eyes.
“Get home safe,” he says.
Nodding, I hurry down his stairs and out into the cold. I walk a few blocks, needing the cold air to think. I pull my phone out to check the time and remember that AJ called me earlier. It’s too late to call him back and I don’t have a text from him, but I send one anyway.
Me:
You up?
I stare at the text, waiting for a response as I keep walking. I never get one. He’s either sleeping, out on a call, or finally sick of my shit. I pocket my phone and keep walking. When I’m thoroughly lost, I call a rideshare to pick me up and take me home.