Page 44 of Forging Chaos

He tries to lift my head from his dick, but I send him a look. I know what I’m doing. I want to drink down the reward for this work. I want to make Odin Stag crumble to pieces because of me, and I want to be here to lick it all better at the end.

I wriggle my shoulders a bit so my nipples graze along his thighs, and that extra stimulation sends him right over the edge. Odin roars, one strong hand digging into the sheets while the other remains gentle in my hair. He spurts into my mouth, salty and hot, and I swallow down his release gladly. I want to get used to this. I cannot get used to this.

But there’s today. And there’s right now. And as I releaseOdin’s softening cock, I stare into his blue eyes and see this massive man has fallen apart right here in bed beside me. It’s a lot. But I chose this, and damn it, I’m going to soak it in.

“Morning,” I tell him again.

He can’t form words. He smiles lazily and pats the pillow beside him. I crawl back up and figure I’m going to rest my head next to him, maybe fall asleep some more, but he pulls me on top of him and kisses me, moaning into my mouth, pressing his lips into mine like he wants to fuse us together. “You’re incredible,” he says, tracing my chin with his finger, cupping the side of my face like I’m a treasured thing.

I can’t speak, so I rest my cheek on his chest until his breathing slows, and he falls back asleep.

I don’t remember falling back asleep, but I wake up to the smell of food cooking. I pad down the hall in Odin’s t-shirt. He notices from behind the stove where he’s folding an omelet onto a plate. “You better be naked beneath that,” he says, tugging off his robe. He is, like before, just wearing athletic shorts. I like the opportunity to stare at this perfect specimen of the human body.

Well. Perfect, plus one small, injured part.

I sigh and hop up onto a stool. I sort of like eating at the counter with him this way. It’s cozy despite the enormity of the house. “So, what’s the deal with this place again? Who owns it?”

He hops up next to me and rests his cast on another stool. “My dad and his three brothers bought it together for Uncle Tim’s 40thbirthday. Now we all share it.”

I look around the walls, covered in black and white photographs of a truly astounding number of boy children. “And you said there’s a calendar for it?”

He nods. “And I double-checked.” He squeezes my thighand then lifts the hem of the shirt, peeking. I swat his hand away, and he laughs. “The whole family was all supposed to be at graduation this weekend.” He takes a sip of juice. “Wes, Wyatt, and me. We were all going to graduate, and now…none of us did. Life is strange that way, I guess.”

I hesitate, but since he brought it up, I decide to ask anyway. “What will you do about school?”

He nods, chewing and swallowing his eggs. He seems a little sad that his plate is empty, and I slide mine toward him. There’s no way I can eat all this food anyway. He looks wide-eyed at my offering. “You sure?” When I nod, he continues talking. “Well, I finally did talk to my advisors. I got extensions for my classes. All except argument. Thank you very much for the motivation to get an A in that one.”

I hold up my juice cup in a toast, and he clinks it against mine. “So anyway, in addition to a whole bunch more rehab, my big summer plans include geography homework and essays about sociology.”

I finish my juice and dab at my mouth, hesitating again. “And then?”

“Then I have no fucking idea.” He throws down his fork. “I can’t play. I’m not even sure I’ll be walking by fall. I’m just buying time until I figure out what the future looks like for a has-been athlete with no other marketable skills.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” He scoffs. “I mean, you are an okay cook.”

That draws a laugh out of him. I can’t help but add, “it’s nice that you can take some time, though. You know that you have support.”

He nods. “Wyatt said something the other day that sort of stuck with me…but I don’t know if it’s possible.”

My brows lift. “What? Tell me!” It’s exciting to think he might have even a kernel of an idea for his next steps.

Odin blows a raspberry. “It’s dumb. Maybe. But he said his team in London has a whole staff of mental health pros.”

I clap my hands. “Sports psychology is a real thing for sure. You could go to grad school for that.”

He shoulders me. “She says to the college dropout.”

I shoulder him right back. “You just said you’re fixing that, though. And don’t get a big head or anything, but you’re pretty decent at research and papers. That’s most of grad school.”

He grins at me. “Was that a compliment, Janssen?”

I throw my napkin at him, and he catches it mid-air. “This is my thanks? And I went to bat for you…” He stops mid-sentence and shakes his head.

“What do you mean?” I frown as Odin slides our plates toward the sink and pivots over there on his scooter, rinsing the dishes and setting them in the dishwasher. “Odin, what do you mean you went to bat? About what?”

“I didn’t mean that. There was no bat.” He starts hand washing the pan he used to cook the eggs in, and then he seems to change his mind. “Come outside on the deck with me,” he says, starting to roll toward the sliding door. “Let’s enjoy the view.”

I can tell he’s trying to change the subject, but in the spirit of enjoying myself, I follow him. The air is crisp here. I can hear birds and insects. I close my eyes and soak in the differences from the city. I wonder if this is what the scenery will be like at Oxford. If London is a similar city to Pittsburgh, what will life be like over there?

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