Page 39 of Five
I lock the door and put the key in the dresser drawer under a pile of clothes. I tend to sleepwalk when I’m stressed, and I don’t want to end up in bed between Ollie and his husband. Rague would take that as an invitation to maim me.
I flop down boneless, face-first on the bed. A groan leaves my mouth.
As soon as I close my eyes, a foreboding sensation assails me, forcing me to spin and sit. Flashes from last night at the club shuffle too fast in front of my eyes. Cold sweat rolls down my body, and a fight-or-flight response starts inside my panicked brain.
Hearing the crazy rhythm of my heart, I jog to the bathroom and messily splash water on my face, holding on to the edge of the sink as I attempt to calm myself down. I look at my reflection in the mirror as I count my breaths.
My eyes are caught by something gray behind me. Gabe’s jacket hanging from the wall.
Without a single thought, I take off my t-shirt and wrap myself in the soft fabric again. I don’t care if it’s filthy. I inhale deeply and feel my rigid muscles loosen as I succumb to Gabe’s smell. It prompts a relaxed feeling all through my body and mind. I’m instantaneously safe.
Then it sets off something else. My traitorous body does a happy dance. My nipples turn hard. My sore pucker clenches and unclenches, and my balls feel heavy all of a sudden. But exhaustion wins, and I turn off the bathroom switch and lie on the bed again.
Falling asleep while I smell him around me keeps dark thoughts away, and not only the ones from two nights ago. Gran’s smile suddenly pops in front of my eyes, filling them with tears. Her frail figure on her bed comes next, her almost transparent skin, her empty eyes. The syringe.
I lift my arm and push my nose into the jacket sleeve, filling my lungs full until I feel like they are close to exploding and then let all the air out. I do it again and again until I find myself nuzzling the fabric like a child’s blanket.
I don’t want to think about why or how his scent has the power to calm me down. Tonight, I just need to sleep.
The next two nights as well, enveloped in his rich smell.
five
LORI
A few days later, I’m having a coffee with Ollie at our usual café downtown, talking about very important issues.
“It’s a nuclear turnoff when a guy oh so delicately jerks the gherkin using only three fingers around his cock. I mean, it’s called slap the ham sandwich for a reason,” I tell him, taking a sip from my cup.
“Ugh! I get it, I get it! You’ve got such anevocativeway with words!”
I grin ghoulishly at Ollie’s wincing face.
“I still think shrimping is the worst,” he adds.
“Oh yeah, that bloke who attacked your feet,” I remember out loud one of Ollie’s quickies going bad—before he was married to KKJ.
He nods. “How could he want to suck on a one-night stand’s toes? I could’ve flip-flopped my way around in pig’s shit during the day for all he knew.”
“Or worked in a public pool,” I state, pretending to gag—because skin fungus. Enough said.
“Eating at Red Lobster and asking for endless shrimp will never be the same for me.”
“Queening on the other hand, it’s such an in-your-face behavior, I love it,” I joke, wiggling on my chair. My bussy is not sore anymore, and I’m still horny as a junkyard dog.
“You mean Kinging?” Ollie smirks.
I pucker my lips in thought. “I suppose you’re right, since we’re blokes and we sit on another man’s face for it.”
“And talking aboutblokes, Noah has been staring at you since we got here.” Ollie is talking about the barista I screwed around with a few months back. Noah? I don’t really like him, he’s a conceited dick, but the blow job he gave me was pretty good and he’s got a tight arse.
Right now, though, I just don’t feel it. Did the drug break me? My body is in a constant state of arousal, considering how many times I’ve fondly remembered—mental cough—wanked like a teen entering puberty—mental cough—Gabe’s cock.Mydick is all chafed for how many times I’ve remembered it.
I'd be lying if I said that I wouldn't mind my arse being sore again. There’s something about feeling that deep, stinging sensation that sends a little jolt of pleasure through me, like a reminder of how bloody out of the world it felt.
My phone beeps, and I scramble to check the message with embarrassing speed. I deflate a bit, it’s not Gabe, but Octopus Prime, my landlord, reminding me about my eviction.
I can’t believe I’m disappointed by his disappearance. He makes my life hell—when he’s in it. His overly controlled behavior, haughty ways, and dismissive attitude are so annoying. And I miss it.
