11. Cole #3
He steals my words as he applies gentle pressure to my prostate.
“Mm. You squeeze me so sweetly.” He dips his head and licks the pre-cum from my tip.
“Take another deep breath for me and relax.” When I do as he asks, he strokes my cock from root to tip with the shower head, easing back when I tense, massaging my prostate once I relax again.
He licks my slit. “You keep making so much delicious pre-cum for me.” Holding eye contact, he inhales slowly, a nonverbal cue for me to follow his breathing. “Relax your hands, sweetheart, and play with my hair.”
I didn’t notice I was clenching the armrests, but Morgan did, because he takes care of me, just like he promised. I bury my fingers in his hair, focusing on how shiny and soft it is, and slip back into the shallows of subspace.
Each drop of water summons delicious pins and needles as he massages my prostate, unhurried with no goal or direction.
“Don’t pull my hair. Gentle.”
I nod sluggishly, basking beneath his control. He inhales and I do too, then he directs the shower head to the tip of my cock, and roves back down my length before repeating the process again. Each time the spray grazes the frenulum beneath my crown, intense pleasure zaps through me.
My limbs tingle. My muscles tense. Pain prickles at my tailbone and lower back.
Again, Morgan reminds me to relax, and I settle into subservience.
He’ll take care of me. On the next sweep up the length of my dick, a telltale tide of bliss mounts like a rising wave, and just like out on the ocean, all I can do is ride it higher.
The wave crests as he focuses the shower head on my tip and applies more pressure to my prostate until I reach the pinnacle.
A seemingly unending orgasm rumbles through me.
It’s not as strong as my typical climaxes, but it’s relaxing rather than intense, and miraculously painless.
He shifts the spray of the shower head away from my cock before I finish coming, like he anticipates how hypersensitive I’ll be.
Then, he gently removes his finger, and kisses and licks the cum from the gutter of my abs, carefully washing the rest of my cum from my body, before resting his cheek against my thigh. I brush his hair away from his brow and catch my breath, vision blurring as I return to my body.
“Looks like everything is in working order,” Morgan says with a self-satisfied smirk and pride in his eyes.
Distantly, I understand what he did was more than getting me off.
I was afraid I was broken, and he proved to me that I wasn’t.
He showed me that penetration can still feel good, and helped me find the parts of me I thought were lost after the accident.
Even if I hadn’t gotten off, he would have convinced me that my body hadn’t betrayed me after all.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Anytime, Sunshine.”
“How did you do that?” I ask, drunk on dopamine.
He laughs, gusts of breath tickling my groin. “I figured if you were relaxed enough, you might be able to come. And your occupational therapist may have pointed me to a few articles, and a few videos, and I may have read an entire forum for men with similar injuries.”
I snort. “You’re such a nerd.”
“I was really bored at the hospital while I watched you sleep.”
“You watched me sleep?”
“You’re very cute when you sleep.” His smile fades. He takes my hand from his hair and kisses my wedding band tattoo. “Ready to get out?”
I nod, tired in a good way, like after a long session swimming laps at the pool, or a strenuous day on the Bering Sea. Grief stabs my gut, and I shake thoughts of Alaska away.
We’re both quiet while he turns the shower off and dries me thoroughly, then helps me into bed. I melt against the mattress, grateful to be in the comfort of home.
“Do you want me to cook you lunch?”
“Nah. Just a protein shake, maybe?” I need to take my pain meds, and if I don’t eat, I’ll just throw them up.
“You got it.” He pulls a bottle from the fridge, and twists the cap open with a crack. He freezes, then shakes himself with a grimace.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He smiles thinly and passes the drink to me. “Take a sip first.” Once I do, he continues, “I’m still processing everything that happened. Even small things bring me back to when you…” He grimaces again. “The sound of unscrewing a fresh bottle cap is one of those things.”
I should offer to listen. It’s the least I can do after all he’s done for me, but I can barely hold myself together, let alone hold space for him.
The only way I cope at all is by walling that part of my life off, and ignoring any reminder that Seb is dead, at least until I’m strong enough.
That’s why living with chronic pain is torture.
I can’t forget what happened when every stab of pain brings me back to that day.
“I’m sorry,” I say belatedly.
“Not your fault, Sunshine.”
He dumps an oxycodone tablet, muscle relaxer, and a few ibuprofen into his palm, and hands them to me, then tips the straw of the tumbler toward my lips.
I stare down at the pills with a hollowness in my chest, then take them like the coward I am.
But as I drift off into numbness, a part of me wonders that maybe I shouldn’t have taken them, that maybe I deserve the pain.