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I have to brace one hand near his head, using the other to continue to sweep my clenched fist up and down him.
The kiss is shallow, his pleasure below taking precedence over our mouths, but his breath against my lips is more than a little erotic. Shivers race down my spine as his hips begin to move, and I do my best to counter stroke each lift of his ass from the bed. My core clenches, needy and desperate for attention, but I can accept this is about him.
It doesn’t take long for him to grunt, making a sound I’ve never heard from his lips before. His cock jerks in my hand twice before the warmth of his cum coats my fingers on the upstroke. I have to pull away from his mouth because my need to see him experience the orgasm is stronger than I can ignore.
He doesn’t make a move to touch me, so I press a soft kiss to his lips and climb off the bed.
Rather than making things awkward by using the sink in his bathroom, I leave the room.
He doesn’t ask me to stay, and I didn’t know how much that would sting, but I reasoned with myself that he was waiting for me to get cleaned up and return. When he never comes back out of his room for the rest of the day, I realize how much I fucked up.
Chapter 16
Aro
I let Ugly get in my head about Slick.
I let my own anger over the lack of communication with Kincaid cloud my judgment. With little effort, I managed to convince myself in the moment that Cerberus was no longer an option for me, so having a messy working relationship later with Slick wasn’t possible, since she’d return to Farmington. I’d be left in the wind, all relationships severed with the group of men and women I’ve been working with.
I let my hard cock control my actions instead of trying to stay logical. I practically begged her to jack me off because I felt like I deserved it, and how fucked up is that?
Deserve… what a stupid concept.
I’m a man that earns his way. I’ve never had an overinflated sense of ego. If I was confident, it was because I knew I had the ability to see something through. I’ve never been entitled, and I hate that I felt that way two days ago.
We avoided each other completely on Sunday, and that spoke volumes about how she felt about what I asked her to do.
She was turned on by it. I could sense that much in her touch. Her hands were sure and responsive. With her mouth on mine, I could tell that she was also turned on, and by not touching her when she would’ve clearly been okay with it, complicated things further. I know it had to have pissed her off. I would’ve been livid if the tables were turned. Hell, I’m angry at myself for not seeing it through.
Threads rip in my sweats as I try to pull the waistband up too quickly.
Everything is pissing me off today. The water in the shower took too long to warm, my shaving cream can was practically empty, forcing me to dry shave half my face. I knocked the fucking tiny trash can over when I threw the shaving cream can away in anger. I hit my head on that stupid fucking handrail when I bent over to pick it back up.
With the way my day is going, we’ll probably end up in a fucking car wreck.
I lean against the counter, growling in irritation when water I didn’t wipe up from shaving soaks my sweats as I try to pull my fucking shirt over my head.
I situate the shirt and stare at myself in the mirror.
I’m not accustomed to being a surly fucking bastard, but it didn’t take me long to reach that status.
I hate the dark rings under my eyes from not sleeping well. I didn’t believe the doctors in Houston when they told me about phantom limb pain. Seriously, how can something hurt that isn’t there? I always tell Anthony I haven’t experienced it when he asks, but at night, I suffer in silence. It feels like my missing toes are all broken, and even the sheet brushing the amputation site is an irritant.
In addition to the shadows under my eyes, the orbs themselves have less life in them, as if being an incomplete man is more than just missing part of my right leg.
With a long, slowly released breath, I leave the bathroom. I’m supposed to be practicing with a cane today in PT, but I can’t deal with another disappointment, and there’s always failure before there’s success. It’s something I’ve learned since getting hurt.
“I’m not going to PT,” I tell Slick the second I walk into the kitchen and find her at the sink rinsing her coffee cup.
