Chapter 6 #2
I was lost in pleasure, but I could feel Ferris bouncing harder as I throbbed and spilled inside him, my dick kicking against his prostate. He let out a high, tight whine, and then I felt his come hit my chest as he landed forward in the mess.
My breathing hitched in my chest as I tried to regain my senses, and I wrapped my arms tightly around him as he shuddered through the rest of his release.
“Don’t like it,” he muttered.
“That’s what the shower’s for. It’ll take me a minute though, and you’ll be faster if you want to go start it.”
He nodded, but I could sense something a little off as he slid away from me, my dick hitting my stomach with a wet slap. He kept his back to me as he shuffled off, and I knew then I wouldn’t have time to bask in this easy glow.
I managed to get the condom off and get to standing without hurting too much, and I limped into the bathroom in time to find him pressing his head against the wall. Hard. I could hear him grunt with the force.
“Ferris.” I started to reach for him.
He shook his head, and I froze.
“Tell me how I can help.”
He said nothing for so long I started to feel a spark of panic jump up my spine, but before I could break the silence, he turned and looked at me. His forehead was darkly flushed—not quite a bruise, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a mark there tomorrow.
“I’m sorry.”
I blinked at him. “What for?”
“This is…it’s…I’m…” He shook his head and looked like he was holding back tears.
“No. You’re not going to start apologizing for who you are,” I told him gently.
I took several steps closer, then reached past him to start the water.
The shower was still wet, and the tiles were still a little warm from before, so it wasn’t as much of a shock to step past him and into the stream. “Come on.”
He looked at me for a long time before taking my hand and letting me pull him under the spray.
“Sorry,” he whispered again.
I grabbed the washcloth and soap and began to clean the traces of come from his skin. He sucked in a breath when I wiped between his cheeks, and I could see his gaze follow the washcloth when I put it under the water.
“Don’t worry, there’s no shit,” I told him.
He bit his lip, then let out the smallest laugh. “Yeah. That’s good, right?”
“It is what it is. It wouldn’t have mattered to me either way.
” I soaped the cloth up again and ran it down my stomach before letting it fall to the floor with a wet slap and pulling Ferris against me.
I used the wall to brace myself so I could take his weight, and I tipped his chin up so I could see his face.
“Was it bad? Is that why you were upset?”
“I wasn’t upset. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It was perfect. And it was so much that I got overwhelmed. I fucking hate my brain sometimes. I wish…” He growled softly and held me tighter. “I wish I could just enjoy things like a normal person.”
I wasn’t going to patronize him by telling him normal was subjective. I understood what he meant. I was a whole person worthy of having what everyone else did, but I was still disabled. There were barriers in my body that prevented me from being able to do the things I wanted to do.
If this had been before the accident, I would have pinned him to the wall, held him up, and fucked his ass until he saw God.
And knowing him now, he would have loved that.
But I couldn’t give that to him.
“How do you feel?” I asked when his body relaxed.
He snorted and pulled back, giving me a long, slow up-and-down gaze. “Amazing.”
I couldn’t help a grin as I gripped his shoulders and tugged him into a fierce kiss. Reality was pressing in on all sides, and there were words on the tip of my tongue that I didn’t want to say, but I knew I had to.
“I should get you back. You have a curfew, don’t you?”
He looked sad but resigned when he glanced up at me. Our eye contact lasted a little longer this time. “I do. Everyone breaks it, but I get too nervous when I try.”
I kissed him one more time. “Let’s get dressed, and I’ll get you back before anyone knows you were gone.”
“Oh,” he said as he stepped out of the shower and handed me a towel. “I already told people where I’d be in case you were a psychopath killer.”
I laughed a little as I watched him wrap the towel around his waist. He was too easy on the eyes. His skin was unmarred for now—that wouldn’t last in the NHL, but was still something I wasn’t used to seeing. His muscles were defined by his youth and the subtle strength he held in his limbs.
His rich brown eyes locked on mine for a moment. “I was being literal again. Sorry.”
Cupping his cheek, I drew him in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then temple, then the corner of his lips. “I like it. Please stop apologizing for who you are.”
He said nothing to that. It was a ridiculous thing to say, after all. The world was sharp edges and ice-cold and would always ask people to be sorry for not being enough. Or for being too much.
Or for all those things all at once.