Already there, my rose.
My balls are tight and churning, and I know there’s no way in hell I can make this last. This is gonna be fast and furious and I am powerless to slow it down. My hand rubs my shaft furiously, pushing me closer and closer to the edge, where I will throw myself off without a second’s hesitation.
My phone buzzes.
I stare at it. It’s a regular call, not a FaceTime. This never happens.
It’s Liaden.
Before I can decide if I should answer or not, she hangs up, and a few seconds later a text comes through.
Liaden: Should have said - I’ll call you so you can hear me come. No response necessary ;)
Holy fuck.
Yes.Yes,please.
She calls again, and I answer before the first buzz ends.
She’s already sighing her pleasure for me, purring down the phone, making me wish I could speak out loud so I could tell her to keep going, coax more out of her with dirty words to encourage her to come for me…
How did I get this lucky?
My own breath comes faster as I fist my cock harder, and I pray she can hear me, because I want her to…
“You sound close,” she breathes. “It’s making me so…” She starts the breathless groans of her own release, gorgeous noises I’m already getting familiar with, and my climax spills over my hand, refusing to be held back a second longer.
I’m almost seeing stars, my head reeling as the fire of her pours through me like lava.
Please, god, let me keep her a little while longer, cos I cannot imagine greater happiness than this.
Dean
I don’t even know where the fuck I am right now.
In order to get me on the plane I was desperate to board to get the hell out of America, I had to take a sedative. Mom wasnothappy about that, but even she could see it was needed. A Dean Meltdown at thirty thousand feet was just unthinkable.
Saying goodbye was hard. I watched my mother fight to hold it together, every maternal instinct in her body rebelling against what she also knew was the right thing for me to do. Every time there was a report of a shooting anywhere in the nation, it would send me spiralling down and refusing to leave my room for days. I couldn’t live like that, even if it meant leaving everything behind.
Almost everything.
Eli took it as a given that he was coming with me. I’m grateful. He’s been a total pillar of strength, keeping me steady, reminding me that I can still live something resembling a life. I think he also needs a change of scenery. His mom, my Aunt Teuila, died six months ago. I’ve tried to be there for him in my way, but I’m not good for much anymore. All I can really do is sit with him and let him talk, uninterrupted, about how much he misses her and how brutal the grief is. Still, whatever is left that I can give, he’s got it, and if that’s all I can do, it’s got to be worth something.
The UK doesn’t have daily shootings. It has family. It has a built in career opportunity. Our cousin, Leo, has agreed to train us up so we can qualify as tattoo artists and work for his new business, and he’s even sourced a couple of affordable neighboring apartments for us to live in. Flats, as he called them. I haven’t been to England since I was a kid. I’ll feel saferthere. It’s exactly what I need right now, a better future using something I’m actually good at, instead of a descent into total madness at home.
So why was it so goddamn difficult to get on that plane?
Still, the drugs worked, I got on, and I was silent and still for the whole flight, no problem to anyone. I didn’t even get up to piss the entire eight hours. My eyes were closed, and I think Eli thought I was asleep. I wasn’t. The slumber the drugs are meant to encourage never arrived.
There was turbulence throughout the flight, some of it pretty bad. Even Eli said ‘whoah’ a couple of times. I just found myself thinking how hilarious it would be to survive a mass shooting and then be taken out in a plane crash. Death still holds a certain appeal for me.
We landed, and we’re walking, and I assume this is Heathrow Airport, but everything is passing me by in a bit of a blur. Eli is having to steer me as I trudge, still bombed from the sedatives. I kind of need the john, but I don’t care enough to actually find one. Nobody’s gonna die if I piss myself. The Queen isn’t going to revoke my visa and order me back on the next plane. So who cares?
I’m just about lucid enough to register the shock on Leo’s face when he sees me. His hair has grown a bit, not quite as long as Eli’s but getting there; and, hardly surprising for a man opening a tattoo parlour, he’s got more ink than the last time we saw him on his twenty-first birthday. He looks like the same old Leo. He looks as healthy and strong as I used to be. He looks just a little bit horrified.
“Jesus,” he breathes, before shaking it off. I can’t blame him. I must look like hell. “I mean…guys, hey, it’s so great to have you here…” He hugs Eli first, and they exchange hushed words I cannot hear and don’t care to. Then I am pulled into an overly jovial, rambunctious Leo embrace. I half expect him to rub myscalp with his knuckles. I barely respond, and he stops. “Well…welcome to England, Deano.” His voice is hushed, almost intimidated. He shakes his head, taking a deep breath, and his shoulders straighten out, like he’s getting into position for a heavy weight being placed on them. “It’s OK,” he says finally. “It’s gonna be OK, I promise…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
