Page 24 of The Fire We Crave

My dream slips away from me, but it’s replaced with the vision of the real Quinn in my real kitchen in my real house. Likely in some pretty sundress, with all the tattoos that run up her arms on display. Colorful ink that details different flowers surrounded by mountains and lakes.

My balls ache, my cock throbs, and fuck, I need to come. The dressings pull as my abs tighten, causing a pinch of pain. I throwback the thick bedding and pull a single sheet awkwardly over my stomach.

Don’t want to have to explain to the nurse that they need to change my dressing so soon because there are fat cum stains all over it.

My heart beats fast. It’s confusing. It normally takes a lot more than a perky dream to bring me to the brink of coming, but when I close my eyes, I see a still image. The moment when Quinn put her hand around the back of my neck and looked at me.

And I come hard, all over the sheet. Some even hits my chin.

Like a seal that’s been in place since the fire is now broken, I come in thick and fast spurts.

“Fuck,” I say silently as my whole body tightens and releases.

I stroke hard through it, then ease my movements as I suck in air.

My head feels spacey, and it’s hard to focus on the ceiling.

At least your cock’s not broken.

I grin at the thought, enjoying the moment before the reality of what I’ve just done hits me hard.

I just jerked off to thoughts of Quinn. Quinn, who still hates me.

Quinn, who is living here, and who, for some equally weird and twisted reason, I’m allowing to stay.

Quinn, who can’t really carry a tune but is singing with enthusiasm in the kitchen.

She loves me.

I repeat the realization from my dream, yet shake my head, trying to escape it. Those are words I have no business considering.

And I need to figure out a way to get my dick sucked a lot more regularly from here on out, because though there is chaos in my brain, my body is more at ease than it has been of late.

Jesus, I’m fucked. I need to get a grip on these thoughts and stop them. Bury them before they become something I act on and ruin both our lives.

My phone rings, and I pat around on the side table, trying my best to move the sheet without letting all the jizz on it run everywhere.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I’m on my way to your place,” Wraith says. “Be ready.”

“Fuck,” I curse. “Gimme ten.”

“Fine. Tell Quinn I’m on my way so it doesn’t freak her out.”

It bothers me he knows that the noises of people arriving scares her. It feels like an intimate detail. And I’m clearly being irrational that such a courteous thing is irritating me.

When I hang up, I can see Johnny tried to call in the night and left two messages. But I’m not ready to hear his voice, yet.

Plus, if Wraith’s only ten minutes away, I’ve just about got time to shower. I shouldn’t because of the dressing, but fuck knows where all the cum went.

Using the hand-spray shower instead of the powerful overhead, I manage a cheap-ass version of a shower. It’s good enough, and I manage to control the spray, so while the dressing ends up damp in a few spots, it doesn’t get soaked beyond use.

I’m barely dried off before I tug on enough clothes to walk out to the kitchen. She’s smiling while she puts peanut butter on her toast. Her hips sway as she dances to the music.

It’s utterly domestic and, after seeing her naked in my dreams, really fucking hot. Long gone is the scrawny kid I once knew. She’s still petite, but there are curves and attitude with it.

I almost smack myself about the head.

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