8. Scott #2
I keep my eyes closed. Partly because I’m curious what he’ll do, but mostly because I know he felt the shift between us last night.
It was probably much more than he intended to give, and he’ll likely need some time to process.
If I’m being honest, so do I. I need time to brace myself for the inevitable retreat behind his carefully maintained wall of sarcasm and distance—a wall I can usually only break down when we’re in a session but came down so easily last night without a lick of pretense or play.
I pretend to still be asleep as Naz carefully untangles his body from mine and gets up from the floor, then listen to his bare feet pad across the trailer. The bedroom door opens and closes.
For a while, I just lie here staring at the scenes from last night replaying behind my eyelids.
Sleeping on the floor with a six-foot, one-hundred-and-seventy-pound man draped over me wasn’t exactly comfortable.
My back hurts. My neck hurts. My right arm has completely lost feeling from my fingers to my shoulder.
But none of that matters. Last night was different.
Not just the sex. I mean, the sex was otherworldly, so definitely the sex.
Not only that, though. Everything that came before it stays with me just as much.
The way he slowly thawed to my presence, wordlessly pouring me a glass of iced tea when he got one for himself.
The conversation on the deck, the way he opened up about his parents and grandparents.
It felt like he was trusting me with pieces of himself that I don’t think he lets anyone else be privy to.
I think I saw the real Naz yesterday. A broken-down, raw version that didn’t require games or masks to get to.
The rockstar who prefers quiet mornings on the lake and likes to escape into a good book.
The man who carries guilt and responsibility that was never his to carry.
The boy who still desperately wants approval from the people he cares about most, even though he knows he might never get it.
Another door closes, and a second later, I hear the shower running.
I open my eyes. The trailer is still dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the windows overlooking the lake.
It’s not quite sunrise, which means his shower is likely to be quick because if I know him at all, I know he’ll want to be sitting outside watching the sun come up over the lake.
With a groan, I push myself off the floor and stretch. It takes a moment to locate my sleep shorts halfway across the room, but once I do, I pull them on before I start my search.
The trailer is small enough that it doesn’t take much to check the common areas.
I already looked through the main living room yesterday while Naz was outside and I was installing the cell booster.
Cooking and then cleaning up after dinner afforded me the opportunity to snoop around the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place.
My eyes drift to the hallway and Naz’s bedroom. His door is closed, but I didn’t hear a lock click, so I should be able to sneak in just fine. The shower continues running, but I know I don’t have much time.
“Sorry, pet,” I whisper as I let myself into his private space.
The room isn’t particularly interesting at first glance. It’s neat and organized, exactly what I’d expect from Naz. It’s sparsely decorated, the bed covers and curtains a basic blue ombre, although I know his favorite color is red.
Books sit stacked on the nightstand, a charger cable attached to what I know is his e-reader next to a small lamp. There are a few clothes draped over the back of a chair, but even those are neat, like they were placed there intentionally.
Quietly, I start my search. I open every drawer, move every book and item on the small wall shelf, grateful that the room seems to have been dusted recently so I don’t leave any tracks.
Only once do I pause my search, momentarily distracted by the contents of a small case under the nightstand.
It’s about the size of a large shoebox, black canvas, and has a lock mechanism for the zippers, which isn’t engaged.
I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this case in his luggage, it fits inside the large duffle bag he takes between hotels.
Some of the contents inside are familiar, most notably the thin red leather collar I first put on him almost six months ago.
Just touching the soft leather is enough to get me boned up.
This collar was my way of giving him a nonverbal signal that he needed something from me—something a little more intense than our usual play.
There’s a matching leash coiled and tucked on one side of the box.
Beneath that is a small assortment of sex toys: a thin teal colored vibrator, a larger purple silicone dildo with a suction cup on the bottom, three butt plugs in various sizes, a fleshlight, and a black silicone cock ring still in the package.
Well, damn.
He’s definitely used a butt plug for me before, but the rest of this must be what he uses when he’s on his own. My cock twitches at the thought.
Yeah, there is no chance I’m going to be able to ignore this. I’ll need to figure out how to make him show me what’s in this box on his own volition. Make him show me how he touches and fucks himself when I’m not around.
The sound of Naz moving around in the shower drags my head out of the gutter and reminds me that I have very little time and this is not what I’m supposed to be looking for.
Returning to the task at hand, I dig through the closet, careful not to leave anything out of place. I run my fingers over the door and window frames, then turn my attention to the light fixture over the bed. It takes two tries to figure out which switch is for the fan and which is for the light.