Page 32 of Up In Flames
Touching Oren was the hottest thing I’d ever done. I loved the way he fit in my hand, against my cock. The way he shook and laughed in joy and maybe a little disbelief. I wanted to join him, but I didn’t have enough oxygen left over to use on a laugh. Every bit of me was going into making him feel good.
He had an amazing dick. There was nothing painful about being average in this case. Average meant I could suck it down my throat and not die. I could take a dick like his ten times a day.
“Will—” He gripped my face and yanked me down to him. He slanted his mouth against mine. Our tongues tangled. Breathmingled. One of us moaned, and the other would answer, and then Oren was coming, using whatever he could as leverage so he could buck against me. My name fell from his lips like it was a plea. A prayer. Like he never wanted me to stop. Like he needed me to come too.
His cum made things slicker. Stickier. Hotter. Better. And then I was coming, painting his stomach with my release. Oren didn’t stop kissing me. Not even when I stopped kissing him back so I could breathe. He kissed the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my jaw. And when I could breathe again, he kissed me on the mouth, long and deep. The lingering kiss of a man who regretted nothing.
CHAPTER 15
Oren
The elevator lurched to a stop, and I held my breath as I stepped out into the parking garage. My fist was clenched tight around my keys, and I only hesitated for a second before I turned and strode toward my parking space. My car had sat untouched so long that a layer of dust had accumulated on it.
The urge to vomit hadn’t appeared yet, which was progress. After the accident first happened, the thought of getting behind the wheel made me wretch. It didn't make sense to me. I wasn’t the one driving, but after breaking out into a cold sweat every time I thought about it, I’d brought it up with my therapist and we’d done some unpacking.
The night of the accident. We’d passed the bar. We were going to celebrate. I’d offered to pick Rita and Byron up, but she said she wanted to drive. That for sure I’d never celebrate my success if I was the designated driver.
We were supposed to take a cab home. Byron and I wanted Rita to join in on the fun. I hadn’t been behind the wheel, but in my head, I’d put Rita there. In my head, I should have been the one driving. I should be dead like them. Or we should all be alive. Breathing. Living.
Loving.
Will’s smile flashed in my mind, and a knot of tension in my chest loosened. Not enough to convince me to unlock my car or get behind the wheel, but enough that I wanted to try. For him. For myself.
If I asked, Will would be here in a heartbeat. He’d offered to be there when I took my first spin around the block, but I knew there was no way I’d be able to drive so much as a foot with him in the passenger seat.
The sound of an engine starting nearby was enough to propel me forward, and I unlocked the driver’s side door. I slipped into the seat and closed the door before I could change my mind. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
My hand shook as I shoved the key into the ignition. I yanked my hand away like the keys were on fire and clutched the steering wheel with an iron grip. Breathing hurt. Thinking was agony. Memories assaulted me. Rita. Byron. The smell of gasoline. Twisted metal. Distant sirens. Tangy copper and flashing lights.
Survivor’s guilt was a hell of a thing. Sometimes I thought it would crush me, squish me until I was flat, frozen in time like a pressed flower, plucked from the bouquet and saved when all the others were left to wilt and rot. But I wasn’t a flower. I wasn’t responsible for what happened.
And that was the problem. I was supposed to have been responsible.
“I’ll drive.”
“We’re already on our way to you, Oren.” Rita’s laughter rang in my ears, and I rolled my eyes.
“I don’t mind.”
“We do. You’re always the responsible one, Oren. You deserve to celebrate, and you won’t if you drive. I promise you can go back to being the designated driver after this.”
“There’s no arguing with us,” Byron said. “It’s two against one, man.”
And now it was just one. Just me. Alone with ghosts in a car I hadn’t driven since the day of the accident.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I wiped the sweat from my brow. I wanted to do this. So many things in my life had been made more difficult by this roadblock. Shopping. Getting to work. Going to therapy. Everything I wanted to do now depended on the bus schedule. Which was fine. Not entirely convenient, but doable.
There was just one thing I couldn’t do, something that I found mattered more to me than hiding away and not facing down this lingering fear. I wanted to pick Will up and take him on a date. He wasn’t out, so no one would know it was a date but us. Public transit was fine, but it was far more romantic to open the door for a date than it was to pay their bus fare.
In my head, I’d overcome this simply by wanting it enough, but it was clear to me after half an hour sitting in the car, my body cycling through hot and cold sweats, that it was something I’d need more work on. Even if I managed to start the car and pull out of the parking space, I didn’t feel like I’d be safe behind the wheel.
Taking the keys out of the ignition made my heart rate slow. After a few deep breaths, I put the keys back into the ignition. Then took them out. Then put them in again. I repeated this until my hands stopped shaking. Until I could do it without wanting to cry or puke.
Despite my victory, I still felt hollow when I left the car without so much as starting it. My small win didn’t feel like enough. Will dashed into burning buildings, and I couldn’t start a fucking car. Logically, I understood that progress was progress and that a month ago I wouldn’t have even made it to the carbefore losing my lunch. But now that I had a goal in mind, I despised myself for the stumbling block that stood in my way.
My mood hadn’t improved by the next day. Will was on shift, so our texts were sparse. He’d explained there was a lot more to firefighting than fighting fires, and often they worked just as hard when they weren’t on a call as they did when they were. Conditioning and strength training were just the start. I knew he had a million things to do, but knowing he was busy didn’t help my mood at all.
Hal eventually noticed, because of course he did. Nothing got by Hal. Not much anyway. He sure didn’t notice the way Simon looked at him. But that wasn’t my business.
