Page 26

Chapter 26

You Broke My Dick!

Gabe

Being trusted with Wade’s soul feels like winning a gold medal.

After months of feeding me slivers of himself, witnessing the overlays peel away to reveal a gorgeous, well-crafted mosaic— instead of the no-brainer four-piece puzzle I assumed —is a marvel.

The rest of cuffing season allows for a routine as we bounce from city to city between short stints in Ottawa. We pay for room damages in Denver, Minneapolis, and Edmonton, defile hotel washrooms in Tampa Bay, Buffalo, and Raleigh, and ruin bedsheets in Pittsburgh, Dallas, and Newark. We sneak off to shows and make out in the theaters of Chicago, New York, and Nashville.

I thought I didn’t miss any sort of commitment— it hadn’t served me in the past —and convinced myself that Wade and I were better off defining our relationship on our terms without being stuffed into a suffocating box by societal norms.

But today, as I’m frosting succulents onto cupcakes for Indi’s garden-themed baby shower, doubt fuels my unease.

Kurt Vaughn and I were together for seven years. We prepared for years — or maybe it was only me —for a life together, and it imploded so easily.

While Wade is the opposite of him in the most important ways, it’s only been six months, and two of those were spent hating his guts. I’d handed over my broken pieces, but what if it isn’t enough? What’s stopping him from waking up one day and saying fuck it and never talking to me again?

Being my fiancé didn’t deter Kurt from cheating. How would being my not-boyfriend convince him to stick around?

With that thought and a heavy sigh, I finish piping a Mexican snowball, admiring how the rosette pattern turned out, proud of the bluish sage color miraculously created by mixing blue and green spirulina into a cream cheese icing. A new text message from my father interrupts the complicated train of thought.

Dad

There is a landscaping company at the nursery?

Finally.

The cupcake joins some hen-and-chicks, mini aloe vera, pinwheels, mother-of-pearls, and a couple of Burro’s tails on the other end of the counter before I wash and dry my hands to reply. More messages appear.

Dad

Sorry the question mark was supposed to be !

Dad

And a contractor measuring the driveway

Me

Very nice.

Dad

You shouldn’t have, bala

Me

I didn’t!

Dad

But they have a list of issues to correct specific to Terra Bella

He sends a picture of a printout from a place called GreenLeaf, showing an itemized five-year estimate of field care and greenhouse maintenance but without prices. Biweekly mowing and edging services, seasonal weeding, fertilization, and aeration. Replace current clear greenhouse cover with infrared thermal film. New hay bales.

Another printed estimate from Star Paving shows the steps, labor, and materials needed to convert the gravel parking lot and driveway to asphalt.

Dad

They’re adamant about completing their projects

Dad

Saying they already got paid a deposit

I narrow my eyes into the air, doing mental gymnastics while guessing the cost. Who cares about the nursery and could afford to?—

Wade bursts through my front door. The answer strikes like lightning.

“Honey, I’m hooooome !”

He loses his coat and sends a suitcase rolling across my condo like a bowling ball. When it bounces off the casing of the bedroom door, he hisses. “ Oooh . So close!”

There’s no point stifling my smile when Pretty Boy jogs over in a Regents hoodie, face dimpling. He squeezes me in a side hug before flooding my face and neck with plucky kisses. “Missed you, Freckles.”

A laugh bubbles from my throat at the tickle. “We saw each other yesterday.”

“That’s too long,” he whines. “Tell me you missed me, too.” My low ponytail earns a few tender strokes from his fingers, molten eyes panning across me in awe, searching for validation. I give it to him.

“Yeah, I missed you.”

Wade releases an extended breath from his nose. “I can’t wait for this season to end.”

Somersaults roil in my stomach. “Is that so?”

He confirms with a hum. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t wanna hang out with you every moment instead.”

“Please. You’d be bored watching me do stuff like this” —I motion around the kitchen, to the bowls of batter and frosting, the strewn-about muffin pans, cupcake liners, icing bags and piping tips— “all day.”

“Sounds perfect.” One final kiss is placed at my temple as he lets go, then swipes a botched Pacific opal from the countertop. He settles into a barstool facing me.

“Speaking of perfect,” I remind myself. “Did you hire someone to fix up my dad’s nursery?”

He freezes mid-chew, guilty as the day is long. An audible swallow follows. “Yes.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.” His shoulders shrug. “I know your dad means everything to you,” he adds between bites, “If he’s happy, you’re happy. And that’s all I care about.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.

My doubt about his commitment dissipates to wonder and hope.

“This is delicious, by the way.” It’s an off-the-cuff statement as if he didn’t simply admit he only cares about my happiness. “Would you ever bake professionally? ‘Cause you’d crush it.”

I shake away the surge of emotions. “Nah. I enjoy baking— don’t get me wrong —but it’s a creative outlet. Figuring out new flavor combos, baking a batch from scratch, and learning new decorating techniques. It’s a stress reliever. But on a small scale. Mass production stresses me out. I would not be having a fun time if I had to churn out dozens of cupcakes every morning, in exactly the right amounts that would ensure profits.”

“Understandable,” he agrees, sucking a daub of frosting from his thumb. “I’m still waiting on this supposed life-changing grilled cheese of yours.”

“As soon as I’m done making these…” I point to the two dozen unfrosted cupcakes cooling on a rack. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

His expression lifts, gaze dropping from my face to my flour-smattered apron and back up again.

“You look good behind that counter.”

I lift a coy shoulder and accept the compliment. “Thank you.”

Wade reclines and stretches, the hoodie lifting enough to show off the deep arches forming a v and flanking his abs. Drool collects in my mouth. I chew on my lower lip as he props an arm on the back of the barstool, running his eyes over me again. “You’d look even better bent over it.”

He’s right.

I look pretty damn good with him pounding into me from the back, hands crushing the cupcakes that didn’t meet the quality standards, nipples smothered with the pale green and pink icing. Wade looks even better, panting and groaning, the sinews of his neck taut with restraint. Veins bulge atop his hand wrapping my throat, handsome face heavy with lust.

The phone screen fogs with my humid breaths. It’s not recording, but I wish it was. Could’ve used it for cold, lonely nights.

My eyes bolt shut when he slams his hips against my ass, sliding in and out of my wet pussy at a pace that has my thighs burning from holding steady. I cry out a pitchy laugh.

“Give it to me,” he orders, tilting my hips until whimpers dribble from my mouth. The angle is delicious, jarring. “Give me what’s mine.”

“Fuck me right, and I will,” I throw over my shoulder.

Wade growls, circling his wrist with my ponytail and yanking hard . My head tosses, and my back arches, tight like a bowstring, as he fucks me harder and faster. “Like this?”

“Yes.” I see-saw at the edge of a cliff, ready to be thrown off. “Yes, yes, yes .”

When his movements go sloppy, I’m afraid I’ll lose momentum, but one mild squeeze around my windpipe and I’m gone. I clamp down, pelvic walls nearly cramping as my cursing turns to nonsense. He finds a rhythm once more, pushing in to stretch and fill me so deeply that cartoonish stars mar my vision. My jaw locks open, and a barbaric noise accompanies the peaking orgasm. As a flash of light blinds me, Wade stuffs part of a cupcake into my mouth, muting my screams. He bottoms out with an inhuman bellow.

His grasp on my neck remains as the moist crumb of the cake and icing sticks to my swallow.

“Goddamn, Boehner.” The counter cools my overheated skin as his cock twitches and softens inside me. “A heads up about choking me with the cupcake would have been nice.”

As if that stunt wasn’t unhinged enough, this man pulls out, rips off the used condom, and dips two fingers into it before lobbing it into the sink. His cum paints my parted lips. “Suck.”

I lap it up, humming through the aftershocks and the pleasant mix of his salty release and the sweet, tart frosting. Wade tremors as I leave his fingers clean.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he huffs. His tight slap against my right ass cheek makes it jiggle before he pulls my gray sweats over my hips. “Being a top is tiring.”

Wade spins me to face him, swaying into a tongued kiss before he bends to pull down the front panel of my apron, exposing pebbled nipples through my white shirt. “I’d much rather be on my knees, mouthing your glorious rack.” He wets one, licking and nipping until my core throbs, and I’m fisting his hair and tearing him away.

I snap when he mewls. “Get in the bedroom.”

Clambering to his feet while abandoning his sweatpants, he runs there with a goofy gait, zipping open his luggage and rooting around, naked except for a T-shirt like Winnie the Pooh. “We need more condoms.”

“What’re you using this for?” The sleek handle of the HyperVolt massage gun removed from the bag feels heavy in my palm.

“It’s nothing.” Wade swats his hand in the air. “My thigh was tight after yesterday’s game, and the PT made me pack it.”

“ Hmm .” My imagination runs wild. “Want me to use it?”

His eyes sparkle.

The devilish smile splitting my face almost hurts. “I have an idea.”

“Wade, come on.” The man cannot be appeased.

“No!” He stomps away, hiding his flaccid dick and rosy asshole, respectively, with each hand. Upon reaching the washroom, his foot smacks the door shut.

I trail after him, tapping against the wooden door to be let in. “Wade?”

“Go away!”

I ignore him. The handle turns under my touch. “Listen, it’s totally natural?—”

“Natural?” he yells from his seat on the toilet, skin streaked in an angry red. “No one is supposed to come like Old Faithful more than once, Gabe, much less six times!” He tosses his penis in a hand, as if trying to revive it and mourning its inability to respond. “It’s not natural. You broke my dick!”

“It’s not broken,” I coo, attempting comfort with long sweeps of my hand across the bulky rounds of his shoulders. “I meant having that response to your prostate massaged was natural, you big baby. And I’m sorry.” My lips find his sweaty brow. “I didn’t know you could come that hard so many times.”

He sniffles. “I didn’t either! My balls are empty. Empty ! I may never come again.” His head totters in dismay. “Oh, God. No more orgasms.” His gasping sobs echo off the tile. “I might never have kids.” He continues wailing, covering his eyes. “Goodbye, fatherhood!”

“Okay, that’s a little?—”

Fat tears stream down his raging cheeks as he accuses me with a pointed finger. “I would have made a great dad! You said so!”

I won’t say I like seeing him cry, but I kinda do. Makes him more human and less like a young sex god who’s bewitched my mind, heart, and cunt.

“Oh, sweet boy. Breathe .” I make room for myself in his lap, draping his arms around my torso as I clutch him to my chest. We rock to and fro. I pepper kisses at his hairline, kneading into the tense muscles at the base of his skull with my fingers and thumb.

He calms. I purse my lips, pleading for a peck. “Do you forgive me?”

Wade nods and hungrily returns a kiss.

“Come on, I know what will make you feel better.”

And then I make him a grilled cheese.