He stands in one quick movement and deftly carries me to the bed. When he tries to pull away, I reach out to grab on to him, hysterical and unwilling to let him go. All of the emotions are too much, I don’t know what to do with them. Where do all the emotions go when I can’t burn them away? Dante shushes me, but climbs into the bed. I cry for I don’t know how long, until my head is pounding and I feel like all the bad thoughts bled out of me to leave me renewed. Dante’s hand glides gently up and down my back in a soothing motion that renders me even more lightheaded than the crying did.
“Reid… tell me your color.”
“Green,” I whisper.
“You did so good… you waited for me like a good boy.” Dante dips down so that our gazes lock and he smiles, that real smile that feels like it's only mine. He gently wipes tears from my cheek with the edge of the pillowcase. “You’re so perfect when you let yourself be. So good. I’m so proud of you for doing what I said. Okay?”
I nod quickly, feeling like I might cry again. Dante leans down to kiss me sweetly, almost a promise, but not a vow. When he pulls away, he spends the next few moments carefully undressing me. I close my eyes under his tender ministrations. He rolls away for a second to return with a bottle of sports drink in his hand and a chocolate bar. Once he’s manhandled me between his spread legs, he feeds me bits of chocolate and sips of the grape-flavored drink. I hum softly between each bite and swallow until the chocolate is gone and the drink is half empty.
Dante keeps me between his legs, back pressed againsthis chest. His hands skim over my chest, to my scarred stomach, my arms, then my thighs. I feel floaty and tired, like the world would disappear if I blinked too hard. I wouldn’t mind as long as I was in the safe net of Dante’s arms.
“It’s going to be okay,” Dante promises.
For the first time in a long time, I agree.
Everything hurtswhen I blink my eyes open the next morning. Inside I feel like a marshmallow that spent too long on the fire and outside I feel like I ran three marathons back-to-back.
“Ugh,” I groan while stretching out my limbs.
“Careful,” Dante murmurs while gently resting his hand over my stomach. “Do you want some coffee? Breakfast?”
I hum and roll over to shelter myself in his arms. A grin inches its way over my lips when his arms immediately circle around me. This is safety.
“Scrambled eggs with sourdough toast, apricot jam, and lots of cheese in the eggs, please. And coffee.”
Dante chuckles. He presses a kiss against my forehead before silently leaving the bedroom to scrounge up something as close to my request as he can find. I fall back asleep while waiting, only rousing when Dante’s weight tugs his side of the bed down. Squinting up at him, he smiles and wiggles a mug of coffee in front of my face. That does the trick.
I sit up and gratefully take the coffee. The sweet nectar of the gods almost burns my tongue, but I don’t care at this point. Dante removes the mug from my hands after a few decadent sips, only to slowly start feeding me the eggs. Jacob must’ve made them because they’re fluffy, with just the rightamount of cheese. The toast is already perfectly smeared with butter and apricot jam as if Dante had it all lying in wait before I even said a word.
“You’re good at this,” I mumble around a mouthful of food.
Dante raises one eyebrow. “At what?”
“Taking care of me after…” I do an odd hand motion that I hope he’ll understand. Dante’s eyes sparkle and his lips curve up in a half-smile. “You know.”
“I’ve never been like this with someone before… you bring it out in me. We’re both learning new things.”
“Don’t learn too much and then think the grass is greener somewhere else.”
Dante frowns. “You’re the only grass I want.”
“Oh?” I ask as he feeds me another bite of eggs.
He blushes slightly and avoids my eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Okay.”
We finish breakfast, then take a long, very sweet shower. Dante pointedly ignores my hard cock and his own, and I wonder if that’s a sort of lingering punishment that I should start to expect after he’s taught me a lesson. Dressed in a pair of my own sweats and one of Dante’s faded band tees, I descend the stairs to face the choir.
All the boys are in the kitchen. Jacob’s washing dishes at the sink, while Parker reads at the table with a piece of toast between his fingers, and Hayden is typing away at his laptop with a very angry sort of look on his beautiful face.
Dante clears his throat so that they all look up, then glances at me. Oh. Right.
“I am… sorry… about yesterday,” I say through gritted teeth.
Parker lifts one bushy eyebrow. “Sorry for what?”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
