He fuckingmoaned.
He didn’t try to hide it or apologize for it. He owned it. The sound he made moved around the room like oil in water. Thick and heavy. It slid over me, coating me, spilling down my face and my chest, then down to my groin. It was a strange sound. Exactly the same as the sounds he makes when I fuck him, but different because it sounded like it came from a different place. The sounds he makes when I’m inside him come from his throat or his chest. This one didn’t. It came from lower down. From his core. From something inside him. From his soul.
Jesus.
The sound came from his soul?
Am I fucking kidding?
What the hell is happening to me?
I guess the thing that’s more disconcerting than Luke being different, is the inescapable fact that I’m different too. There’s no getting around it, I’m being weird as fuck. I try to check myself all the time but every day I slip up.
“Jess, can you bring me some OJ when you come out?”
He’s outside in the pool and I wasn’t expecting to hear his voice. It startles me. It makes my heart beat three times in a period of time that strictly only requires two.
See?
Weird, huh?
He’s out of the water by the time I get outside. He has a towel wrapped around his waist and still has water running down his neck from his hair being wet. There are five other loungers free. All of them dry and spacious. None of them have a big, wet, blond beefcake reclining on them. I set his OJ down on the side table next to him and then I squeeze onto the lounger he’s on. I lie on my side and throw an arm and a leg over him, burying my face in his neck as he wraps a cool arm around me.
Like I said, weird as fuck, right?
I find myself sinking into a warm place. A safe place. He runs a big hand through my hair, combing his fingers through it and nuzzling his face against the top of my head. After a while, I can’t tell if I’m feeling cool, or if he’s feeling warm. I can’t tell where I end and he starts. I sigh into his chest and feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into something that makes me feel like my bones are bendy, and nothing can hurt me. It slows my thoughts and makes me feel like all I’ve got to do is stay right here and everything will be okay.
Look, I don’t know what to tell you.
This cuddling shit makes me really, really fucking happy.
“Gould’s coming by.”
“What? When?”
Luke shows me his phone.
Gould: Your place 5 mins.
Gould has been avoiding us since the night at the club. I thought it would bug the shit out of Luke to have someone he cares about being mad at him, but he’s taken it remarkably well. He sent Gould a message the day after we went out and when he didn’t reply, he shrugged and said, “Guess he’ll get in touch when he’s ready.”
Personally, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the Gould-free time. Can’t speak highly enough about it. I’m kind of bummed that he’s back, though I admit I’m microscopically interested in what he’s planning to say to Luke. I hate drama in my own life, always have, but the same can’t be said for other people’s drama.
“Hey shitheads,” says Gould, crossing his arms and arranging his face into a self-satisfied smirk, “how’s it hanging?”
Shitheads?
That’s new. No more Lukey Pookie and getting Luke in a headlock?
Sign me the fuck up.
Luke makes nice with pleasantries and light banter. I hang back and observe. Gould’s smile is a little too bright and looks a little forced at the corners of his eyes. Luke seems genuinely happy to see him. His shoulders are relaxed and there’s no sign of tension written across any of his features.
“What’ve you been doing? Haven’t seen you for a while?” Seems like Gould’s decided to ignore the fact he’s the one who’s been scarce.
I look at Luke with interest. I’m intrigued to know how he’s planning on answering given that pretty much all we’ve done for the last two weeks is bone. Or recover from boning. Or get ready to bone again.
Luke shrugs one shoulder and says, “Eh, you know.”
