I’m not sure.
I’m overwhelmed.
Consumed.
But for the first time in a while, I’m not fighting with my body. With my feelings for Sol. I’m at peace with the freight trainen route to mow me down flat. With how my breath falls apart and my hand flails at his bare torso.
I find his warm skin.
Feel the clatter of his pulse—or maybe it’s mine.
I need to know. My whole body jerks as I raise my headagainand force my eyes open enough to see him, his face inches from mine, lush lips parted, eyes hooded and heavy as he shifts the rhythm of his hand to one that severs something inside me. A clean break that sends every fear and panic I brought to this bed, to this night, running for the fucking hills.
“Sol.” His name is a prayer on my lips.
“Jack.” He’s so warm against me as he brings us together again, his head to mine. “Let it go, love. It’s okay.”
It isn’t.
How can anything that feels like this be safe?
But Sol’s my sanctuary, even as he holds my skull in a tighter grip. And my dick…fuck. My whole body bows to him, chasing the sensation he’s dragging out of me in waves too strong for whatever vessel is left of me.
Too strong to ride.
To endure.
A peak hits like lightning and I shatter as he holds me through every violent tremor and sound escaping my flayed lungs. As he slaps a hand overmymouth this time to contain my splintered groan.
10SOL
I’m having a heart attack. There’s no other explanation for the terror-fuelled gallop of my pulse as Jack falls into a sudden and heavy sleep, slack in my arms as if he’s been struck down by the gods. Except, I’m not worried it’s something more serious. I know the difference between TBI-induced narcolepsy and a neuro-storm.
No. I’m worried about how he’ll look at me when he wakes up. How he’ll feel about me. And if anything between us will ever be the same.
I have cum on me.
On the hand still wrapped around Jack’s big dick. On my belly. On his.I scan the darkened room for a discarded shirt, underwear—anything to clean us up so I don’t have to leave him yet. But this is Jack’s room. There’s no clutter or mess to save me.
You have to let him go.
He’s out cold, still trembling from a release I felt in every cell of my own body.
I ease a pillow under his head and shift away from him, reclaiming the leg I’ve curled around him.
He makes a soft moan of protest. Like he always does. But with sticky hands and a death rattle in my ribs, I need a minute.
I slip out of bed and stagger to the bathroom on clumsy feet, unbalanced by the throb in my cock. By the desperate need thrumming in my blood, hazing me with a wave of dizziness that should be enough to send me to my knees. Or into the shower to get some relief.
But I don’t hide in the shower and bring myself off. I wash my hands in the sink wondering how much it would hurt to slice my dick clean off and yeet it into hell and daring myself to do it. A task that doesn’t keep me from Jack for long.
I check his meds are stocked where I can get to them fast and ditch my phone on the landing. Then I creep back into his room and slide into his bed as if this is a normal night and I didn’t just watch him come by my hand.
As if he didn’task meto.
Jack’s bed is cosy with the heat of him, and he’s exactly where I left him. Boneless on the pillow, covers pulled to his chest, shoulders bare to the night. But he reaches for me as I stretch out beside him—a habit older than all of this—and finds my throat of all things, and splays his palm there. No pressure. Only warmth. And for a precious moment, a reckless one, I let myself pretend. Let my dreams run free, and imagine this is what we do. Fall into his bed after wild, messy sex, too drunk on each other to think straight. That his hand on my neck is a deliberate, tangible choice, because he wants me. I imagine arching into that grip on my throat, while he rumbles the things he said tonightbecause he wants to, not because he’s scared.
I imagine waking up tangled together and not having to pretend what happened before we fell asleep might destroy us.