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His fingers grip my shirt over my sternum, clutching at me like he’s about to slip off a ledge or sink into the depths of the ocean. He lets out a sob so gutting, I feel pieces of myself cracking with him.
Dropping down onto my butt, I pull him half onto my lap and hold him for god knows how long until he stops shaking and wailing and clawing at his temples like there’s something burned into his brain he can’t get out.
All I can do is clutch him tight and rest my chin on his head. “Please talk to me. Tell me how to help.”
He doesn’t say anything, and my eyes flick up to the counter where I see another bottle of medication. The label is some off-brand antidepressant. Panic tears through me like a wildfire after a drought as I recall how much shit Liam suffered through. How close I was to losing him before he found the proper therapist to guide him through hell. Hot tears well in my eyes, and I have a moment of doubt. Maybe I should listen to Liam and guard my heart.
I fucking wash that horrible thought right down the drain. Z has no one to care. No one to fight for him besides me. Who gives a fuck about a little shrapnel in my heart? I’m not going to kick him aside when he’s already wounded.
My hand rests against his damp cheek, and he lets me guide his head up until our eyes meet.
“How do I help?” I plead. “Give me the name of your demons, and I will slaughter them all.”
As if it were that easy. I know for a fact it’s not. As much as I want towillhope back into his body, it’s ultimately up to him to find it again. But saying those words gives me the illusion of power.
He tugs at my shirt, bringing me close enough to breathe onto his lips. “Help me forget.”
And then he kisses me. It takes me a moment to lose myself in the feel of his lips against mine. I debate pulling away, knowing he’s not in a good place right now, uncertain if this is a side effect of antidepressants or something stronger.
But if this is what he needs, if this is what he’s asking for…
I break away, though I keep my mouth hovering over his. “Z—”
“You want to stay or not? I know what I’m asking for. I’m sober, just messed the fuck up from that medication. All I need is a distraction. Please distract me.”
My heart speeds up, and it doesn’t take much more persuasion from his mouth before I’m parting his lips with my tongue and running it against his own. If he wants me to bring him back to life, so be it. I’ll get his blood flowing. I’ll make him forget whatever horrors plague him.
Dick straining in my pants, I carefully switch our positions until I’m sitting atop his hips and his back is plastered to the wet floor. I don’t bother shutting off the stream of water. It’ll help cover up the moans of pleasure I’m about to wring from his body.
We get to work ripping clothes off each other, and I take time to marvel at his smooth skin. He’s all lean muscle. It’s such a stark contrast to the size of his dick when I finally tug it out of his boxers.
“Christ, Z. I love your body.”
Gripping his cock, I give it a few long, slow strokes. He’s fighting to get my shirt off, exposing muscle and ink. He seems to enjoy tracing both with his calloused fingers and warm tongue.
My free hand clutches him by the hair. As I lean back up, I draw him with me, keeping his mouth fixed to my pierced nipple. I growl, shocked by the need throbbing in my rock-hard dick.
With surprising strength, he holds my weight as he crawls us back against the wall, leaning me against it. His hands work to pop open my jeans and strip them off.
Soon, we’re both naked and panting and damp from the water pooled on the tile floor. I’ve never destroyed a hotel room before, but I’m prepared to do it tonight and foot the bill.
I stare into his eyes with reverence and a little uncertainty. “I’ve never done this…”
With a guy.
I don’t get to finish. He lowers his mouth to my dick, and I’m fucking molten beneath him, wriggling as his tongue strokes over me and his hands spread my thighs.
“Ah, fuck.” I grab his damp locks as he slides up and down my length, hitting too many nerves all at once. He takes me deep, and I groan. “That’s so good. Sofuckinggood, Z.”
Not wanting this to be over too quickly, I hook an arm around his waist and shift us until it’s his back against the wall and me encroaching on his space, nipping and sucking at his perfect lips, salty from my precum. “I’m going to blow if you keep doing that.”
He gives a sly little grin that has my heart lurching in my chest. I’m so screwed. I want to brand my name into his skin. Claim him as mine. Keep him locked up forever.
I run my tongue over the crown of his dick, not surprised at all that I enjoy the taste of him. The feel of him. The jerk of his cock against my mouth as I suck him off. He’s so turned on, and that makes me ache harder for release.
Popping off, I ask, “What do you need, Z?”
“Lube,” he demands, panting. “Front pocket of my backpack.”
