Chapter 8 Fletcher
FLETCHER
Ishut the door behind me faster than I had intended to. The cool, humid air outside hits my face as I hurry across the yard, yet it does nothing to cool me down. My heart is still slamming against my ribs, wild and hot, like it’s trying to break out.
What the hell just happened?
I mean, I know what happened. But I also… don’t.
I did not expect… that.
When I heard Vince cry out, I thought he was in pain. So I’d reacted without thinking, without questioning—just bursting into the suite ready to help.
But what I walked into was…
God.
I press a hand to my chest. The image of Vince naked and spread out on the bed will be burned into my memory forever.
It isn’t just the image. It’s his voice, so breathless and panicked and utterly embarrassed; the strained way he’d said my name, almost pleading; the shock in his eyes; the sounds he made when I helped him.
The sounds he made when he unexpectedly came.
Damn. That’s going to stay with me for a long time.
A very, very long time.
I’m glad Georgie isn’t home when I reach the house, because there is no hiding what that incident did to me. My cock aches in my jeans, every nerve feeling like it’s been lit up from the inside.
I lock myself in my bathroom and brace my hands on the counter, head hanging. My skin is flushed, my breathing fast, and for God’s sake, I’m shaking.
I try not to think about what happened, but my mind won’t let it go. Won’t stop replaying it. The way he looked—so vulnerable and strong at the same time. Mortified, but trusting me anyway. The way his voice kept breaking. The way he moved when he—
No.
Stop.
My body doesn’t listen. It’s not interested in the logical pieces of this, the boundaries I should stick to. It just remembers the heat. The feel of his body. His warmth. The scent of his arousal.
And it wants.
My body wants in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
I unzip my pants and pull my cock out, curling a hand around it.
Maybe if I take care of this quickly, I can get it out of my system and return to being a functioning human.
But even as my balls draw up and I spill into my hand, I know there isn’t a chance in hell I’ll be able to look at Vince and not think about this day.
When I’m done, I scrub my face and breathe out hard. Slowly, I change into clean jeans and a soft Henley. My skin still feels too tight as I leave my room. Too aware. Like it knows something shifted and now we’re on different ground entirely.
I just hope it won’t fracture the trust Vince has started to give me. I mean, he was only starting to open up. I don’t want to jeopardize that.
In the kitchen, I pull out the casserole I made last night and reheat it in the oven.
When Vince doesn’t come up on his own, I wipe my palms on a dish towel and grab my phone to text him.
Come up for dinner. We’ll pretend it never happened.
I laugh as I set the phone down. Pretend it never happened? Yeah, sure. If I can find a way to erase it from my bloodstream.
Bones wiggles excitedly at the back door a few minutes later. I look out the window, relieved to see Vince walking up the stone path, hands in his pockets. He looks freshly showered, skin damp, and wearing soft pants that hug his perfect thighs.
But he looks relaxed in a way I’ve never seen him before. Lighter. Calmer. Almost relieved.
It’s a really good look on him.
He steps inside and closes the door. For a second, neither of us speak. Then a bubble of laughter breaks out of me before I can stop it—the kind that curls me forward and forces the air out of my lungs. I clap a hand over my mouth, but it’s hopeless.
“I’m sorry! It’s just… did that really happen?”
Vince tries to scowl, but a rough snort slips out of him. Then we’re both gone—bent over the counter, shoulders shaking as we wipe tears from our eyes.
“Okay,” I manage when I can finally breathe again. “Yeah, I think we can both say rescuing sex toys wasn’t in the plan here, but hey. Whatever, right?”
Vince snorts again, his cheeks flaming.
I shake my head, feeling a thousand times better. “Anyway, ready for dinner?”
We sit at the table, and I serve us plates of the reheated casserole.
The normalcy feels almost surreal after everything that happened.
But halfway through the meal, I can almost see the tension creeping back into Vince.
The way his shoulders tighten and his eyes drop to his plate, like his mind is a million miles away.
I hate it. I hate seeing him retreat into himself.
And more than that, I don’t understand it. It shouldn’t be a big deal. So what if he used a toy? He should know I don’t care about that.
I squeeze his shoulder as I take our dishes to the sink, then pour us some wine. We move to the couch, and I open my mouth to suggest putting on a movie, but notice the way Vince has folded inward. He’s quiet. Too quiet. The weight of something unsaid presses into the room.
I set the remote aside and wait patiently.
He spins the stemless wine glass in his hand before saying, “So, I think I’ve figured out a new symptom of my MS.”
My stomach drops. That’s where his mind is? After what happened?
“Oh?”
He focuses intently on his hands, and his voice becomes softer than I’ve ever heard from him. “I couldn’t… um, feel myself. I mean it literally. I couldn’t feel my hand around… I couldn’t feel anything except these tingles.” He holds one hand up, staring at it like it’s something foreign.
My breath catches. Is he saying he couldn’t feel his dick? Oh, man. I can’t even imagine what that would be like. To not feel the most intimate part of my body.
Vince looks miserable, even humiliated. Like admitting this makes him feel less of a man.
His vulnerability makes my heart twist.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe. “That must’ve been terrifying.”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “It was.”
I reach out without thinking, resting a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at first, then slowly eases under the touch. My thumb rubs once.
“That’s why I was using the toy,” he says quietly. “I needed… more. Something that could break through that, you know?”
His raw honesty is unexpected, especially when he’s kept everything so locked up.
I want to tell him he doesn’t need to be embarrassed. That there’s nothing wrong with finding a workaround. Hell, anyone in his situation would’ve done the same. Plus, there’s no shame in using sex toys.
But to feel like he needs it—that’s different. That has to be hard to accept.
I want to reassure him. Hold him. Tell him he’s not alone in this. But the words get lodged in my throat. Because how do I respond without revealing too much? Without letting it slip how much I care? How deeply those sounds affected me?
I take a slow breath and squeeze his shoulder gently. “Well, you know I’m not judging you for it, right?”
He glances at me, a small smirk touching his lips. “Oh, but you are. At least a little.”
His teasing tone makes me laugh. “Okay, maybe I am, but I mean, come on! Who puts that small of—anyway, yeah, I’m totally taking that vibrator away.”
He laughs for real, holding his stomach.
“But seriously. If you need more stimulation to get off, so what? There’s no shame in that. Just get yourself some better toys.”
He blushes and looks away.
“And for what it’s worth? I’m here, okay? For whatever you need.” I quickly backpedal, realizing how that sounds. “For talking, I mean! Or venting. Or whatever. Not… that. I’m not saying that needs to happen again.”
He chuckles quietly, and something in the air shifts. We both feel it, our gazes locking. It’s a moment we could step into—or step away from. Because we both know if Vince asked, I’d absolutely give him a helping hand.
Vince is staring at me like he’s waiting for something—permission, reassurance, maybe for me to take it all back? But I can’t. I won’t. I want him to trust me, even with this.
I squeeze his shoulder lightly before pulling away. “Anyway, you okay?”
“Yeah. Just embarrassed.”
I grin. “Hey, it could’ve been worse.”
“With a trip to the ER, you mean?”
“No. My sweet old neighbor could’ve been the one who heard you. We both know she would’ve come running.”
That does it. Vince barks out the loudest, rawest laugh I’ve ever heard from him. He’s met Rosie, and that woman would’ve had a heart attack if she’d seen Vince in that position.
Something in my chest loosens as he relaxes into the couch, resting his head on the back of it. He rubs his leg, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly, he turns to me. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not making it weird.”
“Oh, it’s weird,” I assure him. “Definitely weird. Top-five weirdest moments of my life.”
He cracks a smile. “Great.”
“But,” I add, nudging him again, “it’s not bad. Weird doesn’t mean bad.”
A soft snuffling sound breaks the moment, followed by the thump of paws.
Bones trots into the living room, holding his giant knotted rope. He looks from me to Vince and then makes his choice and heads straight for Vince.
“Hey, bud,” Vince murmurs, bending forward to scratch the dog’s ears. Bones presses his giant head into his knee.
I blink. Bones has always come to me first when Georgie isn’t around. He’s loyal to a fault—glued to our side most days. But he’s leaning so hard into Vince’s leg that he’s squishing Vince into the arm of the couch.
“Traitor,” I murmur.
Vince scratches Bones behind, making his entire rear end wiggle. “He’s just saying hi.”
“No, he’s declaring allegiance. I’m being overthrown. Georgie better watch it. She’ll lose her dog to you too.”
Bones huffs, which I swear is deliberate. Vince actually smiles, leaning forward to hug the beast. His whole damn face lights up as Bones nuzzles him. “I like you.”
“Yeah, well. He clearly likes you, too.”