Chapter Twenty Euan
I brace one hand against the shower wall while I work my aching cock with the other.
Memories of Alex’s pleasure flit through my mind: his parted lips, his desperate moans, the way he clenched around my tongue, his hot cum coating my face, the salty taste of him.
It doesn’t take long until I’m painting the walls with stripes of my own cum.
I keep stroking myself through the orgasm until my balls are empty.
Coming so quickly is one of the reasons I didn’t want Alex to finish me. One tentative touch from him might have pushed me over the edge before I could fully enjoy it. The other reason is exactly what I told him: I wanted the focus to be only on him.
Alex is so eager to fulfill people’s needs, to be who they want him to be.
He probably would have dropped to his knees and swallowed me down at the slightest hint.
While the image of his lips wrapped around my shaft is enough for renewed arousal to coil in my stomach, it’s not enough for me to pursue anything further tonight.
Tomorrow, if he wants to do more when he’s not high from post-orgasm bliss, we can enjoy each other further.
I reach for a bottle of shampoo and pause when I see the pink label, the fruity scent.
Alex never smells of peaches, which probably means the bottle is Theresa’s.
There’s another white bottle on the shelf above it with a pump top.
I try to focus on washing myself and not on how many items in this apartment belong to Alex’s ex-girlfriend.
As soon as I’m clean, I turn the shower off and step out.
I didn’t think about grabbing a towel or fresh clothes from my suitcase but luckily he has a little shelf full of towels.
I grab one and dry myself off brusquely, grimacing at my pile of dirty clothes.
A mess of drying precum stains the inside of my underwear, making them less than appealing to slip back on.
I wrap the towel around my waist and open the bathroom door.
Both bedroom doors are closed, and I don’t see Alex down the hall.
I’m not shy or self-conscious about my body—especially not after having my tongue in Alex’s ass—but walking around his apartment half-naked seems presumptuous, pushing the tentative boundaries we’ve set.
I slip into my room and dress quickly in lounge pants and a fresh T-shirt, then return to the kitchen.
Alex is there, microwaving a late dinner.
He glances over his shoulder at me, and while there’s a slight flush to his cheeks and his blond curls are messy, there’s no other sign of our recent kitchen activities.
He’s also changed into comfortable clothes, and there’s a quiet air of domesticity that’s almost as heady as his arousal.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“What do you have?”
He laughs self-depreciatingly and offers, “Leftover pizza?”
“Sounds great.” It’s an effort to focus on food when all I want to do is rub my greedy hands all over him. After my shower, I feel too clean. I want to go back to being drenched in the smell and taste of him.
He grabs a fresh plate and puts the last two slices on it, then hands me the one that he just microwaved. “It’s still pretty early,” he says with forced lightness. “So I thought we could watch the documentary about the movie we watched earlier.”
I arch an eyebrow, thinking about all the terrible special effects, the green goo, the exaggerated acting. “How did it earn a documentary?”
He laughs and a more natural smile spreads over his lips. “By being the worst movie ever.”
“Well, that’s definitely something I have to see.”
We take our leftover pizza to the couch and sit down. There’s just enough distance between us to be comfortable without feeling like we’re avoiding each other. At least, I hope that’s how Alex feels.
He starts the documentary. Even though my eyes are locked on the screen the whole time, I don’t absorb a damn thing.
Once the movie finishes, we clean up after ourselves.
We don’t say anything but there’s this silent agreement that it’s time for bed.
We both walk down the hall. We both pause at our bedroom doors.
We both turn and look at the other. Alex’s lips twitch, as if he realizes we’re being kind of silly in our stiffness.
I want to kiss those gently smiling lips. To push his bedroom door open and shove him inside. Collapse onto the bed on top of him. Hug him tight and stay entangled with him all night.
Instead, I murmur, “Goodnight.”
Disappointment flashes in his blue eyes and he ducks his head to hide it. He slips into his room and closes the door before I can take the word back, tell him I’m not ready to part ways yet.
Sighing, I enter the guest bedroom and settle on my borrowed bed. I lie back and clasp my hands on my chest, staring up at the ceiling.
I’m in for another long, quiet night alone, with the person I want most only one room away.
Despite not sleeping well the night before, I wake up earlier than Alex. For about ten minutes, I stare blankly at the ceiling. Then I roll out of bed and start my day.
Maybe it’s rude to make myself at home in Alex’s kitchen, but hopefully a fresh pot of coffee will make up for it. I find bacon, eggs, and cheese in the fridge and bagels in a breadbox on the counter.
Everything is almost ready when the first alarm sounds from Alex’s room.
A few minutes later, he shuffles out of his room, still wearing his pajamas.
He rubs his face, then looks at me with dazed, bleary eyes.
Slowly, his gaze moves around the kitchen, to the bacon cooling on the counter and the eggs frying on the stovetop.
“Did you make me breakfast?” he mumbles, his voice husky from sleep.
“Yup, hope you don’t mind.”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring at me, and I think maybe he does mind. But then he mumbles a shy thanks and ducks his head.
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Over medium.” He grabs a mug of coffee and pours a generous amount of creamer in it but no sugar.
Then he leans against the counter, watching me finish things off.
He’s in the same spot he was yesterday, when I knelt before him and tasted his sweet hole.
There’s no shyness in him now, as if he doesn’t even remember the experience.
I’m tempted to lean over and whisper reminders in his ear until he blushes so hard, even his hair turns red.
I behave myself. Mostly because I don’t want to overcook the eggs.
Once the sandwiches are constructed, I pick up both plates and move to the dining table. We ate almost exclusively on the couch yesterday, which seems to be his preference for casual meals, but the sandwiches are more likely to make a mess.
Alex follows, clutching his mug in both hands.
Is he always this slow to wake in the morning? I imagine what it might have been like to wake up in his bed this morning. To simply enjoy a sleepy armful of Alex for an hour or two. But then I would have been too distracted to make him breakfast.
“You don’t have to do all of this,” he says as he sits down across from me. “You’re my guest. I should be making breakfast for you.”
“I wanted to,” I explain. “Besides, this is my way of thanking you for letting me stay here.”
A furrow creases his brow. It remains even as he eats his sandwich.
Does he not like it? I tried to make it like the one we ordered at the café, but he didn’t have all the ingredients. They had a higher quality bacon and some special spiced sauce.
“I want to, too,” he says. “Cook for you, I mean.”
I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to but there’s a stubborn tilt to his chin.
My goal isn’t to run roughshod over him and take over his life.
It’s just to show him that he deserves to be taken care of.
That he doesn’t have to be solely focused on the other person’s needs, ignoring his own. “Thank you, I’d like that.”
Satisfaction smooths the furrow from his brow, and he nods once.
With that decided, he seems to enjoy his breakfast more, enthusiastically devouring the rest of his sandwich.
Finished, he wipes his face clean with a napkin, then settles against the back of his chair while he drinks his coffee at a more sedate pace.
“So, are you going back to the library today?”
Right, I forgot to tell him about last night. I considered it when he texted me, but I wanted to explain in person, and then we were both distracted. “I am going to the library today, but that’s not where I was last night. Since we both need representation for the annulment, I met with a lawyer.”
“Oh? Who did you choose?”
“Richard.”
The mug pauses halfway to Alex’s lips. He blinks at me, then demands, “Theresa’s Richard?”
I nod.
“But … he’s a dick. And not just because of his name.”
I snort and sip my own coffee, buying myself time to form my explanation.
“Richard is familiar with Theresa’s style.
They clearly work together often, not just to face off together in the courtroom, but to find amicable solutions.
While I’m certainly not fighting the annulment, I don’t want to sit idly by while Theresa paints me as the villain. ”
“So what, because Richard doesn’t like me, he’ll paint me as the villain instead?” Alex is so disgruntled, he’s almost pouting.
My hand itches to reach forward and smooth the distress from his face. “I won’t let him do that.”
He continues glowering for a moment before sighing, his irritation melting away. “I see your point. But the feelings of dislike are mutual.” He glances at the clock in the kitchen and sighs. “I need to get ready for work.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re both dressed and standing near the door. He hands me a key and says, “In case you get back earlier than me.”
I accept it, clutching it in my hand. Some of his warmth still clings to it.
An awkward moment passes as neither of us says goodbye. I want to lean down and kiss him, but if I start now, he might not get to work on time. If I had my way, he’d be calling in sick again today.
As if he’s thinking the same thing, Alex’s eyes linger on my lips. He turns away first, breaking the stalemate, and we both step through the door to start our day.
It’s going to be a long, hard day without him.