Page 30 of Inferno
Lifting my head, I allow my gaze to lock with his, needing him to hear and understand what I’m saying. “Just stay away from me, Anders. Please. Just forget we ever met and leave me alone. Please.”
I sound a little too much like I’m begging, but honestly, I am. I can take his rejection once. I can walk away with my head held high…once. But I won’t survive it over and over. I can’t be a toy he picks up, then drops again. So, this needs to end now.
“Henry.”
“No, Anders. Look, I appreciate you making me breakfast, but I really am ready to leave.”
I don’t know what he hears in my voice, but whatever it is, he understands. Sighing, he nods, quickly finishes his food then stands, taking both of our plates and dropping them into the sink with a crash before he shoves his feet into shoes, grabs his keys, and heads to the front door.
Quickly following, I step past him, making sure our bodies never touch as I exit into the cool morning air. At the sound of his car unlocking, I slip into the passenger seat, pull my doorshut, and fasten my seat belt before he can get the idea to do it for me like he did last night. If he touches me right now, I’ll crumble and beg him to keep me, to want me.
When he climbs into the driver’s seat, I see his jaw clench when he glances in my direction, but it’s the only time he looks at me the entire ride down into town. When he slows to a stop outside the garage, I jump out of the car the moment he’s stopped rolling and don’t look back as I dart across the street and into the building.
The rest of the day is a blur that starts with Parker coming in upset and frustrated. When Danny comes into the garage, her mood only gets worse, and honestly, I’m exhausted and more than ready to hide in my tiny, shitty apartment by the time six p.m. rolls around.
Parker and I made plans to meet up in Bozeman to go shopping this weekend, but when she texts me to cancel, I’m relieved. My night with Anders has put me in a tailspin, and I’m not sure I can spend time with Parker without telling her everything that happened.
She’s my friend, and she’s confided so much in me about the drama she’s having with Danny. But I don’t want to add to her load with my own problems, so keeping them to myself and hiding out in my apartment makes so much more sense.
On Saturday, I carry my dirty clothes to the laundromat and make use of the free Wi-Fi to catch up on some TV while I wait for them to wash, then dry. I download a couple of free books, then carry all of my clean laundry home again, wishing I could drive, as the bags seem to get heavier and heavier with each step I take.
I’m exhausted by the time I get home, and instead of cleaning my tiny apartment, I crawl into bed and take a nap. My dreams are filled with memories of Anders touching me, and now that I know what it feels like to be kissed and caressed by him, they’reso much more potent than the fantasies my brain had conjured before.
I wake up rock-hard, my skin once again clammy with sweat. After I strip out of my damp clothes, I climb into the shower, glad that for once there’s actually some hot water. Filling my hands with discounted floral-smelling soap, I lather my legs, fighting to push away the memory of Anders doing this for me when we showered together on Friday night.
Closing my eyes, I stupidly allow my mind to fill with images of his naked body moving beside me, his hard dick brushing against mine as he bathed me. I remember the feeling of his fingers parting my ass cheeks and brushing against my hole. I can practically feel the soap coating every single inch of my skin as he explored my body under the guise of washing me.
I don’t want to think about Anders, but no matter how much I try to forget, I can’t. Those hours I spent with him were perfect…until they weren’t. He was my first kiss, the first person I’ve consented to being naked in front of, and the first man to ever touch me so intimately.
I’ve never felt so excited or so terrified as I was when he first put his hand on my cock. I’ve never felt so wanted as when he told me my cock was his and that I couldn’t touch it without his permission.
Even now, my dick is rock hard and screaming for release, but I don’t seem to be able to convince myself to reach down and take myself in hand, because a part of me feels like I still belong to him, even though I know I never really did.
Keeping my eyes shut, I run my soapy hands over my skin and try not to imagine it’s him touching me. By the time I’m clean, I’ve replayed each moment I spent with Anders over and over in my mind, and my cock is weeping precum, moments away from exploding.
The water belting down on me feels good, and biting my lip, I don’t fight it when my hips start to grind into the feeling. Warm water coats my cock, relentlessly landing on my hardness as my hips buck into the torrent, desperate for more. The sound of his voice fills my head as I remember his words.
“Unless you’re holding it to take a piss or a wash, you don’t touch this cock without my permission. Your pleasure is mine now. I own it. I control it.”
He told me my pleasure was his, but that was then before he rejected me. The rules don’t apply anymore. So why are my hands still hanging loosely at my sides? Why am I air fucking the water instead of working myself with my hand until I come?
But despite his rejection, I don’t want to be in control. I want him to own my pleasure. I want him to be in control of when and where and how hard I come. Admitting that I wish I truly belonged to him, even to myself, is so startling that before I even realize what’s happening, I close my eyes and imagine he’s here. I imagine asking him to let me come, and the moment my fantasy gives me permission, I explode, streaks of cum bursting from the end of my cock and disappearing down the drain.
When my gasping breaths even out, I feel sick. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to think of him that way. I can’t let him become this ultimate fantasy, because the thought of him will torment me when I know that he’ll never be anything more than a dirty dream.
Turning off the water, I roughly rub my skin dry, then strip the sheets from my bed, frustrated that I already have to change them when I only put them on clean this morning. I spend the rest of the weekend pointedly refusing to remember Anders or what happened at his house. We had a moment, but that’s all it was, an aberration that shouldn’t have happened and won’t ever be repeated, and now it’s time to focus on my real life.
EIGHT
ANDERS
The momenthe climbs out of my car and rushes away like he’s being chased by the devil himself, I consider going after him, but I won’t. I’ve hurt him, even if I did it for his own sake. Henry is too soft, too young, too sweet, and far too innocent for me. I’ll break him, and I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be the reason he’s hurting or broken.
But even as I drive away, leaving the garage and my boy in the distance, I doubt my ability to really let him go. I’ve had a taste of his sweetness, of his submission, and I know now that nothing else will ever compare.
Henry is it for me, and I need to decide if I’m prepared to be alone for the rest of my life just to save him from my obsessive love.
I’m grateful to start my shift the following morning. Working has always been a great equalizer for me, and having four days where I have to focus on my job and only my job is exactly what I need.
