It feels so good, better than anything I’ve experienced before.
Maybe I don’t want to wake up. Maybe…this is better.
“Peris.”
I gasp.
Chapter Eight
Abel
I pant, face shoved into the fluffy pillow as reality trickles back in, Mo the first thing on my mind when I regain awareness, though the memory of her is painful so I shove it away. Down deep.
The dreams don’t come often anymore, but when they do…fuck, they’re real—and my dick is painfully hard, despite the disgust I feel about it all.
It’s always the same.
I’m so grateful for the moon shining through my drawn curtains. It makes each breath come easier—the reminder I’m here, in this comfy bed, and not wherever my nightmares take me.
A hoarse cry reaches my ears, and I shoot up, the comforter pooling around my hips. It sounds again, louder. More pained.
I walk to my door, trepidation trickling down my spine.
Warm air flowing from the vent a foot away washes over my face as I crack open the door, turning my head nearer to the sound.
It’s coming from Peris’s room—only a foot away from mine.
I hesitate only for a moment before entering his. It’s dark, almost pitch black. It makes my skin crawl with unease, especially when his shouting grows louder. More helpless and panicked.
The red, neon glow of a clock leads the way to his bed, which I crawl into, sliding in beside him. Peris is on the opposite side, lying on his back with his head turned away from me. The blanket has been kicked to the foot of the bed, so I’m able to make out his bare chest, down over his briefs.
I press my palm to his skin, finding it slick with perspiration and hot to the touch. I smear his sweat around, listening to his cries and jumbled words with interest.
A lot of no’s and pleading not to touch him. It hurts. Stop.
Sounds awfully fucking familiar.
I’ve never, not once, said the words aloud. I knew they’d only make it worse, possibly get me killed.
As much as I’ve dreamed about dying, I’ve dreamed of surviving, of getting outmore.
And I’m nothing if not stubborn.
I sit up to trail my fingers, my hands, over Peris’s body, digging deep into his muscles, hoping to ease some of the ache after he wakes.
This is the most truth I’ve ever gotten out of him before. It’s…not what I expected.
Sure, I was right in my assumption about him being closeted, fearful, homophobic. But thewhy?
Apparently, it’s fucking complicated. And Ihatethat he’s making me feel sorry for him. I don’t want to…feel these pesky things. They hinder my judgment. But watching him writhe and moan and plead—all with a rock-hard cock, just like mine…
It’s too real. Too…honest.
I shift onto my knees right next to his waist, hovering above him, his bare, sculpted stomach a foot away. The tips of my fingers skim lightly over his abs. The muscle contracts, sending my touch floating like a surfboard over a wave.
I take in his face, contorted in his restless sleep, deep creases lining his forehead, beads of sweat reflected in the red glow, barely visible, yet somehow luminous. He’s truly a paradox. And the game we’ve been playing for months has been the best time of my life.
For the first time in so long, since I moved into this house, I haven’t had to stress about where to sleep, what to eat, whether I’msafe.
