Page 88 of To Catch a Firefly

“Do you remember when we were twenty-three?” I say, hands running up his thighs. “I came to visit on Thanksgiving. We were all at my parents’, getting ready for pumpkin pie.”

He nods, throat convulsing around his swallow as I run my lips up and down the length of his cock. I mouth the base of it before sitting back and pumping him once.

“You were helping with the whipped cream, but the bowl tipped off the counter, making a mess of your clothes.”

He doesn’t say a word as I run my tongue up his shaft, one hand holding him in place, my other anchored at his hip.

“You went back home to change, but it was taking a while, so I came looking for you.”

His brow furrows slightly, and I huff a laugh, my breath ghosting over his crown.

“Yeah, you didn’t know that,” I say. “Because I found you, your door cracked open, you inside, completely naked, and I froze. I didn’t mean to catch you that way.”

He shakes his head, eyes hooded. He doesn’t care; that much is obvious.

“Still,” I go on. “I felt terrible, and I hoofed it back to my parents’. I couldn’t get the image of you out of my head, though. Not for a very long time. Not at all, really. There’s a million images of you, Ellis, all in my mind. Images of you naked.” I lick the head of his cock slowly. “Images of you smiling.” I suck him into my mouth, stroking him with my tongue. “Images of you by my side, in so many different places. I have more pictures of you in my head than anything or anyone else.”

His fingers sift through my hair, hands cradling my head. His eyes are soft, his cock wet from my spit as it sits against my lower lip.

“I want more,” I whisper. “I want so many more pictures, El.”

“All yours,” he says.

I take him into my mouth then, sucking him down, savoring every pant and quiet groan that leaves his lips. I worship him the way I promised myself I would, taking time to kiss his hips and thighs and belly button. I pull his balls into my mouth, ruba finger along his taint. I play with his hole, even, my own cock throbbing when Ellis wordlessly spreads his legs wider.

When he comes, it’s with his dick in my mouth and my finger up his ass. He shoots down my throat with a hoarse cry, his body fluttering around my index finger. I wring out every last gasp and moan I can before pulling back and letting Ellis return the favor.

When we fall into bed later that night and my thoughts shift to New York, leaving an uneasy pressure in my head and heart, I know what I need to do.

The morning comes swiftly. I pad quietly from Ellis’s room, leaving the man himself asleep in bed while I start a pot of coffee. As it spits and sizzles, perfuming the air with the smell of bitter roast, I glance out the back window. The sky is light but hazy, early dawn having just arrived. The grass looks damp, silence hanging in the air as the world starts to wake.

When my coffee is ready, I fill a mug and head out onto the deck, grateful for the sweatshirt I pulled on. My feet, however, are bare, so I tuck them up on my chair, drawing the hem of my sweatshirt down under my toes.

I’m not usually such an early riser, but my mind woke me at first light, tumbling around and around, even as I tried fruitlessly to fall back asleep against Ellis’s warm, inviting chest.

I spin my phone on the table in front of me, my mug of coffee keeping my other hand warm. I contemplate calling Danil first, but he’d probably kill me if I woke him up this early. Besides, I know he’ll support my decision.

For a beat, I wonder what my parents will think. Will they be happy to have me around more often? It’s a stupid question. Ofcourse they’ll be happy. They never tried to stop me from moving away, but I know they like having me close, too. And they’ve been nothing but supportive of my relationship with Ellis.

Which just leaves one hurdle.

I finish my coffee before picking up my phone. A chickadee sings as I wait for my boss’s secretary to answer. Chelsea won’t be in the office quite yet, but I know Beth will be, seeing as it’s just past eight in New York. She answers quickly with her standard, overly cheery greeting.

“Morning, Beth,” I reply. “It’s Lucky Buchanan.”

“Oh, Lucky,” she says, a more natural warmth bleeding into her tone. “I’m not used to hearing from you so early in the morning. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, of course,” I answer, nose twitching as a beam of sunlight drifts through the clouds. I fight the urge to sneeze. “I was just wondering if I could set up an appointment with Chelsea?”

“Of course. Is it urgent?”

“No, not at all. In fact, it can wait until I’m back in New York.”

“Sure thing, sweetie,” Beth says, typing on her keyboard. “What should I tell her you want to meet about?”

I close my eyes briefly, hearing the gentle repetition of the chickadee nearby. A vehicle passes on the road, a quiet hum compared to the bustle of the city. And if I inhale deeply enough, I can smell the byproduct of the fall corn harvest, like sweet dust and dirt and a hint of earthy, decaying husk.

When I open my eyes, there’s a smile on my face. I never thought I’d come to love the damn smell of corn.

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