Chapter 9 #2
No, instead, he puts one hand to my jaw and tilts my chin up, then shifts us to the side so his feet are no longer blocking the gap under the door.
I can see him a bit better now. There’s light coming from the hallway, and it glints off his wide eyes.
I can see the shadow of his shaggy hair falling over his forehead, and this close, I can make out the faintest wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.
It’s easy to forget he’s older than me.
The accident, losing Liam, everything I went through, makes me feel like a ninety-year-old man trapped in a body that also sometimes feels ninety years old.
But right now, I feel small. I feel inexperienced.
I feel…
I don’t get a chance to finish my thought.
He dips his head, and the second I’m expecting a kiss, he diverts his trajectory and attaches his teeth to the tendon on my shoulder.
A loud moan escapes my chest, but he quickly muffles it with his palm against my mouth as his other hand skates down between us.
He hesitates, then dips his fingers behind the waistband of my jeans.
“Oh, fuck,” I try to say. His warm skin catches my words.
“Can I touch you?” he breathes into my ear. “Please. I need to.”
God, the sound of his begging… All I can do is nod frantically, his hand moving with the motion of my head so I know he understands me. “Yes,” I try to get out.
He doesn’t speak again. He pushes further into my pants and grips my cock, then squeezes tightly. Fuck, fuck, it’s almost too much. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.
I want to turn around and beg him to shove his dick in my ass—to make me feel him. To lose myself in that feeling again because my god, it’s been so long since someone touched me out of want instead of obligation.
And I can feel his desire. His want for me.
It’s in the way he strokes me, the way he gnaws at my skin with blunt teeth, the way his hand shakes as he presses his palm to my mouth to keep me quiet.
“North,” I attempt to beg. His arm doesn’t have a lot of give with my jeans so tightly zipped, but that doesn’t stop him from gripping me tighter.
“Fuck my hand,” he whispers into my ear.
My dick throbs, and I take a breath through my nose before thrusting my hips forward.
My cock slides through his fingers, up the length of my stomach, in and out, in and out, through the tight circle of his fist. My precome dribbles out thick enough to make it slick, and it doesn’t take long before I’m gasping and fighting the urge to let go.
Pleasure crawls up my spine, then bursts through me like a wave, and I don’t even have time for a breath before I’m coming in my pants. I gasp, biting down on his palm, and he presses his hand more firmly against my mouth as he thrusts along the cut of my hip.
His own dick is as hard as mine, and I rub against him, which makes him groan, and he tries to hide the sound in my neck. He shudders as the last of the aftershocks roll through me, and when he pulls back, his breathing is ragged and heavy.
I have no idea if he came, but the thought of him letting go—untouched—in his pants does something to me. I have to take several deep breaths to keep myself under control as my dick attempts to get hard again.
After several moments, the air between us settles. And then the mood starts to cool. His hand moves from my mouth, and I take a deep breath, licking my lips once more to chase the last taste of him.
North clears his throat, then glances down at what’s probably a massive wet spot on my jeans and says, “Your brother’s locker is number six. It’s down the hall to the right with the showers. He won’t notice if you steal a pair of his boxers and some sweats. I do it all the time.”
His words are flat, emotionless, confusing as fuck, because what the fuck did we just do? Why does he keep touching me like he can’t get enough, then pulling away like I’m nothing? This didn’t feel like pity. It felt like something else.
Something he wanted.
“North,” I say as he reaches for the door.
He freezes, but he doesn’t turn back. “Yeah?”
I open my mouth, then close it. Then try again with a breath, but I still can’t seem to form a coherent thought, let alone make words.
He sighs after I say nothing. “Wait at least thirty seconds before you follow me out. I’ll cough really loud if someone is coming.”
Then the door opens, and I can’t catch a glimpse of him because the light is blinding. The door shuts once more, and I lean back against the shelves, the scent of him replaced by the bottles of cleaner.
A heaviness in my chest makes me ache all over as I realize I have never felt more alone.
I never did understand the concept of a walk of shame until right now. I end up skipping the entrance to my neighborhood and instead find myself in the little park just down the road.
It’s always quiet this late in the day. There’s no playground at this one, so parents tend to avoid it.
It’s more for aesthetic, I think as I watch a few of the mallards floating down the man-made creek.
It’s odd. There’s so much natural beauty here, I don’t understand why the town spent all this money on fake creeks and transplanted boulders.
But I do appreciate it for being my sanctuary at the moment because I don’t think I can go home. It’s too quiet there. Too empty. Too full of old memories and ghosts haunting the photos of Liam I haven’t been able to put away.
I’m not sure I can be with myself in that space right now. Everything feels upside down and inside out, and I don’t know how to make sense of my own choices. How did I let this happen with North? How did I let my first moment with another man after the death of my husband be…well. That.
Needy and wanton, but also hateful and full of regret? It was obvious North couldn’t stand me, and it looked like he was unhappy with himself about this whole thing too. Not that I blame him, but I’m not sure he understands what all of this has meant to me.
Leaning back on the bench, I tip my head up toward the sky and squint at the sun coming through the leaves. The park will be all bare branches here soon enough. Winter always seems to be right around the corner, no matter what season it is, showing up early and staying late.
It’s so different from the place where Liam kept me, deep in the desert where the seasons were surface-of-the-sun hot, less hot, and a few days of rain that never took the edge off the land’s desperation for water.
I don’t miss my old life there. Not really.
And when I do, it’s mostly missing the small comforts that kept me sane when I felt so far away from everything that mattered.
Like the little restaurant up on the hill that burned down two weeks before our trip out east. Or the walking path with the random dinosaur statues that made absolutely no sense but was great for sending Easton selfies.
I miss having neighbors who knew me—neighbors who weren’t crotchety old men, pretending to be nice, paid by my brother to make sure I was still standing. Or neighbors who fed the crows and jerked me off in random supply closets.
Which is something I am not thinking about. At all. Ever again.
“Leo?”
My entire body stiffens at the sound of a slightly familiar voice, and I turn to find Rune, Easton’s coworker.
He’s the guy from IT who everyone seems to have a massive crush on.
The guy that Easton pisses off just by breathing too loudly, which makes my brother feel weird because everyone likes him.
Except this guy.
But in spite of his hatred for my brother, I like him, and he’s always been very kind to me. He asks how I am, which is something most people at the station don’t do, and he always listens when I talk.
My face softens into a genuine smile. “Rune. Hey.”
He tries and fails to match my grin. He looks frazzled today, his long hair tangled in his hair tie, flyaways catching the sun. He doesn’t look like he’s slept or showered in a few days, and he keeps glancing behind me toward the stream.
“Are you okay?”
He takes a long time to answer, biting his lip, and then he says, “I’m here with my son. Can you do me a giant favor and not tell anyone about this?”
“About…this?”
“Running into me here. Or, uh…” He hesitates, then says, “That I have a son. Especially your brother,” he adds.
I feel irritation creep up my spine. “You know that Easton isn’t going to be a dick about you having a kid, right?”
He sucks in a breath and opens his mouth, but then he deflates and walks over. “Mind if I sit?”
I gesture for him to go ahead, and he does, though he keeps his body sideways so he can watch over my shoulder. I’m assuming his kid is behind us, and I’m not going to be the weirdo who looks over, especially when it’s obvious he’s very protective.
“Look,” he says after a long moment of silence, “it’s nothing personal against your brother.
I know he wouldn’t be a dick about me having a kid.
It’s just…I really don’t, ah…” He stops and rubs the back of his neck, looking so wildly uncomfortable that I wish I could rewind the clock and go to another park so he’s not freaking out.
“When people find out about my son, they ask really invasive questions, and it gets weird.”
I frown. “Find out what?”
Rune doesn’t answer. It turns out, he doesn’t need to.
A small child in a very brightly painted blue wheelchair rolls up around the corner and comes to a stop.
I can tell his son is somewhere in his tweens by his face, and he has wide shoulders, while the lower half of his body is very small, and it’s clear his spine isn’t straight by the way his body rests sideways.
He looks like Rune too—tan, longer hair that sits just above his ears with a slight curl to it, very big brown eyes, and a smile with dimples.
“This is Elio,” Rune says, almost resigned. “Elio, this is Leo.”
“My name has your name in it,” he says.