Page 52 of Aryn

Aryn stares at me like I’ve completely lost my mind. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Dead serious,” I say, grinning. “That cat would’ve had a worse night than I would’ve.”

He stares at me, bewildered, then breaks into a loud, rolling laugh. I’ve never heard him laugh like that before—nothing beyond those soft, controlled chuckles. Seeing him like this, loose and unguarded in a way I didn’t know he could be, makes my stomach tighten.

Thankfully, before he can notice me staring, Taryn comes over to check his wounds. It’s cold as fuck in the cave without a fire, so instead of stripping his shirts off, she simply moves them aside far enough to replace the bandage. Underneath the poultice, his skin looks far more healed than it has any right to be. The jagged bite marks are visible, but they’ve closed up with deep red scabs.

Taryn spreads fresh poultice over the area and wraps a clean bandage in place. “How’s your appetite?” she asks.

Traces of laughter linger on Aryn’s face as he flashes her a wide, almost dorky smile. “I’m ravenous, actually.”

“Good,” she says, sitting back on her heels to examine her work. “Think it’ll be safe to burn a small fire at the entrance? Just enough to boil some oats before we head out?”

Aryn nods, then glances at Ronan, who dips his chin in agreement. My gear is already packed, so I pace around the cave with restless energy. Lillith yells at me to pack her stuff if I’m that desperate to stay busy. I flip her off for the second time this morning but head over anyway, rolling her sleeping bag and securing it to her pack.

Cameron sits against the wall with his arms crossed, looking like grumpiness incarnate. Mornings are the only time he doesn’t have a snarky comment ready, though he scowls when he catches me smirking at him.

Taryn serves breakfast after killing the fire, but I have a better idea than letting the embers go to waste. After I eat, I dig out one of the small lightweight pans from my pack, set it over the coals, and fill it with water from my canteen.

“What are you doing?” Cameron asks.

I dust my hands off and gesture dramatically at the pot before tossing a washcloth into the warming water. “Taking an FPB bath.”

“FP… B?” Cameron repeats, clearly trying to puzzle it out.

I grin as I unzip my jacket. “Face, pits, and balls. Always in that order.”

Lillith chortles as she cleans her bowl. “Hey honey, that’s not a bad idea. Ours would have to be FPUP… face, pits, underboob, and—”

“Do not finish that thought,” Taryn begs.

The rest of us burst out laughing, and soon enough, the others are setting their own pots beside mine, stealing the chance to wash while we have a bit of privacy. Seeing Aryn in better shape this morning has killed some of yesterday’s worry, and the solid sleep has everyone in lighter spirits than we’ve managed in days.

I soak in the easy laughter and banter as I pull the cloth from the steaming water, and as I glance around at the group, it strikes me how comfortable everything feels. My personality usually makes people keep their distance, and I usually let them. Having others edge into my small circle of trust is a strange feeling.

Steam curls around me in a faint cloud while I scrub my face, and I can’t help my low groan. In my line of work, I’m no stranger to getting dirty, but I usually don’t have to wait this long to clean up. I close my eyes for a moment and pretend I’m standing under a real shower instead of in a dingy cave. For a few decadent seconds, my whole body feels warmer.

The frigid air sucks the heat from the cloth far too quickly, so I dunk it back into the water and scrub my face again, paying extra attention to my neck and ears. It’s too cold and nowhere near private enough to strip, so I settle for untucking my shirt and reaching up to wash my armpits. I drag the cloth across my chest and stomach before dunking it.

I turn my back to the others as I undo my pants and take care of business down south. A soft, pleased groan drifts from my right, and I glance over to see Aryn cleaning himself. His pants are undone, exposing a toned strip of his lower abdomen. I can’t look away as his hand moves beneath the fabric of his shirt. My traitorous dick jerks back to full attention, far too interested in the memory of being pressed against his body. His eyes slip closed as he washes his stomach, pants riding low enough on his hips that I catch a glimpse of the thick, deeper red root of his cock.

My cheeks burn as I jerk my gaze away and keep washing, pretending I’m not hard as granite. Too many filthy images flood my head.

Aryn on his knees taking me down his throat.

Aryn on his back while I choke myself on him.

Those perfect fucking lips painted with my cum.

God’s fucking tits, I should’ve jerked off when I had the chance. I’m too pent-up, and it’s making me lose what little sanity I have left.

He lets out another long, satisfied sigh that drags on far too long, and I swear if he does it again, I’m going to be cleaning up an even bigger mess. Water splashes, and he makes one of those gods-forsaken noises that has me wondering exactly what he sounds like when he’s stuffed full of cock.

“Aryn!” I snap.

He jolts, eyes flying wide, as I glare at him over my shoulder. “For fuck’s—what, Cato? You scared the shit out of me!”

“Stop sounding like…” I trail off, flinging the cloth back into the pot and buttoning my pants with extra care to hide my struggle.