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Chapter Thirty-Four

Storm

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I ask Gabriel.

“Absolutely,” he answers with a firm head nod.

Nothing about his tone or body language tells me he’s lying so I take his word. I hit the record button on my phone and pick up the mask from the bed to put it on.

We’d talked about this being reversed so Gabriel would be more comfortable on camera, not having to show his face. He assured me he would be okay taking charge. But when we got back from Kauai, he told me he wanted it to be the other way around. Gabriel said he would wear the mask if I wanted him to, but he prefers me being in charge. I appreciate that he was comfortable enough to tell me that, and also… I love that he’s letting me do this. I would have been fine doing it the other way for the sake of subs and money, but I really like the idea of being the one in charge when it comes to him.

I’ve been in both roles over the years, and never felt like I had a preference. It always depended who I was with, and I guess it’s the same now. I’m with Gabriel, and I love being the dominant one. The one in charge. The teacher.

I lean against the wall and crook a finger at him. He walks over and drops to his knees. I run my hand through his hair, and he nudges his face against it like a dog wanting attention.

“You’re such a good boy,” I tell him, my breath heating the inside of the mask and my voice slightly muffled. “Now take out my cock.”

He undoes my pants, freeing my dick, and looks up at me, begging with his eyes for a taste. He leans in, but I grip his hair to hold him back.

“I didn’t say you could have it yet.”

He pouts, and it’s a good thing I have the mask on or everyone would see me laughing. Though, they’d probably like that. They’re not against a little degradation, and neither am I. I wonder how Gabriel feels about it, though. It’s something we can explore, for sure.

“Ask for it,” I say next.

His eyes narrow slightly. He darts his tongue out to lick his lips, and says, “May I have your cock in my mouth?”

Fuck, he’s so sexy.

“Are you forgetting something?” I ask, quirking a brow even though he can’t see it.

“May I please have your cock in my mouth?”

I loosen my grip on his hair and slide it down his cheek, then to his chin and tilt it up more.

“Yes, baby. You can have my cock now.”

“Thank you,” he says before taking me into his mouth.

I didn’t even have to tell him to say thank you. He knows what’s expected of him and what I want. He really is such a good fucking boy.

My dick has been in a lot of mouths, there’s no denying that, but there is just something about the way he sucks me off that really gets me going. He does a lot of sucking compared to licking and bobbing his head. I had no idea sucking on the tip of my dick for so long would be so damn good. Who knew I’d still be finding things out about myself after so many years of making porn?

When I’m about to come, I tell him so and he replaces his mouth with his hand, allowing me to come on his face and chest—just like we’d discussed. This is a quick video to introduce him to the subs and get him used to doing this on camera. He’s so good at it already. The camera doesn’t seem to affect him at all. Almost like maybe this is so good it makes him forget. Could that be true for him? Am I enough to make him forget his worries?

The orgasm is hard and fast, and I fight to keep my eyes open to watch the beautiful scene below me. Hot white ropes of cum land on his bare chest and face, painting him like a canvas.

“You’re so beautiful covered in my cum.” I run my hand down his chest as I get to my knees and lift the mask, then lean in to suck his cum-covered nipple into my mouth.

“The… video,” he pants, hands gripping the back of my head as I fall on top of him.

“This isn’t for the video,” I say, tearing down his sweatpants and sucking him into my mouth. Of course he’s hard, dripping, aching for me to make him come now.

“I’m addicted to your dick, I think,” I admit, running my lips along his shaft.

“S-same!”

It doesn’t take long for him to come, and I drink down every drop, then make my way up his body, licking up the mess I made moments ago. My body covers his as I move over him, and my dick, still semi-hard, rubs against his erection.

“I love that you stay hard after you come,” I whisper against his cheek, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Can’t help it.”

“Good.” I make my way to his lips, kissing him one more time before getting up. “Go shower. I’m going to edit the video.”

I help him up, then watch as he disappears out of my room. The bathroom door closes, and the shower turns on. I hear the scraping of the shower curtain slide open and then closed again.

I hit the button to stop recording on my phone and send it to my laptop before grabbing it and getting comfortable on my bed. I open the app to edit the video, pull it in, and cut the frames I don’t need. It isn’t a long video, but it’ll be a taste of what’s to come—pun intended, and yes, that will be the caption. I adjust the lighting and increase the volume to make it clearer and easier to hear.

Once it’s done, I save it but don’t upload it. I need to hear from Gabriel one more time that he’s okay with this, even if we did sign a contract for it. When he’s back in my room, I pat the bed and he sits beside me.

“Do you want to watch this?” I ask. He glances at the computer screen.

“Not particularly.”

I huff out a laugh. I’m not surprised by that. What’s harder than being recorded is going back and watching it. It took me a long time to get used to that.

“Okay, then. I haven’t uploaded it. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes,” he answers firmly. “Very sure.”

“Alright, here we go.”

I log into my account, upload the video, and set up the post. It’ll go live tomorrow. Right now, I’m putting up a few teaser photos that I screen-grabbed. Then I send out an email so they all know there is new content coming, and also send an email to the guy who handles my marketing on the website.

I do just about everything myself because I have the time for it. The website takes only a percentage of what I make, and I pay someone to handle marketing for me because I don’t want to deal with that. When I’m done, I close my laptop and glance at Gabriel.

“What now?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Are you nervous?”

“What’s there to be nervous about? These people don’t know me.”

“I don’t know. People usually get nervous before something like this.”

“I’m not usual.”

I laugh again. “Ain’t that the truth?”

He smirks, ducking his head.

“Can I tell you something?” he says carefully, almost unsure.

“Anything.”

I put my hand on his thigh. It’s still warm from the shower.

“When I first agreed to this, it was for the money—because that has been a struggle for me—but also because I was lashing out. I was angry with my parents and my life. Now that we’re here, I don’t care about the money anymore. And I’m not holding onto anger toward my family.”

I think about that for a second, then say, “What are you trying to say?”

He gives a little shrug, shaking his head. “I’m not sure.” He turns to look at me. “Maybe just that I’m enjoying this for what it is and not what it’s for?”

He’s telling me he likes hooking up with me. That he’s doing it for that reason and not just for the money. Gabriel is telling me he’s enjoying this for the sex.

“I love hearing that,” I say honestly.

“Do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He ducks his head again, and a few beats pass before he speaks.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re worried I’ll fall in love with you or something.” He huffs out a laugh, but my mouth goes dry.

I hadn’t thought about that .

I’d considered the feelings I have for him. I’m fond of him. The sex is fun, new. I like exploring and teaching him. He isn’t so bad as a person. When he chills out, he’s fun. But love? This isn’t that. At least, it isn’t supposed to be that. Falling in love with anyone isn’t part of my plan, and having someone fall in love with me only complicates things. I can be fond of someone, sleep with them, then never talk to them again. I’m okay with that. Maybe I should have considered Gabe’s mental state a little more before jumping into this. I thought I had been, and I guess I was, just in a different way. I was too worried about taking advantage of him that I hadn’t considered anything more. Feelings can’t get involved.

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” I say, hoping my voice stays even.

“I think about it too much.”

“Why?” I ask.

I don’t want Gabe to be uncomfortable, and I want him to be able to talk to me about anything. But if he tells me he thinks about us getting married and having kids, I may have to move out. No, I definitely will move out.

“Worried, I guess. All of this is strange for me. Different. Not something I’d considered before. I always thought my life would end up looking like my parents’ and being with you has shown me the possibility that it can be very, very different.”

I nod as I consider what to say and how to say it. I don’t want to say something to make him worry about speaking to me. The last thing I need is for him to keep things from me.

“I can see why you would worry about that, but don’t overthink it. Just do what makes you happy. No offense, Gabe, but fuck your parents. They’re assholes and they don’t treat you right.”

“I know they don’t.” He gives a humorless laugh. “I’ve always known that, but I’ve always accepted it. I thought I was the one who was wrong, and I needed to change to fit the mold they made for me.”

“You don’t. And you shouldn’t change yourself for anyone. Ever . You’re you, and you’ll only ever be truly happy if that’s who you are.”

He turns to me with a smile. “Wise words.”

I chuckle, then get up, putting my laptop on my dresser. “Come make me food. I’m hungry.”

He gets up, following me out of the bedroom.

“I kind of want pizza,” he says.

I stop short, putting my hand on my chest dramatically.

“What? No way!”

He grins. “I know. Crazy, right?”

Gabriel doesn’t like ordering food because he worries about them preparing it, and he isn’t a fan of grease. But if he’s telling me he wants pizza, we’re getting pizza. This opportunity will not get away from me.

Once it’s here, we settle in at the table, because no matter how much I try, he won’t eat in the living room in front of the TV so we can watch something at the same time. I’ve nearly convinced him to put a TV in the kitchen, but we aren’t there yet. My cell rings and when I see it’s the living facility, I answer it.

“Hello?”

“Storm, hi. It’s Heather. We have a bit of an issue. Is there any way you can come down?”

“Is Mom okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine.”

“How soon do you need me there?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Sure, I can be there in about twenty minutes.”

I end the call and put my phone down.

“Everything okay?” Gabriel asks as he wipes his hands with a napkin.

“I don’t know. I have to go see my mom.” I’m already out of the kitchen and heading toward my room.

“Was it the hospital? I can call my friend,” he says, following me upstairs.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll handle it.”

I change quickly and put on my sneakers as Gabe watches me from the doorway.

“Do you want a ride?”

“No, Gabriel. I don’t want a ride.”

I move around my room, grabbing everything I need. What could they want from me? What could be wrong that doesn’t involve mom being sick or hurt? I pay them on time, always , so it can’t be a billing issue.

“Do you want to take my car?” Gabriel asks, and I snap.

“I don’t want to take the fucking car. Can you just give me some space? Fuck.”

I snatch up my wallet just as I remember my cell is downstairs on the dining table. I push past Gabriel, ignoring the hurt look in his eyes, grab my cell, and run the few blocks to my mother, my heart nearly jumping out of my throat.

I’m panting when I push through the doors and find a nurse at the front desk that I don’t know.

“Hi, I’m here to see Heather.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Storm Andrews.”

She picks up the phone, presses a few buttons, then brings it to her ear.

I tap the counter as I look around, glancing down the hall that leads to my mother’s room. I want to run down there just to make sure she’s okay. They said she was, but what could be so important? Maybe she said that so I wouldn’t panic and something actually did happen? Her status has changed or something.

“She’ll be right down, sir.”

I snap out of my thoughts, turning to the receptionist.

“I’m going to check in on my mother.”

I’m already moving down the hall when she calls out, “I need you to sign in, and I’ll need your ID.”

“It’ll be two seconds,” I argue, turning to face her. Hardly anyone asks for my ID anymore. They just fill in the information for me. I’ve been coming here every day for months.

“It’s policy.”

I blink at her, and can see she isn’t going to change her mind. Arguing with her could get me into trouble, and I can’t risk getting kicked out of here—or worse, getting my mother kicked out of here. It would take too long to find her somewhere else to go, and there may not be another place to go. It was hard enough finding this one.

I slap my ID on the table and scribble my name on the sheet, waiting not-so-patiently for her to check my ID and make sure I’m on the list to visit. The second she hands me my ID back, I’m off.

“Sir, you need a name tag!” she calls after me, but I don’t stop this time.

My heart is pounding, my stomach is in knots, and I’m certain I’m going to walk into an empty room. My feet feel like they’re moving through mud, and I can’t get to her fast enough.

Finally, I reach her room. The door is open and I head right in, grateful to see her in the same spot she was last time—in bed, eyes closed. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Storm?” I glance over my shoulder to see Heather. She’s one of the head nurses, and someone I speak to often enough. “Is everything okay? Felicity said you ran down here in a panic.”

I’m assuming Felicity is the girl at the front desk. “Maybe you should tell me.”

Understanding flashes in her eyes, and she waves me over. “Let’s go talk in my office.”

I follow her down the hallway where she unlocks a door, and we head downstairs. All the offices are down in the basement. This keeps the staff separate from the patients. At first, I felt like it was so the staff weren’t bothered by the patients, but I quickly learned it was the other way around. They don’t want to impose on the patients by doing work so close to them. It helps them be more comfortable here.

“Have a seat.” Heather gestures to the oversized chair in front of her desk and I sit, leaning forward with my hands clasped together. Heather takes the rolling chair behind her desk.

She’s in her late forties, light brown hair that’s always pulled back in a bun. Her eyes are a dark blue, hidden behind big wire-framed glasses.

“So what’s going on?” I ask.

“The police were here earlier today to do a wellness check.”

What the hell?

“A wellness check? What for?”

“It seems the mailman reported a build-up of mail at your mother’s home.”

“But I’ve changed all her bills to this address. This way I get them.”

“Did you submit a change of address with the post office?” she questions.

“No?”

She nods, scooting forward. “Whatever she was getting that you missed, it built up, and the mailman reported it, asking for a wellness check. When the police entered the house, they were concerned about the state of it.”

“Yeah, she wasn’t good at cleaning up after herself.” I laugh, relieved that this isn’t a big deal. But Heather doesn’t laugh in response. She doesn’t even smile.

“They spoke to a few neighbors and found their way here,” she adds.

“Okay, so they know the deal. What’s the issue?”

“After looking through the house, they said something about it being a fire hazard and it needing to be cleaned up.”

“What? Why?”

She sighs. “Storm, when was the last time you were at your mother’s house?”

“I don’t know… years?”

She nods again. “The state it’s in… well, it’s not good.”

“What does that mean?”

I haven’t been in my mother’s house since I left when I was eighteen. I lived with her my whole childhood, so I know she’s a bit of a pack rat, but that’s not illegal the last time I checked. I can’t imagine it being any worse than it was when I was a kid.

“They wouldn’t give me details, but they were concerned. I don’t know much more. I didn’t want to hand out your info, but I assured the cops I would have you get in touch with them. I know you don’t legally own your mother’s house, but someone will have to go there and handle it, and since you’re the only family…”

I’m not sure I understand what the issue is here. The cops were told to do a wellness check, and they did. They found my mother, saw the situation, so why are they giving me a hard time about her house? Maybe she piled up boxes in front of an exit? But if no one is living there, who the hell cares? I don’t know, but this isn’t something I want to deal with. Going back to that house isn’t on my list of things to do anytime soon.

“I’ll call them,” I assure her.

Heather opens her drawer and pulls out a business card that she hands me.

“They can give you more info, of course.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Is this all?”

“Yeah, that’s all,” she says, smiling, but it isn’t genuine. It’s almost pity, and I don’t know why. This is good news. I thought I would get here, and she’d tell me my mother was de—I swallow hard, not even able to think about it. “Let me walk you out.”

Heather leads the way to the top of the stairs, standing in the doorway to hold the door open as I pass by.

“Alright, have a good day,” I say awkwardly.

“You too, Storm.”

I walk out of the living facility after saying goodbye to my mother, then I take the long way home.