Page 66 of Thorns That Bloom
The pleasure at the base of my cock grows more urgent with each stroke, and as I desperately spread out my pulsing, dripping asshole as if I’m presenting it to someone, I come into my hand, a dizzying orgasm roaring through me. For the first time since the incident, I feel my body, wholly and fully, like it is mine again, and it’sincredible.
I go to bed after that. Exhausted and confused, I close my eyes with a faint buzz of satisfaction lulling me to sleep.
In the morning, the first thing I see is a message from Theo.
Anything and everything I said yesterday when I was in the worst of it: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for overstepping. It wasn’t appropriate. If you don’t want to see me again, I understand, and I’ll respect it. I’m just really sorry, Sam.
I sit against the frame of my bed, the phone resting over my belly, and let the sensations of last night wash over me. The fear, and anxiety, and embarrassment…all dwarfed by the pleasant fizz of satisfaction and delight. The feelings I nearly started to believe would never be mine to enjoy again. Definitely not in that way.
Taking a deep breath, I type out my response and send it before I can doubt myself.
I barely heard a word you said. The connection was bad. We can forget it happened. It’s fine.
It’s true that I’m still hopelessly unsure and confused about everything. I don’t have it as together as I should.
But I know for sure that, more and more, I’ve been finding myselfwantingTheo. Wanting him with the sort of vulnerable trust in my heart I wasn’t sure I’d be able to feel again.
Chapter 17
Theo
When I see those lush chestnut coils, sunlight reflecting off of them, I can hardly believe Sam really is sitting there. Overcome by a pulse of unease, I stand in the hallway, staring at the glass wall and the balcony behind it, where he thankfully can’t see me. I was convinced that this would stop after the mess of our call on Friday. But then, he texted me late last night, asking what food I’m planning to make for Monday, and when I responded, he sent a thumbs up.
I look down at the two containers of gnocchi with browned butter and walnuts that I’ve spent the morning anxiously preparing, hopefully to perfection. Martin’s mumbling and bitching about how I flooded the entire house with my pheromones over the weekend definitely hasn’t helped in making me calm.
Not as calm and relieved as I feel now, knowing Sam is waiting for me.
With another reminder to self to stop fretting, I make my legs move and reach for the door to the balcony. He looks up, fluttering those beautiful, long lashes at me as his lipspart. It takes all my willpower to smile and hide the absolute panic happening inside me.
And even more to force myself to forget about all the things I imagined when I was horny out of my mind on the phone with him.
“Hey,” I greet him, my heart inside my throat.
As always, I hand him his portion and sit down next to him. Sam flashes me a smile. His eyes linger on me only for a second before he focuses on studying what I brought. “Mhmm…smells buttery.”
“I tried not to overdo it, you know…so it stays healthy. But I do love me some butter.”
He’s acting normal. Which is insane, really, considering how badly I fucked up. I don’t even remember whatexactlyI said to him. Looking back at that evening is like trying to pull memories out of a thick, dense fog. His voice was like a soothing, lovely, perfectly mouthwatering haze that came out of my phone like notes from a siren.
The rebound rut was kicking my ass before he called, but after he did, I became nothing but a horny, mumbling mess.
“I’m past caring about healthy right now,” Sam mutters, taking in a mouthful.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my lip. He’s so damn adorable. And I’m a monster for touching myself like that while on the phone with him.
For some reason, he told me to forget about it. Maybe he really didn’t hear me? Or he didn’t realize what I was doing. I should want to believe that. I was so out of it I couldn’t even hold my phone. It was on the pillow next to my head as I stroked my cock with one hand and had the other arm restingover my face, trying to hide my shame. So, maybe he’s telling the truth, and that’s why I’m sitting with him right now. Why he still feels safe around me.
When I focus back on him instead of torturing myself internally, Sam’s contentedly chewing, the container already half empty.
“You should probably slow down,” I say as I dig into my meal.
He snorts. “Yeah. I keep getting heartburn.” He slows a little, but I can almost see the feral hunger in him and his hand twitching down to scrape up more before he’s even finished the food in his mouth.
The memory of him lying on the examination table at the doctor’s office, his round stomach exposed and so beautiful, sends a wave of heat through me.
Don’t even go there. You’ve jerked off enough over the weekend to give yourself a damn friction burn.
“So, have you thought more about names? Now that you know you’ll have a girl?” I ask, mostly to propel the conversation forward. I can’t imagine anything worse than silence right now.
