Page 55 of Breaking You Open

He lets out a weak, wrecked sound, wriggling into my touch. “The plug.”

I smile. Of course. “Where is it?”

“The drawer.”

I get the silver-colored plug with the pink gem and press it into his hole. It goes in easily, and he sighs in relief.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I keep my thumb on the gem and press it in circular motions, teasing the stretched walls of his ass. I consider making him come again, but he needs some rest if I want to be able to play with him again tomorrow, so I fetch a towel from the bathroom and proceed to wipe him down.

He whines when I lift his backside to wipe away the cum underneath him, and his face is red as he turns to me, indents of the sheets lining his cheek. He’s smiling—a sated, fucked-out smile.

I smile with him. “You did good.”

“I did? I made you proud?”

“Oh yes. So proud.”

He sprawls himself across my chest, head on my naked clavicle. “I’m sleepy. Can I sleep like this?”

I shift the covers over our bodies. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m tired too.” But not so tired that I’ll find it easy to sleep just yet. I end up staying awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, a weird pressure at the back of my throat and a tightness behind my eyes.

This all seems to have gone over well. Sparrow communicated with me. He told me what he wanted, but on the other hand, it didn’t seem like I did anything he disliked. If I overstep his boundaries by accident in the future, what will he say? Will he be truthful? I can’t know for sure.

Besides that, I think of the dangers he might come to and the pain that would befall me should they come true. My life is a violent one, and Sparrow is many things, but he’s not fit for violence.

Still, it’s not from sorrow that the tears spill down my cheeks; it’s from joy and the uncertainty in how to preserve that joy. For the first time in years, I let myself cry, with Sparrow asleep and sprawled over my torso. But even though he might be asleep, I think he knows. He’s wise like that.

Chapter 17

Sparrow

I can’t believe thisis my life. I can’t believe I’m allowed to wake up with a smile and nuzzle closer to the man next to me in bed. I can’t believe I fall asleep every night happy and sated after he’s wrung at least a few orgasms out of me, his larger body on top of mine, weighing me down, making me feel protected and safe and shielded from the world.

A week passes. Maybe two. I don’t keep up with the time, too elated and happy to just be with Louis, snuggling up beside him on the couch and watching TV until we’re both too hot for each other to keep focus, and he carries me into the bedroom and does with me what he wishes, but the difference from Aaron is that nowIwant it too.

Everything. I want everything.

The only issue arises when he has to go to his bartending job in the evenings. I’m still wary of being on my own, and while I can try to use some of my brain power that usually goes toward worrying to study instead, the conversion rate doesn’t seem that high.

I try to clean. I try to watch nature documentaries. When he’s got the late shift, I even try to exercise to exert myself enough to fall asleep. But no position is as comfortable as when Louis spoons me from behind with his arm snugly under my neck, so I usually settle for keeping myself up until he gets home.

This night is such a night. Louis has the late shift together with Ravi, and even though he hates to leave me alone, he also hates bringing me to Moe’s and all the people he claims could harm me there. I suppose he’s right. It’s better I stay here; at least I’m less likely to run into Aaron.

The hour is turning late, and I retreat from the couch to the bedroom, thinking I’ll read a book until Louis comes home. I’m lying there, quietly reading, trying to trick my anxiety into thinking I’m safe when a scratch by the patio door heightens my breath.

Strange. Why would Louis enter by that door? He wouldn’t, that’s the answer, so then who—

Voices. Voices coming from outside, muffled by the window. With my heart in my throat, I get to my feet, crouch, and peer into the living room.

Two men stand outside the patio door. From this angle, I can only see their shoes and ankles, but I can already tell they’re too skinny to be Louis. I crane my neck, careful not to give myself away.

There’s the loud, shattering sound of broken glass, followed by a burst of muffled laughter.

“Are you sure about this?” says a voice I don’t recognize.

Then, a voice Idorecognize snaps impatiently, “Yeah, I’m sure, what the fuck do you think?”

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