Page 26 of Light As A Feather
“Fuck. I have half a mind to get that tattooed on me.” He looks down at it with admiration. “Would you like that? Having a reminder of your pretty lips stained on me forever?”
My sucking intensifies as I bob my head ‘yes.’
“If you stay here with me, I’ll get it, but only if you stay. Only if you promise to be mine. Only if you let me fuck this godsend of a mouth and come on this pretty face whenever I want.”
“Yes, please. Use me.” I explore his shaft with my tongue as he drives himself into me. There’s no resistance as I take him deeper down my throat, eager to worship every inch of his perfect dick that throbs inside me. “Come anywhere you want.” I press him closer against me, taking him deeper until I feel like I can’t breathe, relishing in the stuffed feeling of it and how light my head becomes.
“Eyes up here, baby.” My spine tingles at his words. His hips meet my lips.
When I look up at him, I’m struck by his beauty. The tattoos that wind around his arms, the piercings that adorn his face, his bright smile, his deep brown eyes, everything about him. Pure desire strikes through me thick and hot as it drips between my thighs. He truly is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Nobody has ever made my body respond like this, made me feel completely consumed by my lust. Eager to please, and desperate for pleasure at the same time.
“Are you ready for me?”
Closing my eyes, I nod just seconds before the warm spray of his cum coats my cheeks and mouth.
“That’s my girl,” he moans. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”
Licking my lips, I savor the salty yet sweet taste while he helps me get to my feet and washes it from my face, carefully avoiding getting any in my eyes or nose.
“Thank you,” I say through slightly numb lips. Even though he’s no longer blocking my airflow, my thoughts still swim groggily. Between the hot water and all the excitement, I’m so relaxed that I could easily fall asleep if I were lying down.
“Mhmm. I think that’s all for today.” Hawthorne steps out of the shower briefly, returning with a towel wrapped around his waist and one that he quickly covers me with. I’m pleasantly surprised by the heat that envelopes me.
“You have a towel warmer?” I nearly moan. Transitioning in and out of the shower has always been a sensory nightmare. But this is lovely.
“Wehave a towel warmer, yes. And the floors are heated. I’ll show you how to use everything…later.” Fisting the fabric, he tugs me closer. “Right now, I’m going to get you fed and start that fire.”
“You don’t have to do everything for me, you know.” My hatred for feeling incapable awakens, even though I know he’s doing this out of kindness.
“I know”—he shakes his head, recognizing my stubbornness for what it is—“but you’ve been doing everything for yourself for how many years? I want to.” His hands move to my shoulders. “I take care of you, you take care of me. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“You’re right.” The defensiveness leaves as quickly as it came.
“I’ll let you have a few minutes, then I’ll meet you downstairs. No rush. All of your toiletries are in the cabinets and drawers on the right side.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say because I’m lost for words. I forgot what it is to be cared for. How much lighter life can feel when you’re not struggling to do it all alone. When you’re not left to fend for yourself against all the overstimulation, when you have someone to ease the burden of existing and all the demands of keeping yourself clean, fed…alive.
It’s always been hard for me to accept help or anything perceived as such, but with Hawthorne, it’s different. I know that I’m not a burden because he tells me so. But more than that, it’s the simplicity with which he does it. He anticipates my needs, and he understands them. He doesn’t begrudge me for being “difficult”, doesn’t tease me about how particular my needs are.
He sees me. He meets me where I need him. And he carries me the rest of the way when I need him to.
His ability to care for me isn’t what makes me love him or want to be with him. There are so many other incredible qualities to him—the genuine goodness in him, our shared love of music and the macabre, his undeniable charisma and openness—but I do appreciate it more than I could ever say.
I don’t want to lose this again. But it’s also a sharp reminder of all the pain I’ve caused him. It was always important to meto give as much as he allowed me to take from him. I wanted to be good for him, good to him. But what if all I can bring him is suffering? What if all I have to offer is danger simply by way of loving me?
It’s not your fault that evil has attached to you.As if he’s in the room with me, I can hear the chastisement in his voice.
I want to believe it, more than anything. I want to know without a doubt that that is the truth, but that would make me a liar.
He deserves to know everything he’s getting himself into. He deserves to understand the depths of what I’ve found myself in the middle of. He deserves all of me, wholly his, and able to love him just as much. Or I don’t deserve him at all.
But that’s easier said than done.
Is this peace? The humming vibration of anxiety has gone quiet, and it’s as if the bones have finally settled in my body. There’s relief and weariness in equal measure, like I’ve just had a good workout, like I’m finally enjoying the efforts of all that straining and hard work.
As I stoke the fire, I find myself completely at ease. Even though I know our struggles aren’t over, even though I know danger still lurks somewhere in the shadows of this house.
Has the sound of a blow-dryer ever been so sweet and melodic? Yes, I bought her one of those ultra-quiet ones—one that wouldn’t drive her half-mad while she used it—but there’s something so harmonic about knowing that she’s finally using it. Something as simple as her getting ready in the bathroom I remodeled just for her—the soft lighting, the heating, her comfort colors—that’s incredibly satisfying.
