Chapter 61
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
I’ve been avoiding Oakley as best I can, considering we’re all stuck together in the same house.
I’m not exactly sure why we’re here, and I really don’t want to know.
Some part of me knows that asking that question will release the floodgates.
And the demons are already doing their best to unlock them, scratching at my brain, begging me to drink, no, don’t drink, black out, it’ll just be easier, no, if you blackout the monsters will catch up. I can’t make up my damn mind.
So I’m lying in the bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. I can’t move, paralyzed by everything churning in my mind. It’s a crude ceiling—they made it quickly, so it’s just plywood. I count the knots over and over. I can count fifteen without turning my head.
I usually run to alcohol and sex to help me escape. And now there are two hot people in my space who I normally wouldn’t hesitate to fuck. But the thought makes my chest tight. I want them, and that’s a problem.
They think we’re crazy.
The warmth and comfort that a soft hug brings can be replaced by alcohol, but I think I’m out. I can’t make myself get out of bed to check.
Also, where’s Wyatt? I keep expecting to find instructions from him like I always do.
Earlier, I even went to the Villa and rifled through his office, expecting him to storm in and stop me.
Only, something deep down in my gut said that wasn’t going to happen.
No one had cleaned up the body in the hallway either, and it was starting to smell ripe.
The Game has never gone this wrong before. I don’t usually remember much of it, but I also spend a lot of it drunk, just getting rid of problems when I need to.
My stomach cramps. Why don’t I remember much? This can’t be normal.
And so I’ve been drinking all day, trying to get things back to normal.
There’s a knock at the door, but the person doesn’t wait for an answer; they just push the door open, then close it behind him.
It’s Oakley.
“Go away,” I groan, squeezing my eyes closed to ward off the voices in my head that are already starting.
No. I need the knots in the wood again. Need to count them.
There’s the clinking of the empty alcohol bottles around my bed, then the bed dips, and Oakley is pressing into my side.
The contact feels familiar. Warm. It promises the escape I want. It promises a distracting thrill.
I press my eyes closed again.
“I’m sorry.” Then, Oakley’s arm wraps around my chest, pulling me toward him. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”
I huff, even while the warmth of his arm seeps through me.
“Please talk to me again.” His head is buried in my shoulder, and his voice vibrates through my muscles. “I miss you.”
“You miss the crazy person?” I can’t keep the bitter words from coming out. As they do, tears sting my eyes. Oakley isn’t different from anyone else. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Oakley moves, and I can tell he’s popped his head up to look at me.
Still, I refuse to look at him. But I can feel his gaze boring into my face. I want what he says to be true. I really do. But I just…can’t.
“Ky,” his voice is soft now. Pleading, even. “If I thought you were crazy, would I do this?”
I feel him shift, and then he’s pressing into my lips. My eyes flutter open, and he’s right there, kissing me. His eyes hooded when he sees mine, and he kisses me harder, pressing into me with more weight. And he feels so good. So right. It makes my chest hurt with how much I want him.
But I can’t.
I shove Oakley off me, and it causes physical pain to move through my upper body. What hurts more is the wince he gives, looking at me like I stabbed him.
We can’t. I can’t let Oakley drown us, too.
Sure we can. Get him.
I shake my head as the voices prove Oakley correct. Maybe I really am crazy.
Oakley watches me like I shot him. Slowly, he takes a deep breath. Then he licks his lips. “This is because you’re scared.” He says it like a question.
“Scared?” I shake my head. “You try being called a demon your whole life.”
Oakley watches me, looking like he’s trying to control his breathing. Then, he asks softly, “Who called you a demon?”
“Everyone,” I snap back. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk at all.
Only, I do. The longer I stay not touching him, the more I get the urge to launch across the bed and grab him. To pin him down and teach him to call me crazy.
Finally, Oakley nods his head, seemingly deciding on something.
Then, he’s sitting up, yanking his shirt off, baring his skin and tattoos to me.
For a second, I just stare at him, tracing those delicious muscles and the pretty contrast the dark ink makes against his pale skin.
My mouth starts watering before I shake my head to break myself out of it.
“Oakley.”
“I want you,” he says, opening his hands and snaking them across the space between us to touch my torso.
His touch sends a bolt of desire through me, and I have to physically roll myself away, sitting up straight. “What are you doing?” My question is rough.
“Please,” he says, following me with his hands, grabbing my thighs.
I can’t keep the rush of blood from going to my dick. Since when have I ever had someone begging before me and said no?
Oakley runs his hands up to my waistband, fingers tickling the skin there, and suddenly, I can’t remember why I’m saying no. That doesn’t seem like me. I would never say no.
Snarling, I snap forward, shoving Oakley back, slipping my knee over his torso, and pinning him under me. He gives a sharp intake of breath, looking up at me with blown pupils.
“Roll,” I demand, letting up just enough for him to obey before I’m sitting on his ass, pinning him with his stomach to the bed. I run my fingernails up his back, relishing in the submission he’s giving me. The control that’s slipping back into my hands. This feels familiar. More like me.
“Take your pants off.” I’m frantic now, chasing the version of me I’ve always known. The real Kyan. The Kyan who only feels good things. The Kyan who protects against the bad.
Oakley obeys, pulling his pants down, exposing his tight ass to me. My dick throbs in my pants, and I imagine pushing into him, the tight clamp of his muscles that would suck my dick dry. The complete high that happens with a mind-numbing orgasm.
I’m panting, and Oakley is too. I drop down over him, biting his shoulder. His muscles press into my teeth, and Oakley yelps, jerking involuntarily.
I shiver, enjoying his pain. The way he’s pinned under me, forced to submit to my marks. Releasing him, I bite down again, biting hard enough to bruise. I want him to remember who he begged to take him.
“Ky,” Oakley’s breath is shuddering, and he’s quivering under me. I’d bet anything his dick is hard, rubbing against the sheets with every move we make.
I want to be inside of him. Right now.
Glancing up at the nightstand, I wonder if there’s lube there. I’m not sure whose room this is, but I presume Wyatt’s. I’ve never wanted him to be a freak more than I do right now.
Briefly, I lift off Oakley to check, and there, sitting in the drawer like a piece of gold in a treasure chest, is the exact same lube I always use—the water-based.
It makes me question for a brief second, but I shove that away. That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is fucking Oakley so hard he sees god.
Settling back over him, I rub my nose up the back of his neck and breathe behind his ear. “You’re a bottom?”
I don’t need to ask. I know he is. But for the comfort of everyone involved, I need to know if we’re talking been-strapped-by-an-average-dildo or been-stretched-by-a-monster-cock-regularly.
“I…yes…never tried.” He shudders again, and I’m a bit surprised by his answer. That surprise is quickly chased by a grin that I can’t hold back. I’ll be first inside that tight ass?
“Really?” I ask, my mind filled with the ideas of Oakley moaning in surprise as I hit his prostate for the first time. The absolute soul-sucking clench he’ll bear down on my cock.
“Don’t take it easy on me.” Oakley bucks his hips up into me, rubbing against my still-clothed groin and sending pleasure through me. I groan, ripping off my clothes and popping open the lube. I drop a generous amount down his crack, and he hisses with the cold.
“Ever touched yourself here?” I can’t keep the guttural growl out of my voice as I run my hand down his crack, massaging the lube in.
Oakley shivers as my fingers run over his hole, and I can’t decide what I want his answer to be.
Yes, he’s fingered himself, or no, this will be the first time. Both are making my cock weep.
“I…uh…” He bucks again as my fingers run over his hole. It’s puckered tightly, and I chuckle.
“I’ll take care of you.” I sound more confident than I’ve been in days, because there’s one thing I know for sure: I’ll make Oakley feel good. I’ll make myself feel good. It’s what I’m good at.
I slip a finger in. Oakley tightens around me, then lets go, and my finger slides in deeper. I crook it, rubbing against where the prostate is, and soon Oakley is writhing into the sheets. It makes me feel powerful.
I don’t let him come. I play with him, letting him get used to the feeling, before I slip another finger in. Oakley moans, clenching again, but soon he’s sucking both fingers up to my knuckles.
I chuckle in pleasure. “You take so well to me, greedy thing.”
I continue to stretch him, making sure he’s prepared. I don’t mind hurting people when I fuck them, but for Oakley, I need this to go well. Need him to know that I can give him the best orgasms of his life.
Finally, when he’s a panting mess, his fingers dug into the sheets, I line myself up with him. My dick bobs, wanting to slam into that tight hole.
“They say sex is better when they’re crazy, right?” Then, I press the head of my dick against his hole. There’s brief resistance, then I pop inside, the head of my dick immediately surrounded in tight warmth.
I groan, already edged by watching my fingers disappear into him. Oakley groans too, back muscles tightening.
I hold myself still, trembling. He feels so fucking good. I wait until Oakley relaxes a fraction, then mutter, “You want more of me, Oakley King?”
He whimpers, a soft, needy sound accompanied by the loosening of his asshole around me.
So I sink further into his wet heat, letting out a strangled sound as his walls ripple, sending shockwaves up my spine.
Slowly but surely, I press into him until my crotch is against his muscled cheeks.
I stop there, trembling, every nerve ending yearning, begging me to drag Oakley along my shaft.
“Ky…” his voice is a mixture of a request and a groan.
“Yeah, mousey?”
He just lets out a stuttered breath, like he can’t find the words.
I’ll help him find them. Dragging myself out feels like leaving home. The air cools my shaft, and I bite my lip, then drive back into him.
Oakley cries out, tightening on me. I have to concentrate hard to keep the tingles of pleasure from overwhelming me. I want them to overwhelm me. I want to be so overtaken that I can’t remember reality anymore.
“Ky,” Oakley says. “Stop holding back.”
I barely keep the grin off my face before I pull back and start hammering into him. I don’t go slow anymore, pulling out enough to drag my tip over his prostate over and over until he’s a whimpering mess. He thrashes on the bed.
“You gonna come for me, little mousey?” It’s hard to talk with how good I’m feeling.
“Please,” Oakley begs. He fucking begs, and it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Come for me.”
He does, his entire body locking up. I keep up the same pace until I feel him pulsing around me, and I know he’s shooting cum into the sheets.
It makes my own pleasure ramp up so high that I know I can’t stop it.
It wraps around me, locking up my brain in a pleasured haze.
I come, pulsing into Oakley, his body dragging pulse after pulse of pleasure out of me.
Finally, I pull out and collapse next to Oakley. He groans as I leave him, and it makes me smirk past the haze.
We lay there for a while. I feel more at peace than I have in a long time, and I don’t want it to leave. All I want to do is sleep. But not the sleep I did before, the exhausted kind of sleep. The deeply needed sleep.
But Oakley is still here.
It startles me how much I want to sleep next to him. It’s such a foreign feeling. In my delusion, I think that Oakley’s presence will chase my demons away while I sleep.
Except that he thinks I am one.
I frown, staring up at the ceiling again, counting the knots.
“Ky?” Oakley asks, his voice soft.
I just grunt.
“Even if you were crazy, I’d still want every bit of you. I want you, Ky. Whatever that means. I want you.”
I stroke his head, wishing with everything in me that that could be true. Slowly, fatigue grips me with its fingers, pulling me down with it. I’m so exhausted from fighting, from drinking, from everything, that I close my eyes, just to rest.
Just rest.
I wait for that voice that screams I’m not safe, and yet, it doesn’t come. Then, with my fingers buried in Oakley’s hair, sleep pulls me into its hold.