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“Come on!” he roared in frustration, and Ilowered my head with a mean laugh. He bucked against my face,forcing himself as deep as my throat allowed, and shouted to theceiling as he erupted. I gulped him down, choking as I did so, andkept going until his cock stopped spurting and his legs stoppedshaking.
Alex leaned his head back, eyes closed,breathing heavy as I sat on my heels and wiped my mouth on myhand.
“Better?” I asked, a little smug. I wasproud of my blow job skills, and he knew that, having been on thereceiving end so many times.
“I feel like I nutted my entire body weight,but yeah.” He laughed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck,why don’t I come down here more often?”
“Because you’re ‘too busy.’” I made the airquotes to go along with my inflection.
He gave me an arched brow. “Not all of usare heirs to massive fortunes. Some of us have to work for aliving.”
“It’s called self-care,” I joked.
“Yeah, about that self-care.” He moved totuck himself away and I swiped my thumb over his leaking tip,bringing the last few drops of cum to my mouth.
“Thanks for the assist.” He zipped up andadjusted, then sat forward with his elbows on his knees. “The guysare worried about you.”
“The guys are worried that my apartment isout of rotation at the moment,” I quipped, then felt like anasshole. Thursday-night circle jerk wasn’t strictly a sex thing.Those guys were my friends, and if they were concerned, it wasn’tbecause they’d lost access to the largest, deepest hot tub inManhattan.
“Come on.” Alex gave me a cut-the-bullshitlook. “You’ve been down here for weeks. Nobody’s seen or heard fromyou—”
“I got in touch and invited you down, didn’tI?” I defended myself.
“Yeah, but you’re still holed up here. Andwhile I appreciate that you’re distracted…” He gestured over hisshoulder with his thumb toward the bedroom. “It feels like you’rerunning away from your life.”
I got to my feet, waving off the hand heoffered for help as I hobbled to my cane. “It was a strategicretreat. But I am coming back.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” There. Got him.
“That so?”
“Is this an interrogation?” I asked.
“It’s an intervention.” He shook his headslowly. “Something bad happened to you. Something hilarious, butsomething bad.”
“I’m glad me being mauled by a grizzly bearamuses you,” I grumbled.
“Bro. Being mauled by a grizzly bear in themiddle of a wedding at a five-star resort in a part of the countrywhere there aren’t even any damn grizzly bears is objectivelyhilarious.” He sighed. “Can I see the scar?”
“I sent pictures to the group text,” Ireminded him.
“Yeah, nasty pictures of tubes coming outand shit. I didn’t want to see that. Let me see how it healed up.”The request was more like an order, but a gentle one. And he wasright; I hadn’t been keeping my friends up to date on myrecovery.
With a sigh, I rolled up my pants leg andstiffly extended my calf. His eyes widened at the extent of thedamage. The dip where muscle had been carved out and couldn’t besalvaged. The twisting purple scars that shined like they were sotight they might burst open. Punch marks from the staples,keyhole-shaped ends of surgical slashes where drains had beenplaced.
“It’s disgusting.” Voicing it to someonealoud, rather than trying to pretend I was fine, sucked less thanI’d expected it to.
“It’s pretty gross,” Alex agreed.
“I’ve been downplaying it with Charlotte,” Iadmitted. “Acting like it doesn’t bother me all that much. And Iknow it shouldn’t. There’s nothing shameful about havinga…disability.”
“You’re struggling to say the word,” Alexpointed out.
“I don’t like self-applying it.” I lookedover my shoulder. I knew Charlotte was occupied by the continuationof her torment-by-denial, and likely wasn’t listening in on ourconversation, but I wasn’t ready to share this particular facet ofmy recovery with her. “And I have this gorgeous woman with so muchenergy and an insatiable sex drive—”
“You’ve met your soulmate, then,” Alexinterrupted.