A cool window for the furnace that I'm sure I’m becoming. My conscience takes a back seat, letting the beast inside me claw at my pants, before stepping into the shower. My hand tightens around the base of my cock. Slowly, I stroke myself to the memories of Thiago I’ve been trying to purge from my mind, only to find him returning with a brutality that has my fist moving with urgency.
As much as I hate it, my body's reaction is visceral.
It knows exactly what it wants and won’t settle for less. My dick swells, leaking precum as I run my thumb over the tip. Resting my forehead against the cool tiles, my strokes grow slower, allowing the shame and disgust to creep in.
The water washes over me as if it could cleanse my soul from all the impure thoughts. I close my eyes, envisioning the weight of him and the thickness of his cock as it enters me, and I groan loudly. My hand picks up pace, my balls drawing tight as heatgathers in my core. Ifuckingwant him. I want Thiago Safra so bad it genuinely hurts. Good thing I’m a sucker for pain. I continue my quick strokes, peeling back the foreskin with each flick of my wrist. My breath comes in short and ragged.
Fuck!!
The steam from the shower curls around me as my balls knot, the feeling of falling over the edge blinding me with stars. Maybe it is the heat coming from the water or the inferno of desire that courses through my veins. I fuck my hand with an animalistic urgency, only stopping when I feel the familiar urge that spills from my center and runs straight out of my cock and splashes onto my stomach. I look down at the sticky residue, watching as the water rinses it away. Feeling like I wasted enough time, I rush to wash off and get ready.
By the time I'm done with everything, it is close to eight o'clock. I look at my phone to find that I have a couple of voicemails from my pops, which is odd for him. He knows that I will help him with rent. I’ve never left him hanging, even though I should, and a message from Greyson.
Greyson:
Rain check. Something came up.
I plop down on the couch and aimlessly scroll through my phone, avoiding listening to any of the voicemails left by my father. Unable to focus on anything but that nagging feeling deep inside my chest. Being curious is never a good thing…
After all, curiosity kills the cat every time. And before I can stop myself, I press the play button, and a sinking feeling settles deep in my gut.
“Ah-son- I,” my father stammers, and I roll my eyes, ready to end it and delete the voicemails. “Lo-ve.”
That does it.
I stop the voicemail, my eyes wide at the realization of what he’s trying to say. My heart feels like there’s a fist wrapped around it, cutting off any circulation. I fight my thoughts for a moment, and I hesitate. My finger hovers over the delete button; there’s no need for me to hear a drunken love confession of a father who didn’t give enough shit to be better. Anger dominates the field, pushing away any love that might linger. The phone shakes in my hand, or maybe it’s my hand.
“Fuck,” I snarl, unable to bring myself to delete the message. Instead, I hit play and listen to the last one; this one is only heavy breathing and then a crash and silence. My heart jumps inside my chest. I look at the time and panic.What if he overdosed? Good... Why the fuck did I care?So many questions run through my mind while my heart hammers inside my chest. My palms grow sweatier by the second, my leg begins to bounce rapidly, and before I know it, I jump up to my feet, needing to feel the night breeze. To be in the only place I belong, but when I open the door to my dorm, I find Thiago speaking to Wyatt.
Both wear somber looks on their faces when they look at me.
“You okay, Ruas?” Thiago asks, and I just stare at him, frazzled as to what to respond with.Is everything okay?Who knows, but I waste no time brushing past him and into the parking lot, straight towards my bike.
“Yo, Zayden, you good?” This time it’s Wyatt who asks.
My thoughts are scrambled, and my ability to start my own fucking bike is lost to me. The ability to speak… To hear anything but static….Why do I feel like this?Something in my chest tightens, and it feels like a fist slams into my heart. My hands no longer shake because now it’s my entire body that’s overcome with tremors. My vision blurs, and suddenly, I’m kicking my bike.
“YO, MAN, WHAT THE FUCK!” Wyatt shouts before arms wrap around me, hauling me away from my R1, which isidentical to Nico’s. Our sympathy gift for being fucked like whores.
“LET ME GO!” I growl out, thrashing in Thiago’s arms.
“I will just calm down,please.” There’s so much emotion in his voice that it freezes me in place. “I’m letting you go now,” Thiago informs me. “Be chill. You’re okay. Talk to me.” As always, he talks me through it just like he does anytime he fucks me. Only this time, it's not his cock that’s fucking with my head, but the uncertainty. The eeriness inside me, the dread in my gut, screaming to go to my pops.
“Breathe, Ruas1… Breathe.”
I do.
My lungs inflate with air as my nostrils flare, taking in a gulp of night air. His delicate and large hands cup my face, forcing me to look into his hazel eyes. “Talk to me,” he breathes, and the words escape my lips as much as I fight them not to.
There was no use arguing with him. I needed the asshole, and he had already concluded the same. So I give in and, through gritted teeth, I murmur, “I need to go to Bajo Bay.”
Thiago nods before looking over at Wyatt and motioning to him that everything is okay with a thumbs up and a tense smile. Safra looks back at me, and there’s no mask. No pretense, only the side of him I rarely get to see. The one I hate to acknowledge.
“Okay, get in. I’ll take you,” he responds, and as much as I want to tell him to fuck off, I’m in no condition to think, let alone ride an hour away without killing myself on the way.
What shocks me the most is the reaction I’m having to just fucking assumptions, for all I know, my pops is lying drunk somewhere inside the house, covered in his piss. So why do I care? Why do I feel like I need to go to him?That feeling persists, screaming at me to follow it.What if Pops is really hurt? Worse, dead?If so, why would he call me? Did he call me for help? Only for me to ignore him? The thought has mystomach churning, causing me to heave nothing. I can’t hear anything around me besides the high-pitched ringing in my ears. I’m panicking, spiraling, and I can’t fucking stop it.How fucked is that?Me caring for a man who never gave a flying shit about me.
Still, I let Thiago drag me towards his Benz and slide into the passenger seat without a fuss. The smell of leather and his cologne greets me as he slides into his seat and turns on the car, wasting no time putting the car into drive and hitting the streets.