Chapter 14 Oxley
OXLEY
Huntley gags, his body shuddering. Fresh tears streak down his cheeks as he looks up at me. A rush of pleasure shivers along my spine and deposits in my core, pushing my orgasm a little closer to the surface.
He’s on his knees in front of me, eyes upturned to meet mine.
I have the back of his head in the palm of my hand as my hips jerk forward, shoving my cock down his throat.
I’m not sure if I’m more hypnotized by his eyes locked on mine, face covered in tears, spit, and precum, or the way his hand moves rapidly over his dick.
This is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. Right in front of me.
He’s mine. Huntley Fowler is mine.
When he adjusts his weight a little to the right, I know he’s relieving some of the pressure on his injured leg.
We just finished PT for the day, and as we established a couple of weeks ago, if he can make it through the session giving it his all, he can orgasm however he wants.
I don’t care what he asks for; I’ll make it happen.
This morning, he wants to choke on my dick. Not going to lie; it’s fucking hot. I’ve had a handful of people on my cock like this before, but none of them made my blood hot as magma in my veins simply by looking up at me like this.
Huntley is the key to my undoing. Always.
His lips remain firmly on my cock as I pull in and out of his mouth. I don’t shove down his throat with every thrust. Every third or fourth is when I want the restriction of his throat. That sudden strangulation on my cock is everything.
This last thrust down his throat has Huntley gasping. He swallows, struggles for a second, and then comes all over the floor between my legs.
I’ve never been with someone who comes when they’re having their throat fucked. The sudden electric pleasure that rushes through me at the thought has me at my limit. I thrust erratically until I spill down his throat.
Huntley gags, coughs around me. It makes me groan with all the convulsions of his throat. The vibrations. The choking sound is unexpectedly arousing.
Gently, I pull back and crouch down in front of him to wipe his face. A shiver makes my hair stand on end when he licks his lips.
Absolutely enthralling. That’s what this man is.
We take a few minutes to catch our breath, and then I scoop him up and set him in the folding chair in the shower. The water gets warm quickly, and I adjust it to rain over him. Huntley relaxes in the chair and closes his eyes as steam fills the room.
I leave him there while I clean the floor with a paper towel and follow that with floor cleaner. Since he still looks peaceful and settled, I take this moment to strip the bed and put the sheets in the wash before remaking the bed with all new linens.
When finished, Huntley still hasn’t moved, so I let him enjoy the hot water while I make him a protein shake and some soup. Only then do I join him in the shower to wash us both.
I’ve never taken care of anyone before. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m selfish, but everything in my life is routine. A set pattern of optimal efficiency and completion. Having someone disrupt my schedule outside of the preset visiting hours is frustrating. Especially if they stick around.
I still feel an itch because I haven’t reestablished my routine in almost a month now. There are things I’ve let fall, and I haven’t picked them back up. It’s under my skin. A constant itch.
Taking care of Huntley somehow scratches that itch.
Not completely, of course. The things I need to be doing are still there.
Having half my life remain consistent helps, though.
Changing my bedding so that it’s all fresh and within its sets helps.
Cleaning my kitchen so everything feels reset helps.
Most surprisingly, taking care of Huntley helps a lot. I love everything about the way it makes me feel to take care of him. His smile. The way he breathes. How he relaxes entirely in my arms.
Maybe it’s his trust in the things I do for him. That I’ll take care of him. I’m here when he needs me, and I’ll give him some space when he wants it. I’ll make him orgasm whenever he wants, however he wants.
Seeing him get stronger leaves me with a surprising sense of pride and satisfaction. As if it’s my own accomplishments and not someone else’s.
Perhaps most of all, seeing him attack Kairo because of how my brother was talking to me… Besides Jalon and Arath, no one has done that before. It’s unexpectedly touching.
Huntley yawns as I wash him, leaning heavily against the shower wall. I can feel him sagging as his fatigue catches up with him. Still, I’m thorough and gentle as I wash every single inch of this man until I’m satisfied that he’s clean. Then, I quickly wash myself.
Drying him when he’s tired is more challenging, but I manage. Once he’s relatively dry, I scoop him up and bring him to my bed, where I tuck him in securely. Huntley is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
For a while, I watch him sleep. I imagine that even in his unconscious state, he’s grown accustomed to having me watch him sleep. I can’t help it. He’s captivating.
I’ll never understand why his scream resonated so deeply in my soul that day. Maybe it was the pitch or the fear. The pain. It could be any of those things. I’m not inclined to believe them, though.
It’s something else. Something I understand even less. For some reason, I knew this man was mine. The second I heard him, before I’d so much as laid eyes on him, I knew.
I’m reminded of the conversation with my nephews and what Imry shared with us about Loren the day Loren saw Oakley for the first time.
I’d thought it was strange. But then, Loren’s mind works differently.
He’s a sociopath. I’d thought that, because his brain is wired differently, maybe it’s programmed for one person and as soon as he saw Oakley, his brain recognized his one person.
I’m not a sociopath, though. However, Loren and I have something in common.
My brain is also wired differently. Not in the same way.
I don’t have an antisocial disorder. I’m undiagnosed because my parents refused to admit that I was different in any way.
Van Dorens aren’t different; we’re all normal.
I’ve lived with my quirks my entire life, and while there have been whispers about what ‘ails’ me, we continue calling them quirks to this day. Arath used to say that I’m a very particular flavor, and some people don’t have a sophisticated enough palate to appreciate it.
Kairo said I was a freak. When he uses ‘special,’ it’s not in a complimentary way.
As I stare at a sleeping Huntley, I wonder if perhaps whatever Loren felt the moment he saw Oakley is the same thing I felt the moment I heard Huntley scream. Everything in me recognized him, and I reacted without thinking.
I brush his hair from his forehead and move around the bed to pull the curtains closed. My footsteps are nearly silent as I leave the bedroom. Huntley’s lunch is on the kitchen table. He was so tired that I didn’t bring him out to eat.
Wrapping it up, I set it on the counter and wander through my house until I find myself standing in the spare bedroom. On my wall is a small family tree. Not the giant monstrosity in tapestry form that’s hanging in the great hall at the Estate.
This one has dry-erase marker on it as I circle the relatives I think maybe defied being normal. In my generation and in my direct family, it’s just me. But in Jalon’s kids, there are two—Loren and Ellory, although Loren is the only one diagnosed.
I’m not sure if no one else recognizes that Ellory shares the same disorder as Loren.
There’s a chance that Loren is just… heavily within the sociopathic sphere and that Ellory’s managed to hide his.
Maybe the relationship between Ellory and Avory has taken the attention away from Ellory’s own antisocial disorder.
Either way, I’m pretty confident that Ellory is also sociopathic. Or… psychopathic. I’m not a doctor and don’t really understand the difference.
Moving on from my immediate family, there’s our cousin Rhodes.
I’m confident he falls somewhere on the antisocial spectrum.
Is it a spectrum? He’s different, whatever that means.
Further down the line, almost all of Aunt Calico’s children are different.
Three of the four from what I’ve witnessed.
Our cousin Solana and her sister’s youngest daughter, Dakota.
On and on and on.
I can’t help but wonder how my kids will turn out. Will they be like me? Will they have an antisocial disorder?
Will they look at a stranger and suddenly recognize them as theirs? Do these things run in families, or are they environmental? Circumstantial?
Turning away, I leave my side project to the silence of the spare bedroom.
I’m looking forward to this next generation of Van Dorens.
There are a lot of secrets to unlock concerning our family, and while they don’t matter in the big picture, it’s a curiosity that I’d love to develop a working hypothesis for.
Especially in situations like mine and Loren’s. It would be nice to be prepared when your life is about to turn upside down.