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“Mow,” I look to the side, and there is Phil. I never understood this animal. He never sounded like a regular cat. Every single meow was mow—sounding like he was demanding whatever it was he wanted right now. His furry ass must have been on my face, startling me from a euphoric dream.
“You are a furry little bastard.” I get up slowly from my couch. I see all the cats watching me. Wanting to eat or something.
It would be easy if I didn't get woken up like this on the daily. Cats demanding food, cuddles, whatever. I was on their schedule, not anyone else's. I make my way to the small kitchen, setting up their plates on the counter. I turn to the cabinet that holds not only their wet food but my coffee.
“You know what, you little shits? I am making my coffee first for once.” As I set the cans down and proceed to make the nectar from the gods, the big tomcat hops up on the counter and watches me through narrow eyes. “Fuck off, Phil,” I mumble and hit brew. I then start to make their plates and set them down on the ground.
I talk to them like I normally do, giving them slow pets as I feed them on the ground around the galley-style kitchen. I was setting the last plate down when PInky Poo takes a flying leap, jumping on my back right where Cowboy had been doing the most work on my kidneys. Claws dug in immediately, and I scream out and drop to the ground. I hold my side and am in the fetal position while the cats that I have raised since they were kittens just stuff their faces. Paying me no mind.
“Don’t worry, guys,” I croak out, “I’m fine. I am sure you didn't activate some internal bleeding or anything.” I try and get up from the floor but twist the wrong way and scream out in pain again.
There is a slam from the hall, then banging on my door. I can't even catch my breath so I can cry out again. The banging becomes more frantic, and there is a muffled voice on the other side of the door. All I can make out is him saying my name. I take a breath to call out that I’m fine, but another furry asshole walks up my leg and sits on the side that I was holding. This causes another whimper to come out. The next thing I know, the door is kicked in, and the voice from my dream yells at the cat sitting on me while rushing to my side.
“Where did he go? Where is the fucker that did this to you?” Whitley asked. He runs his hands over my body. Once again taking inventory of my injuries. His touch is light, his eyes are hard, and he is completely intoxicating. I am almost certain that if I weren't in so much pain, my cock would be at full attention.
He’s done something to me. I feel like I’ve been hexed or cursed, but I don’t think I can call it that. I don’t feel cursed. Unless you count the fact that while I know that I want him, I almost had a chance to have him, and I blew it. Shit. I’m so confused.
“Whitley. You didn’t have to break my door in. I’m fine. My cats are just assholes.” I chuckle but then wince in pain because even that small gesture hurts like a son of a bitch.
“The way you were screaming told me otherwise.” He brings his hands behind my head and holds me. I want it to feel awkward. I want to tell him to get away and push his ass out and demand that he fix my broken door, but I can’t. I can’t, and I won’t because that isn’t what I want at all.
I want him.
I can see it in his eyes, he wants me too. It’s clear as day—the desire that he has for me. I want him to explore that, but I can’t make the move because I’m terrified. I don’t understand these new feelings. I don’t know why I’m having them or what they mean. The only clear thing is my desire. That point has also been proven when I dreamt about him.
Fuck. That brings my cock to attention, and I let out a moan as I close my eyes. Taking as deep of a breath as I can without causing myself more pain, I open my eyes and look directly back into Whitley’s.
They’re on fire.
If only he knew what I was thinking about. If only he knew what I was doing to him in my dreams. Before I can register what my body is doing, I let out another moan.
“Fuck it,” he whispers, and his lips connect with mine.
There is something ‘more’ about his lips meeting mine. They’re soft while also battling for control of the kiss. His beard catches on my shadow of a beard. The feeling should be off-putting, but it’s not. It’s turning me on. I bring my hand up and grip his hair, attempting to bring him closer. He tastes like pure sin. Something that I shouldn’t want but everything I’ve ever craved. I want more.
He pushes me back so he is on top of me. I only enjoy it for a brief moment before the pain from the pressure of his body takes over. I bite his lip harder than I should have, but I blame the momentary loss of control of my body. He yells and pulls away. That’s when I confirm that I did, in fact, bite him too hard. If I couldn’t see the blood coming from his mouth, I would have known simply because I taste blood in my mouth. My fingers come up to his mouth and gently trace where I took a bite out of his lip.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him in a barely there whisper.
He pulls his lip into his mouth and looks at me. The fire is gone, and in its place is guilt—guilt that he had hurt me.
“Please don't look at me like that. I wanted—want—this. Whatever this is,” I motion between us, “I want it just as bad as you do. I’m sorry that I bit you as hard as I did. When you put your weight on me, it hurt, and I…. Can you please help me up off the floor?” I ask.
I wanted to get up and continue this somewhere, like my couch or bed, so the weight would be cushioned. He’s given me something that I want to explore more. I want to feel his hands trace my body, leaving electrified lines in their wake. I want to feel what his beard would feel like when he kisses everywhere he can think of. His face tells me that he doesn’t want to. That he doesn’t want what I do.
I’ve completely misread the situation.
He says nothing and hides his gaze from me. He helps me move slowly from my spot in the small kitchen. He takes me over to my couch, where I have spent most of my time. Zombie may have helped me bring my bed in, but I haven’t used it. Whitley makes me want to change that. He helps me sit, still says nothing, and leaves the apartment.
The silence speaks so loud.
He drove me insane with want for him and then turned around and left. I wasn’t ready to stop. Sure, it took me some time to get to where I was and accept my desire for what it is, but I truly thought he felt the same. He busted into my life just like he did my apartment when he heard me scream in pain. This reminds me, my door is still busted open. What the hell am I going to do to get that fixed? I can’t just leave it like that. I have too much in this apartment that can fuck over a lot of people if the wrong hands got a hold of it and somehow busted into it all.
I have to think about where my phone is. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that the only way the door would get fixed tonight is if one of my brothers came to help me get it set up again. I finally see it on the computer desk to my side. I start to rock to give myself some momentum, so I am able to get up and get it.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” I hear a voice chastise me from the main door.
Turning my head to the door, I see Whitley, and he is pissed. It clashes with the dress pants, shiny black boots, and white undershirt he’s wearing. In his hands, he has a tool bag and a first aid kit. He left so he could get the shit he needed to help me, but he couldn’t even say that to me? The first thing he says to me after kissing my brains out is,“What the fuck do you think you are doing?”
