“Holy shit,” I whisper, my eyes trained on our combined release smeared all over both of our stomachs and chest, as I try to regain my bearings. “Good thing we’re still in the shower. Fuck, that’s a lot of pent up sexual tension…” I run both my hands up his taut abs, painting it all over his bare chest, massaging it into his pecks. Covering him inus.
He huffs, batting my hands away. Because, of course, he does. I’ve taken it too far, apparently.
Deflecting the feeling of rejection, I chuckle, rinsing myself off first, then stepping out of the spray so he can take a turn. “I’m also very sure I am a big fan of dick. That was… wow. Enlightening.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. That won’t be happening again.”
All the excitement I was just feeling sinks like an anchor tossed into the ocean.
“What? Why not?” I balk incredulously. “And thatwasa big deal. From everything I’ve gathered, you only ever masturbate… until just now. With me. My dick and your dick. That’s fuckin’huge! Well, the step you just took, not your dick. I mean, yes, your dicktoo, but the, um… I’m going to shut up now.”
“Please do,” he mutters, stepping out of the shower, grabbing two towels, and passing one to me.
“Why can’t that happen anymore? Was I—was that? I mean, you enjoyed it… right?”
He sighs, “Yes, Gannett. I fuckin’ enjoyed it. I came, didn’t I?”
I nod. “But if it felt good, why can’t we continue to just—ride the wave?”
His eyes flick up to mine. “Because I know you, and you’re going to make something out of it that there isn’t. You’re a needy shit, Wee-Waters. You say you’ve sworn off relationships, but given how lonely and clingy you used to be down at the bar, I’d say that is complete horseshit. I am not the guy you need to cling to; I am the last person you need to have that hope with.” He sucks in a sharp breath. “I hurt people; I hurt someone you love. I will hurt you too.”
Leaving me stunned by his sharp words, he storms off to his bedroom, and after I’ve found a fresh pair of underwear, I follow him in—wondering if I should just sleep on the couch, instead. He’s already in bed, facing the wall, as close to the edge as he can get, but with the formerly abandoned wall of pillows firmly back in place. That’s a sign I should stay, right? I cautiously slip in, sighing as I do.
After a few long moments of tense silence, both of us unable to sleep, Gordy murmurs, “I’m sorry I said that, Gannett.”
I twist my head, looking at him over my back. He remains facing away from me, his shoulders slumped defeatedly. “It’s okay,” I tell him honestly. I pushed him too far. I’m sure, though his words cut like a hot knife, that it was a knee-jerk reaction.
“It’s not okay. I said it to cut you down, and that’s exactly the same shit Marlin would have done. I’m no different than him.”
I roll over completely, daring to cross the pillow barrier to just be closer to him. He doesn’t attempt to face me, but he does lean back into my chest. I drape my arm around his waist and rest my head on his pillow with him. “You’re so much more different than him, Gordy,” I whisper. “I just wish you’d realize that.” I don’t know what compels me to do so, but I press a small kiss on the nape of his neck, and just continue to hold him while we both drift off.
Chapter Sixteen
Ifeel the press of Gannett’s lips at the nape of my neck, and I feel the weight of his arm draped over my waist, both as real as reality can fucking get. He stayed. He’s comforting me, and yet I can’t take "you’re so much different than him, Gordy"at face value. What the fuck is wrong with me, that I simply cannot believe him?
Christ, I should be marveling that I was able to hold myself together—to get us both off—without having a total breakdown. I was damn near close that entire time, but the panic attack never came. After all this time he and I have spent together, some inner part of my conscience—like a beacon of light, cutting through a fog-laden harbor—told me he was safety.
I should have been blissed out and sated afterwards, but instead I chose to let shame and defensiveness back in. I lashed out at him—the first person to ever touch me with the express purpose of bringing me pleasure and not pain.
He told me "it’s okay" as if it was perfectly acceptable that he let me take my pleasure, to overcome the embarrassment that I felt by letting me take charge, all for me to turn around and snap at him—turning him into a punching bag for me to hurl my verbal insults at. Every part of me wants to trust Brooks, that there’s someone out there who is willing to treat me with the care I deserve, and yet, in the quiet of the aftermath, I can’t seem to believe that either.
I stare blankly at the wall, wondering where the hell this goes from here, until I feel his warm breaths, which are fanning over my upper back, even out. He’s asleep. I carefully roll over to study him. His long lashes flutter lightly, and long breaths flow in and out of his pillowy-looking parted lips. Clearly, my latest barrage of insults had little effect on him getting to sleep, the way it niggles at me, keeping me up.
While my delivery probably could use some fine-tuning, I wasn’t wrong when I said that this man right here wouldn’t be able to stick to a no-strings-attached, we just make each other feel good scenario, despite me now being hyperaware that we could indeed make each other feel very good.
Gannett, for all his perceived flaws, deserves better than someone as broken as me. He should be realizing his own sexuality with someone who isn’t evenhalfas screwed up as I am. He’s going through enough on his own, and doesn’t need to add trying to fix me to his list—that will undo all the hard work he’s put into himself lately.
He has remained sober, despite how much I know he struggles with it from time-to-time. He has been there as much as he can for his girls. He puts whatever free time he does have now either out on the boat, working on himself at the gym, taking up home improvement projects that I’ve been letting go by the wayside around this apartment, and getting some actual goddamn sleep—don’t thinkI didn’t fuckin’ notice that the man barely ever slept before moving in with me. The last thing he needs is a burden like me, anchoring him in place when he should continue moving forward.
Noise in the kitchen prompts me to slip out of bed to see what’s going on. When I peek out, one of the girls has used a stool to climb onto the counter. She’s in her Disney Princess nightgown, standing tip-toed, tongue out, trying to reach a cup on the top shelf. I pad out and ready myself to catch her, in case I startle her when I whisper, “Whatcha up to?”
Sure enough, she gasps and falls backwards. I catch her and gently set her down on the floor. Instead of answering, she bites her lower lip, casting her eyes towards the floor, flushing with nervousness. I’m going to assume this is Tatiana, given the thick layer of glittery eyeshadow she’s adorned with.
“Were you thirsty?” I ask her, and she nods. I grab two cups down from the cupboard, and she tilts her head, curious. “I’ll have a drink with you,” I tell her, then add, “When I was younger, my mom used to find me in the kitchen because I couldn’t sleep well either. We used to have a special drink together, and that always helped me get back to bed a little easier.”
Her eyes go wide and a smile creeps across her face when I pull out the jug of milk and the bottle of chocolate syrup in my fridge. “Do we hafta tell Daddy or Terra?” she whispers. “He’ll make me have water, because that’s what Mumma wants. And Terra would drink it all and steal mine too!”
I shake my head, grinning. “We can keep this to ourselves, then. More for us.”
