Page 75 of These Wicked Games
The door swings open and I can’t say a fucking word.
Oli stands in the doorway, confused as fuck, his blond hair dark and wet from what I’m assuming is a shower. He’s wearing no shirt and his tattoos pop against his broad chest and biceps. Again I’m hit with that feeling I get when I’m near him. I feel small. I feel like Oli will protect me from all the evil out there. He’s just massive, and I want nothing more than to fit inside his arms.
I should be angry at him. I am angry at him. I should scream at him for kicking me out yesterday. Some part of me understands it, though. I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. Oli owes me nothing. While I’d known who I was most of my life, realizing I was gay was so low on the things I had to deal with growing up. Coming to terms with my sexuality was the easiest thing I’ve ever been through. I have to understand that Oli’s still figuring this part of himself out. “Dre?”
I can’t fucking speak.
So I don’t.
Instead I lunge at him, connecting our lips together. Oli’s frozen for a second before something in him snaps and he kisses me back harder. It’s brutal, just the way I like his kisses. Oli doesn’t kiss, he consumes like an incubus coming for my soul. With his hands on my hips and his lips on mine, he can fucking have it.
I grab him to me, pulling his body against mine, but his large hands grab my biceps, pushing me back a step. “You’re soaked,” he says.In more ways than one. I almost laugh at the stupid joke that pops into my brain, but any attempt at humor dies when he sees my face and cradles my head in his large hands. “What the fuck happened to you?”
That’s it. Oli snips the final thread holding me together.
I unravel. Oli catches me, holding me upright. I nuzzle into his neck, just wanting all the thoughts in my mind to quiet, and I sob. He pats my head then surprises me with a kiss on top of it. “Come inside.”
Pulling me into his house, he locks the door and guides me into the living room. “Stay here, okay?” He leaves, and while I’ve been here before I can’t help but smile. Oli’s home feels warm. It feels like a home you live in, exist in, build a life in. I walk to the blazing fire, trying to warm up. There’s a photo of his mother on it. She was very beautiful. I see some of Oli in her in this photo, and I send her a silent thank you. Without her and everything she sacrificed, I wouldn’t have him.
“Come with me.” I startle, turning to watch Oli walk into the living room holding his hand out to me. “I have a bath going. You’re shivering.” Am I?
It’s only now I feel the chill clinging to my bones. My clothes are soaked and I’m shaking. I follow him up the stairs, not sure of what to say right now the adrenaline is starting to fade, but I feel my face swelling and I think the blood has clotted. I don’t feel it running down my face now. I feel sick.
Oli reaches into the half-filled tub, checking the water. “Your shirt, babe.” It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me before I lift my shirt off. I realize now how bad I’m shaking. “Pants. I’ll throw these in the wash, okay?”
“Thanks.” I rasp out, still unsure of where we stand or what’s happening. I’m dazed; I can’t clear my mind. I take off my boxers and drink in the way Oli’s eyes are on me. His throat works, filling me with pride. I love the way he looks at me, the way his greedyeyes drink in every inch of my skin. My body has quickly become Oli’s playground.
“Get in, okay.” He helps me, and I sink into the warmth of the tub, groaning with the heat. He must have put some sort of bath salts or milk in here, because the murky water smells like heaven. I let the heat soak into my bones, and Oli strips down but he doesn’t get in. Instead, he grabs a bottle and a cloth, sitting behind me on the ledge, then puts his feet in the water. I move, resting my head against him. “I want to clean this cut, make sure you don’t need stitches.”
I lean my head back on the inside of his thigh and let him clean my face, and when I dare a look up, the concentration on his brow hurts me. He’s so focused, but pissed. So fucking pissed. He’s radiating anger while trying to be gentle with me. The water quickly warms me, and slowly I feel my fear melt away. I’m here. Oli let me in.
He didn’t push me away.
He wipes the blood off my face I wince. He freezes, then wipes more gently. I have half a mind to turn to my left and suck him into my mouth. He’s half hard next to me, his legs on either side of me as I rest against his groin. Oli has quickly become my favorite hit of dopamine. “Stop looking at me like that,” he growls. “Let me concentrate.”
Fine, fine. Not the time, I guess. I listen to him as he opens the little med kit next to him and grabs a bottle. I don’t know if I need stitches. I know there isn’t any glass in it, though, and the hospital is the last place I want to go right now. We sit here silently as he cleans me up, and I can’t help running my hand down one of his hairy legs. I squeeze and massage and feel him grow against the backof my head. “You’re such a slut for me,” I whisper with a smile, looking up.
Shaking his head, he ignores me, but I see a slight smile dance on his lips. When he’s not scowling at me he’s very handsome.
Who am I joking? I love the scowly looks too. Finishing up, he sets the kit aside. He put something slick on the cut; mint or something herbal hits my nose. It throbs, but the pain barely registers now. I tilt my head up to watch him as he pulls my hair out of the hair tie, leaning over and grabbing a small cup, then turning the faucet on and filling it. “Close your eyes.”
I listen as he gently pours water over my hair. I already washed it back at the locker room but I don’t want to stop him.
“Is this okay?”
I open my eyes, looking at the bottle he grabbed—some sort of Moroccan leave-in conditioner. Why the hell does he have this?
“For?”
“Your hair.” Pink blooms on his cheeks. “Is this okay for your hair? I don’t want to damage it. Grey’s sister said . . . I mean she just mentioned—” His jaw clenches. Oh fuck. Embarrassed Oli may be my favorite.
“Oli.” I grin. “Did you ask your best friend’s sister for hair advice for me?”
“Shut up. Will it work or not?” With a grin I try to hide, I nod. “Lean back.” I close my eyes and nearly groan, feeling his fingers work it into my hair. Whatever this is smells delicious. “This good?” My answering groan is enough confirmation. His fingers work magic against my scalp, massaging my head, and holy fuck, I live here. I feel him poking the back of my neck. “Sorry.”
I laugh. “More than okay.”
We sit in silence for a moment, but then it ends with what he’s seething to ask. “You’re going to tell me right now who I need to kill.” He works his fingers through each curl, rubbing the conditioner into my hair. “Right now.”
