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They’re drawn up and heavy. Full.
His dick twitches, and more saltiness floods my mouth. I drag my tongue on the underside of his cock, and he gasps, his legs trembling.
Then he’s coming with a shout down my throat, and I barely manage to swallow his load and wipe my mouth before he slides down the stall to land on his ass on the floor.
“Hell,” he whispers. “Goddamn.”
And I return to reality, on the bathroom floor, on my knees, with the taste of Jet’s cum in my mouth.
What the hell am I doing? Have I lost it completely? Didn’t I come here to talk with Jet about that damn blog and Candy? Without Candy, why was I kissing Jet, going down on him?
“J?”
I shrug Jet’s arm off me, push to my feet and stagger out of the bathroom, pulling up my pants. Jet is calling my name, but I don’t stop. I stumble into my bedroom, take off my shirt and shrug on a clean Tee, then I grab my jacket, my wallet and my car keys and walk back out.
When I enter the living room, though, Jethro is leaning against the wall, naked, eyes dark and dangerous, and Jesus fuck, my mouth waters at the sight of him and my heart starts pounding harder.
This isn’t normal. This is sick, and I have to stop. Stop looking and touching and thinking about him that way, about the three of us.
There is no “three of us” anymore. Not without Candy.
Fuck, I need to clear my head.
“Where are you going, J?” he asks, his voice low and raspy, and I stop at the door. Lean against it, my hand on the handle, my thoughts a jumble.
“Out.”
He shakes his head, says nothing more, and I glare at him, although I’m not sure how this is his fault, right before I open the door and bolt.
***
The night air is crisp. I zip up my jacket and thrust my hands in my pockets, walking briskly down the street toward my car. My first thought is to run, put my head down against the sharp breeze and race until my lungs give out and my mind falls quiet.
My chest feels too full. My head aches, too much rattling inside. Shame. Anger. Desire. Sadness.
Fear.
I don’t want Jet. It’s not him who turns me on. It’s Candy. He’s just familiar. He’s my friend. I’m comfortable with him.
Everything’s fine.
Then why do the same damn feelings keep churning over and over again, making me feel sick? I reach my car, unlock it and slip inside, fighting the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel.
I think of calling Evie, but decide against it. Not sure what I can tell her. How to explain the problem, or what she can do. Besides, she’ll tell me everything’s fine.
And it’s fucking not.
I start the car and head into traffic, driving aimlessly through the night. The urge to run is still there, but I didn’t think to grab my running shoes when I rushed out of the apartment, so that’s out of the question now.
A thought strikes me. I have an old pair of running shoes at my parents’ apartment. I’ll pass by, say hi, pick the shoes up and then drive somewhere where I can let loose this pressure, this oppressive energy that’s filling me up.
I’m on autopilot as I drive south, turn onto the familiar street and park, telling myself it’s the cold that has my skin feeling so tight over my bones. I lock up, use the keys I still have to enter the building, and jog up the stairs.
Dunno why I’m keeping the keys. Dad, who gave them to me back when I was starting college, never asked for them back, but it’s not like I visit often. My folks and I, we don’t exactly see eye to eye. I mean, they’re okay. They never mistreated me or anything. In fact, they’ve always made it clear they’re proud of me and that they’re there for me, but…
The sound of too loud TV hits me first as I unlock, after ringing the bell a few times for good measure. Baseball. It’s always been either that or the fitness programs Mom watches.
“Hey, Dad.” I step inside, shut the door behind me. It’s so weird, finding myself back here. It’s as if years start falling off me with every step I take, sliding off me like raindrops. By the time I reach dad’s armchair, I’m a kid again, unsure and clumsy.
