Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Creep nods absentmindedly, but I’m not sure how to proceed with the shower as he’s still just standing in the rising steam like a very handsome cave monster. “Your cum tasted so good,” he whispers, the rasp in his voice like nails gently scraping my nape.
I want him on top of me. Now.
The denial of instant gratification is making me desire him more. I won’t know peace until I get his dick.
“You can have more,” I tell him, and since the water is now hot, I raise the hand holding the showerhead and let water drizzle into my hair. A soft sigh leaves my lips, and I lower my body, sitting cross-legged in the basin. The warm stream tickles my flesh, and I reimagine it as those beautiful, strong hands massaging me all over.
Creep follows me like a mirror, like my evil doppelganger appearing on the night of a full moon. I can’t help but steal another glance at his cock. He’s still hard, still aching for me, and I want to run my tongue over it, feel the cockhead against my palate. Creep’s breathing is uneven, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s still intimidated by the shower, or excited by my proximity.
“I want that.” He nods as I scoot a little closer, until our knees touch, and I pour some water over his thigh, watching the black hair on his legs change direction with the stream. The steam starts filling the small room, and it’s bringing out the scent of our bodies. Is it just my imagination, or are we both leaning forward? I hesitate, wanting to slide my fingers up his leg, to where they can lock around the base of Creep’s cock, but he’s being so cagey about the whole thing, and the last thing I want is to scare him off. So I smile and ask, “I really like your hair. Will you let me wash it for you?”
“You like it?” He looks up as if searching for lies on my face, but then turns around anyway.
I want to give him a playful compliment, say I like longer hair on guys, but I’m stuck staring at his back with my tongue dry. Even in the dull light of the bathroom, the marks he carries are painfully obvious. And brutal. A multitude of long, pink scars, some crisscrossing, some not healed right, go all the way down to his ass.
I’m mortified. I’d put a curse on whoever did this, so that their hands dry up and fall off.
Am I even allowed to ask about these? This might be why he wanted to stay in a T-shirt, but he turned around so casually. As though he’s resigned to his fate and can’t run from it anymore.
I feel cruel, now knowing that the toll I asked for might have been too high. I was being playful, excited to have sex with him and willing to show it. But I also can’t pretend his back hasn’t been cut open as if someone tried to rip his humanity out of him. So I take a deep breath and touch the back of my hand to an old wound that looks particularly nasty. “Someone… who did this to you?” I ask softly, even though I itch to press my chest to all those scars, hoping my touch could make them disappear.
I half expect him to recoil from my touch, but he just sits there like a dog that’s been hit so many times he expects it now and knows it’s inevitable. I’ve already had a soft spot for him because he’s so weird and awkward, but this cruelty painted on his skin evokes such tenderness in me, I don’t know what to do with the emotions suddenly overflowing in my chest. My eyes well up, and I have to take a deep breath to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. The last thing I need is him feeling sorry for me in case he peeks my way.
Creep shrugs. “I… You know, everyone’s had bad shit happen to them.”
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, and my hand moves over the scars in gentle swipes. If I were in a poetic mood, I might have called it a map of his past, or something of that nature, but there’s nothing romantic in such an obvious display of undeserved misfortune.
“Maybe. But it’s still unfair that we have to carry such burdens for the rest of our lives.”
I take a quick gulp of air, and as it fills my lungs, I remember all the bad things that happened to me too. The scary noises at night. Arguments. The fact that booze always proved more important to my parents than their only child… but I carry those wounds inside me. Whatever marked Creep’s back left far deeper grooves in his psyche.