Page 74 of Lost Touch
We stopped a couple of times for bathroom breaks and to grab some water or a snack, but we didn’t talk other than exchanging the most basic “You want a bottle too?” remarks.
I had nothing to think about that wouldn’t make me crazy, so I looked for road signs with mileage on them, or watched the GPS tick its way down, or tried to take an interest in the changing scenery as California’s landscape morphed from green and forested, to green and less forested, to flat and full of broccoli fields, to hilly, greenish brown, and dotted with oak trees. Finally, even that melted into the twilight and vanished in the dark.
When Drew pulled into the right lane and slowed for the upcoming exit, it startled me out of the fugue I’d managed to sink into. A glance at the dashboard showed me we were less than two hours from our destination, and that it was a few minutes past ten.
“We should stop for the night,” Drew said before I could ask. “Better to get there in the morning, rested up and with lots of daylight to burn.”
I couldn’t really argue with that, especially since he’d been doing all the driving and probably needed a break by now.
But that meant a whole night in a hotel room, alone with Drew. Much worse than being alone in the car, because driving at least gave Drew an activity that made the silence feel less crushing, and in a hotel room we’d have nothing to do but not talk and either fuck…or not.
Drew pulled into the parking lot of a decent chain hotel and went in alone to get the room. I’d been staying in the car as much as possible. Totally unlikely that anyone would recognize me or that a passing cop would pick me out as a wanted man, but it wasn’t impossible.
But when he let us into our room a few minutes later, I stopped dead.
Two beds.
Maybe that was all they had left.
Drew tossed the key on the desk next to the TV remote and headed for the bathroom, saying, “I made sure to get you your own bed.”
Or maybe not.
The bathroom door closed behind him, leaving me staring down miserably at two ugly patterned bedspreads.
Drew came out of the bathroom; I went in, trying not to brush by him. But his presence filled the hotel room, like he put out a magnetic field I couldn’t escape from.
A shower and brushing my teeth helped a lot, but then I came out and found Drew already in the bed closer to the door, laptop out and completely ignoring me. He didn’t even look up.
My stomach felt cramped, sick and tight, even though I knew it didn’t have a physical cause. I crawled into the other bed and turned on my side to face away from him.
It would’ve been better, even, if I’d been able to convince myself he was punishing me for turning him down. At least then I could’ve been righteously angry with him for being a total asshole. But I was pretty sure he was hurt and upset more than anything. I hadn’t meant to give him the impression that I hated being fake-mated to him, or that being mated to him for real would’ve been awful for me. But how could I deny all of that without admitting the truth?
So he sat there with his computer and clicked away, and I lay there lonely and aching and…half-hard.
Jesus, that’s what that feeling had to be. I’d gotten so used to not being able to experience arousal that I almost hadn’t noticed.
Even as unhappy as I felt, my hand crept down, slipping under the waistband of my boxer briefs and wrapping around my cock.
God. So fucking good. I gave in to it, rubbing my thumb over the head and savoring the slight slickness there, squeezing down by the base, playing with my balls. I didn’t get any harder, just like the last time I’d been aroused.
But it didn’t matter. Being able to take pleasure in my own body again was a gift; complaining about what I hadn’t gotten back would only make me ungrateful.
Biting my lip to make sure I didn’t let out so much as a gasp, I allowed my fingers to wander a little lower, pressing behind my balls and touching my hole. My whole body tensed, my cock twitching, a tiny bit harder. I could push a finger inside myself. Feel what Drew felt when he used that part of me to get himself off. Wish I had Drew’s fingers, or his cock, instead…
“Ash, what the fuck,” Drew said flatly.
I froze, eyes wide, teeth digging painfully into my lower lip. If I let it go, I didn’t know what noise I’d make. Something pornographic, no doubt.
“Are you jerking off?”
What the hell right did he have to sound so accusatory? I could jerk off if I damn well pleased, especially since he wouldn’t fuck me!
“No,” I lied, because it was a lot easier to be brave in my head.
“Yes, you are. I can hear your hand moving. And I can scent you. You smell like honey.” His voice dipped to a low, spine-tingling register that did more to harden my cock than an hour of stroking it would’ve. “I can’t stop thinking about how you taste.”
How I tasted. He had to mean…I tried to keep it in, I really did, but this time my moan burst out of me anyway. His tongue inside me, lapping at me as if I tasted like—honey. My ass clenched tight around nothing. I felt so fucking empty, and turning my head into the pillow only muffled a few of my helpless, high-pitched whimpers.
