CHAPTER EIGHT
JONAH
I didn’t havea full-blown breakdown until I got home from the arena. In fact, it didn’t hit me until I was on the couch with a cup of hot tea and Athena nudging my feet with her face. I turned my head and caught a whiff of lingering Brut on my shirt, and then I lost it.
I’d fucked a man.
And not just a man. I’d fucked Alexio Zeki.
I’d had his dick in my hand, and then he’d gotten on his knees and put mine in his mouth, and I came down his throat. And instead of telling him to fuck off, I’d called him a good boy. I’d told him he’d liked being my cock sucker. I listened to his groan when I said it too—and felt the way his cheeks got hot with a wanton blush.
He’d liked it.
And god help me, so had I.
Holy fuck. Holy fuckingfuck.
My hands began to shake before I realized what was happening, and then the warmth in my chest got hotter, spreading through my limbs. My face went numb, and my ears started to ring. For a brief second, I felt like I was dying.
It felt like it would never stop.
I felt like I was leaving my body and I would never come back down.
Then my phone began to ring, and while it didn’t end the panic attack, it muted the feeling long enough for me to grab my phone and listen to the screen reader speak a number I didn’t recognize.
I had to answer. I didn’t have a choice. I was expecting a call from the home health agency because I had interviews with caregivers for my dad. I cleared my throat, then managed a weak “Hello?”
“Jonah Adams?” The voice was soft and feminine.
“Yeah, yes.” The panic began to ease a little, settling into something like a hot coil at the base of my spine. I knew it wasn’t over. I wasn’t done processing the fact that I’d gotten a fucking blowjob in the shower from Alexio Zeki.
That I’d touched his dick and I’d wanted to do it more.
That I’d kind of wanted him to put his mouth on my mouth and let me taste my release on his tongue.
Jesus Christ.
“Sorry, how can I help you?”
“I’m calling to discuss the arrival of your home healthcare nurse tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.”
“Right. Yes.”
“Can you please confirm the address for me?”
It took me a moment to remember my dad’s place. Memorization was a thing trained into me since birth. It was how I functioned. But my brain was weak from all the sex and anger.
“Perfect,” she said. “Kellen will be there, and I will send over the CV beforehand.”
“Can you make that in PDF?” I asked. “I’m blind, and my screen reader tends to freak out with other formats.”
“You’re—oh.” The woman went silent. “Are you able to conduct the interview, or should we send an interpreter?—”
“Oh my god,” I murmured. I didn’t really mean to say that aloud, but the number of times people said that shit to me was absurd. I’d be richer than my PPHL contract made me if I had cash every time someone confused Deaf and blind. “No. I can speak and hear just fine. I’ll see Kellen tomorrow.”
I hung up before I said something I regretted.
Flopping back, I covered my face and fought the urge to scream into my palms. Fuck, what even was my life right now. Not only was I dealing with my dad’s shit, but apparently, I was really into guys. Or, well, into this guy.
