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And I come undone, spiraling.
Spiraling.Spiraling.
“Tell me, baby,” he sharply exhales, pumping his fingers into me faster. My breathing quickens, toes curl, thighs tighten around his neck. I convulse against him, and my loud whimpers echo throughout the small space around us as he devours me with his mouth.
It’s too much to bear. I try to squirm away, but he slips his hands beneath my thighs and pulls me back to him.
“Daze,” I gasp, gripping the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white. “Oh, God—”
He stands without warning, leaving me a hot, desperate mess. Reaching behind me, he retrieves a condom from the cabinet. He slips it on, and without wasting any time, he’s inside me.
“Fuck,” he bites out.
He firmly grips the back of my neck and locks me in place, pressing his forehead to mine. Thrusting deep.Deeper. Nearly splitting me in half. I breathe through the discomfort and pain until my body adjusts to him. When I do, he moves faster, inching me further up the sink with each forceful thrust. Again. Again.
Slower. Deeper. Harder.
Desperate, I brace on his broad shoulders, holding onto him for dear life.
We finish together, holding each other’s gaze, breathing unevenly.
Before I can make sense of it, he pulls out of me and steps to the side. Reaching past me, he turns on the faucet and wets a washcloth with warm water. Gently he places it between my thighs.
I’m immediately caught off guard by such a kind gesture. Enthralled, I study his face as he cleans me gently. Maybe I’m not just an afterthought to him…
And therewasa spark between us. That deep-seated impulse made writhing against him in a tiny bathroom seem…sane. Logical. It was more than mindless lust.
He tosses the washcloth into the tub before locking his eyes with mine. We share a heated, intimate stare that leaves my heart fluttering.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His face softens, and he nods before tossing the used condom into the trash. Stepping back, he fixes himself in his jeans while I hop down from the sink and step back into his shorts and my panties.
“Frey,” he blurts out, stepping closer. He’s limping, leaning heavily to one side. There’s an ache in his voice, rasping beneath every word he speaks. “There’s just something about you. You’re… so different.”
“Different?” I echo softly.
“You make me feel…things.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask.
“No,” he nearly whispers, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Well—fuck. Maybe. I’m not so sure.”
He lights up another cigarette as he looks into the mirror, examining his head. My thoughts begin to race as I tie the string of his shorts tighter around my waist. I still have so many unanswered questions.
“Daze,” I begin. “I just want one thing from you. Please. Just tell me the truth.”
He cracks a smile that could almost pass for genuine if he weren’t wincing. “Do you really want to do this now?”
“Yes,” I press. “Tell me what you know about Hale. Why do you have this picture of me?”
I brandish it, but he shakes his head, sending more stray bits of cut hair to the floor. My eyes latch onto the mess as a familiar itch nibbles at my nerves. Before I know it, the photo is in my pocket again, his mop is in my hands, and I’m using it to gather his hair into piles.
Neat. Orderly. Giving into those impulses is the only semblance of control I can grasp—especially after what just happened with Daze. For the time being, I push the sordid scene to the back of my mind and try to recall my old methods for regaining calm. Pray. Obey. Be patient. I was taught never to disobey a rule or law or to be a slave to vice. It’s funny how things can change seemingly overnight.
The strangest part is that I don’t feel as lost as I did on the bridge. I’m just tired.
“Let’s try something different, huh?” Watching me, Daze leans back, propping his elbows against the nearest counter, and the neglected cigarette spills loose ash against the floor.
