Chapter 4 #2
I sigh. If Mr Whitmire hadn’t blown his own brains out at the end of the shooting, I’d have choked him till his neck snapped for what he’s done, what he’s still doing, to my cousin.
And I’d have done it with a smile on my face.
Although I’ve been told I look intimidating, I’m not a violent man by nature, but I’d make an exception for that sick bastard.
I don’t take at all kindly to people hurting my loved ones.
Dean went through hell that night at his prom.
The death toll was huge, and he saw terrible, horrifying things that most people can’t even begin to imagine.
I’ve seen him in the throes of countless nightmares and post-traumatic stress disorder episodes, and it’s gut wrenching.
He’s doing much better now than he used to.
His meltdowns used to happen a lot more often, with many more triggers than he has now, so just once in a while is serious progress.
Still, I keep a watchful eye on him. “OK, but you know where I am.”
He gives me a nod, then starts up the stairs. He pauses, and climbs back down them again, looking me squarely in the eye.
You didn’t even look at Charmaine the way you look at Emily, he says. I blink. He never, ever mentions my ex-wife.
I wish he wouldn’t mention Emily, either.
He knows the score as well as Leo; I confessed everything to them in a state of numb, drunken despair the night Charmaine left, needing to offload in spite of the humiliation I felt.
They know to leave the subject well alone, and I don’t know why they can’t do the same this time.
“Stop reading shit into things,” I grumble. “OK, fine, she’s beautiful, but I’m not int…” I sigh. Jeez, I can’t even say that I’m not interested out loud. I shake my head, like this is all just tiresome.
Dean shrugs and holds his hands up in an ‘alright, if you say so’ gesture. Whatever, man, I know what I saw. He gives me a long look, and whatever he sees there puts him off continuing the conversation. Night, he says, and heads up to his place.
I probably shouldn’t have gone tonight, as it’s only made me like Emily more, which I can’t afford, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Watching her talk with Dean – even in the most rudimentary ASL – made my heart ache in the best possible way.
Family is the most important thing in the world to me, always has been, always will be.
I’m protective of Dean in a way I never have been with anyone else, and seeing her make the effort to talk to him without leaning on anyone else to help…
it did something to me. It took everything I had not to take her free hand and kiss each individual knuckle in gratitude.
My apartment seems quiet, dull, and empty after this evening. I sigh and throw my keys on the coffee table, briefly considering turning on the TV before giving in to the idea of just going to bed. I grab my iPad and turn it on, waiting for it to load while I brush my teeth.
Once in bed, though, I can no longer ignore the insistent and relentless throb of my boner.
I turn my iPad off, all thoughts of catching up with my emails now forgotten, and sigh hard.
My dick is demanding a greater and greater share of my attention as the seconds tick by, a heavy fullness and admittedly pleasurable sensitivity swelling through me and making me glad I took my jeans off because shit this would be uncomfortable otherwise.
When it comes to self-gratification, I’m normally an every-morning-in-the-shower kinda guy, but I’m pretty sure I won’t get a moment’s sleep until I take care of this. It won’t wait.
Fine.
I snake my hand down, into my boxers, and grasp my cock.
I blink. I’m rock hard, even more so than I’d anticipated.
Close proximity to Emily had a stronger impact on me than I realized.
Giving it a quick experimental pull sends a tingle down my spine.
For me, this is usually a brisk and efficient race to the necessary release, which is kind of depressing, now I think about it.
I’m not even allowing myself this much of an indulgence, and why?
The gun is still loaded, even if it only fires blanks.
Indulge. The word flickers through my mind, where a crystal clear picture of what I want waits patiently for me to give in.
Give in to her.
In my thoughts, my wildest dreams, I brush my lips over her naked, soft-as-silk skin, slowly kissing down her collarbone, across her breast, and finally to the tip of her nipple. I circle it with my tongue before gently biting, and I can almost feel her fingertips digging into my shoulders.
Reflexively, my hand tightens. My imaginings are more vivid than they have ever been, and it’s making everything feel stronger, sharper, more piercing.
My pulse is pounding hard with anticipation.
I rub myself the way I know I like, a few slow, thorough strokes to wake my entire shaft up, before gradually speeding up.
Only this time, my grip is harder than normal, and I’m starting to ache. It feels...god, better than I can say.
I think of her, of the noises I could coax from her if I ran my tongue down her belly, over her mound, to her clit, and my helmet feels like it lights up.
I always find that V of flesh on a woman so tantalizing…
My balls tighten as I imagine being able to taste her, her flavor on my tongue, licking her over and over, mine, and I feel the brush of electric shocks just under the head, where I am most sensitive.
I’m closer than I thought. A few hard pulls would push me over the edge, already, but I want to push it back, I want to enjoy this, I want more…
But then my mind flits unbidden to thoughts of her returning the favor. I picture her looking up at me with sharp, lust filled eyes as she engulfs my dick in her warm, wet mouth, her lips dragging over me, teasing me…
“Chère,” I gasp, desperately trying to hang on, but it’s no use. I’m past the point of no return. I’m acting on pure instinct now, stroking myself hard and fast until I come in hot, throbbing waves, grunting and cursing through the heart pounding ecstasy.
Jesus, that was intense.
As my breathing and my pulse return to normal and I clean myself up, I start to feel like an idiot.
Moping like a lovesick ass, and then frantically pleasuring myself like a horny teenager the moment I’m at home alone after seeing her, unable to withstand more than a few seconds of imagining her blowing me before I shoot my load.
Ironically, considering what I just did, I need to get ahold of myself.
I can’t wait to see her tomorrow.
I can’t help that feeling. I wish I could. I wish I could turn it off and go back to normal. It would save me a lot of sadness.
It’s the absence of possibilities that’s really starting to hurt.
I wish I was a normal guy, one able to offer her everything she could want.
I swear, I’d treat her so right. Take her to nice places, stay up all night talking to her just to find out more about how she sees the world, and make sure she knew every day just how important she was to me.
Maybe she won’t care that you’re broken?
I can hardly believe I even thought that. It kinda gives me hope…
...but then, I wouldn’t be that lucky.
I just want a normal life, Eli. I can’t believe you’d be so selfish as to want me to give that up, just for the sake of being your wife.
You’re defective. Being with you would leave me as empty as your ballsack, and that’s not a fair thing to ask.
Any woman would feel the same, it’s not just me, so don’t make out like it’s my fault here.
YOU’RE the one with unreasonable expectations.
It’s asking too much of me, of any woman.
You'd be stopping me from being whole, you selfish piece of shit… You can’t expect me to still love you after this. ..
Grimacing, I turn my mind away from Charmaine's ugly words, pushing them back to the past where they belong, and try to settle down to sleep.