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The bird gave him a smug look before wandering off again, and he sighed quietly to himself, wondering why he didn’t just re-home the thing. He’d considered it once or twice. He’d even gone as far as to look up the number for a rescue sanctuary.
Then Pancake had wandered into his room, climbed up on the bed, and spent fifteen minutes grooming his hair. He’d cracked and changed his mind, and Pancake had thanked him by trying to pierce his earlobe.
“It’s because I hate myself,” he said aloud, grabbing his little dish from the microwave. He shoveled down his mediocre food, then headed back toward the office to check on Pancake’s supplies. He changed out the water dish, refilled his food, then swapped the bedding at the bottom.
The bird was perched on the back of a chair, watching him, and Hudson eyed it.
“This is Austin’s last revenge, isn’t it?”
Hnawwk!
Hudson rolled his eyes. “A constant reminder that I was some epic asshole and deserve to be tortured until I die, sad and alone.”
Pancake had nothing to say to that, which Hudson knew was probably an answer in itself. He held his hand out again to the bird, and this time it hopped on, walking up to his shoulder. He kept his steps as steady as he could manage as he approached the cage, and the bird gave him a tiny nibble on his jaw before flapping down to the top and settling in.
“After these designs are finished, I’ll be around more,” he promised.
The bird eyed him sleepily, then settled into its feathers.
Making his way to his bedroom, Hudson went through the long slog of his nighttime routine—a sitting shower, teeth, hair, a few of his foot and calf exercises before popping a stool softener, a muscle relaxer, and then some Tylenol so he didn’t feel like he’d been hit by a bus come morning.
He went to bed naked because he had no one to hide from and no one to impress, and once the darkness hit, the restlessness began. He fought it for a handful of minutes, then rolled over and opened the little drawer in his nightstand, pulling out the very first toy he’d ever created. This one was slightly newer, but the mechanics were the same.
It was soft in his hands—the silicone almost slick on its own. There was a circle where he could tuck his dick in—hard or soft, and his balls. A knob at the base would roll against his perineum, stimulating his prostate, and the curved end would slip into his hole and pulse and vibrate, stimulating what sensation he had below the spot where they’d removed his tumor.
It didn’t always work, and he rarely got all the way hard, but he could feel it. It sent zings of pleasure from his stomach, through his limbs, and into his chest. His orgasms were different now—intense and all over his body instead of concentrated at his core.
And it reminded him, every now and again, how much better it would be with a partner. To have warm, strong hands petting him and clawing him in all the spots where it felt good? To be held tight and warm and wanted as he shook apart?
Slicking his hand with lube, Hudson tucked himself inside the circle, then used his hand to spread his legs so he could push the toy inside. He felt it—the barest pressure, then his thumb found the button and gave it a little tap. It was created for people without much hand strength to use, so it immediately flared to life.
He hadn’t done this in a while, and his breathing instantly picked up as sparks began to dance along his darkened vision. One hand fisted the sheets beneath him, the other holding his legs spread so he could rock his hips gently downward. The pulsing in his ass, the rubbing on his prostate—it was so much.
He sucked in a breath, then suddenly a face appeared behind his closed lids. The long, thick hair in a topknot, the gentle, shy smile, the hope in those dark eyes.
The one person he shouldn’t be thinking of right then was his neighbor, and yet—there he was.
P.
Shit, he didn’t even know the man’s full name.
Hudson tried to chase the vision off, but the pleasure began to spiral, and the image got clearer, and he found himself trembling with his orgasm to the face of the man he had been determined to shut out.
“God,” he gasped when it was over. He tapped the button to stop the motion, and it took him several long moments to get the toy off. He flung it to the end of the bed, then covered his face and let out a muffled cry. What the fuck was wrong with him? That was the worst thing he could have done.
Not just because he had no business fantasizing about his neighbor, but also because—in that moment—he realized he wanted to do it again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Peyton sighedas he stared down at his phone. He had half a dozen messages waiting for him, all of them from good-looking men who had no idea how…complicated…Peyton’s body was now. He regretted letting Taylor and Linden take the lead on controlling his reentry into the dating world.
They may have existed on the periphery of chronic illness and disability, but they didn’t understand what it was like to live it. They’d seen him in pain—seen him struggle and break down and grow a little hateful sometimes—but they didn’t know how that felt deep down in the core of who they were.
They never had to face themselves in the mirror and say aloud, “This is never going to change. This is your reality now,” just to let those words sink in.
Sitting outside as the sun slowly crept toward its midmorning position, Peyton scrolled through the messages as the little stray cat that wasn’t very stray anymore rubbed along his shins. He scratched at her ears gently as his gaze fixed on one man in particular.
According to his profile, his name was Austin, he was in graphic design, he lived locally, and he was single but looking for a long term relationship.
