Page 13 of Only the Small Bones
“Christ,” I muttered, taking in the sweat covering my arms and staining my tank. The bedding beneath me was soaked through with it too.
Rolling to my feet, I poked my head into the hall. The tray of waffles I’d left by his door was gone. I hoped he’d eaten it and not thrown it away.
The sun had set, and a check of my phone showed it was a little after nine. I’d be up for the rest of the night now. Davidson had called while I slept. I listened to his voice message asking for proof of life. I shot him a text letting him know me and Ryan were okay and asking if there’d been any progress on the investigation.
After changing the bed linen, I headed to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. I got the water running before contemplating the bottle of pills on the sink. I’d dug them out earlier, but ended up not taking them. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d needed to.
I popped one into my mouth now, swallowing it dry before shrugging out of my clothes and stepping under the hot spray. I leaned my head back, letting the water pour over my face while I waited for what felt like an hour for the medication to kick in. My limbs began to loosen as my anxiety melted away.
With some of my issues now moving to the back-burner of my brain, it left room for other needs that I’d neglected for some time. My blood began to warm, and it had nothing to do with the water temperature. I turned the lever to the right anyway, sighing when the coolness met my heated skin.
Bypassing my burgeoning erection, I soaped myself up, repeating the process before shampooing my hair. I stalled for as long as I could because the end result would be more powerful after a little self-deprivation.
With only my cock left to clean now, I did so with as much indifference as possible, biting my lip to hold in my moan.
I felt most at peace with myself during sex, but even that became affected when the dreams and voices became relentless.
By the time I dried off and slipped my shirt on, the ache of ignoring my arousal had become too much to bear. Gripping theedge of the sink and panting, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I took in the dullness of my normally vibrant green eyes, and the dark circles beneath them. When I could finally sleep again, I needed it to be good. That wouldn’t happen until I found release.
I slipped a hand down to grasp my hard length. I examined my crown, taut and shiny like stretched leather, my shaft a shade darker than my light brown complexion. The wetness at the slit shimmered under the overhead light. The heavy sack below my base drew in, as if to say this was happening with or without my cooperation.
Licking a landing strip up my palm, I lifted the hem of my shirt to my teeth, biting down before grabbing hold of myself. I closed my eyes as a low groan escaped me. Toes curling into the bath mat, I let my chin fall to my chest as I gave in to my need. Now that I’d committed to it, I couldn’t remember why I’d thought it was a bad idea to begin with. I could already feel the angst and uncertainty evaporating as my orgasm took shape, winding itself like a vortex at the base of my spine.
Swiping pre-cum from the head, I jerked off like I meant it now, ass cheeks clenched and unyielding. I pressed a hand against the mirror, my palm slipping across the surface as my biceps flexed, and the veins along my neck pushed against the skin.
Xavier’s hazel eyes flashed in my mind. I tried to hold on to it, tried to remember all the times we were together like this. The times when his hand replaced mine, when his body replaced this lonely experience. The image shifted, and suddenly cool black orbs bore down on me. So dark and cold, so bottomless, haunted and afraid.
I tried to stop it, attempted to shake my head clear, but all it did was fast forward the reel until a delicate beauty mark on ahigh, pinked cheekbone came into view. This felt wrong. It felt forbidden, and completely out of my hands.
The muscles in my back rippled, my calves burning as I rose onto my toes and held there, trembling. “Fuck,” I breathed around the cotton between my teeth. My jaw tensed and I came on a groan of excruciating pleasure.
Cum bathed my fingers and the porcelain sink, a rope of it splattering the faucet. I worked my cock even after it was spent, shivering through the overstimulation, my body bowing.
I let my shirt fall back into place, blinking several times before the bathroom came into focus, then took my time licking my hand clean. My mouth went slack and I met my blissed-out reflection in the mirror, any remnants of the man riddled with pain nowhere to be found.
Looking past myself, I noticed the bedroom door was ajar. Panic replaced satiation as I thought back on whether or not I’d closed it after peeking into the hall. Had I? Ihad, I was almost positive of it.
Snatching my towel up off the floor, I wrapped it around my hips and rushed into the room to close it.
“Damnit.” I tapped my forehead against the wood, then pushed away, hurrying to get cleaned up and dressed before stepping into the hall.
Ryan’s door was shut. I tiptoed over and rested my ear against it, hoping for some sign that he wasn’t awake. While I was concerned about the possibility of him having seen me jerk off, there were other things to be seen that worried me even more. I’d had a shirt on, but the front had been lifted to my mouth. Had that caused it to hike up enough to provide a partial view of my back? Even a small portion of it on display would’ve been too much.
I gazed down at my pant covered legs like I could see the skin of my inner thighs through them, wondering if from mydoorway he would’ve been able to see them too. My legs were spread wide enough, but the scars—although raised—blended in with the color of my skin. I couldn’t even remember the excuse I’d given Xavier for them. Whatever it was, the pitying look on his face said he hadn’t believed me.
Thankfully the medication prevented me from spiraling into an overthinking frenzy. That would only hold until it wore off, though.
Grabbing a bottle of water from my mini-fridge, I settled into the chair on my bedroom balcony, sipping as the city lights and sounds kept me company. The air still smelled of petrichor, but the fog from earlier had evaporated.
I thought back on the note Ryan had written.Soree.I thought about how it oddly felt like he’d spoken to me for the first time. My heart ached with wanting him to speak to me again. I’d assumed his silence boiled down to a trust issue—which could still be true. I figured he’d eventually say something after getting used to me. I hadn’t once considered that maybe he just didn’t talk at all. That he’d lost his voice, in the literal or figurative sense, because of whatever trauma he’d gone through.
Now that my mind had made room for something other than guilt and misery, a bright idea came to me. I jumped up, nearly knocking over the small table holding my water in my mad dash back into the bedroom.
Entering the walk-in closet, I beelined for the back of it where my satchel hung on a hook. Flipping it open, I tugged free the pad of paper it held, then rifled around the inner pockets for a pen. I came away with a pencil.Good enough.
Back on the balcony, I kicked my feet up on the railing, pencil poised over a fresh sheet of paper, wondering what to say. I’d start by addressing his apology.
Don’t be sorry,I wrote, then put his version of the word in parentheses so he knew what I meant. Hopefully doing so wouldn’t offend him. I didn’t think he was stupid. Far from it.
