Page 46

Every night for weeks, I haven't gotten more than two hours of hazy, nightmare-riddled sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, Valentine's face comes crashing in, then he smiles wickedly.

I wake up shaking, sweating with tears in my eyes before hiding in my pillow so that Dylan doesn't think I've gone crazy.

It is nearly two in the morning now, but the heat presses down on me like a fist as I battle with the withdrawal.

I claw my way back to the surface of consciousness, disoriented and a bit foggy.

My eyes fly open and I stumble out of bed, leaving Dylan sleeping.

I scratch at my forearms. It's impossible to control the tremors that slash through my limbs or the sweat that trickles down my back.

My feet take me to the pottery wheel and I sit down, then look down at the peddle beside my foot. It is covered in old clay stains. I cautiously put my foot onto it, very gently pressing down and the wheel begins to rotate.

I take a piece of clay, I wet my hands in the water and hold the clay in my hands.

I'd taken Dylan's advice and decided to take up a new hobby.

A distraction. And I find comfort in creating art.

Back before, I'd only been able to explore as far as sketching and ink and painting.

Pottery was never on my radar but since the day we moved into this place this old pottery wheel was always tempting me from the spot where it was collecting dust on a desk with the rest neatly stacked art supplies.

I lean over the wheel, fully focused on my task as I attempt to shape the mound of clay in front of me.

l mould it, slowly going up and down, the clay sliding under my hands, slowly forming an indefinable object.

I concentrate completely on it, pressing my thumbs carefully down on the top of the cylinder, surprised at how easily the clay moulds itself, and soon it looks more like a cup.

Suddenly my mind drifts back to my nightmare, and then to the conversation with Dylan from earlier today.

Giving information meant being even more at risk of revenge.

Even if he ends up in jail he can easily give orders to his men.

But what other option did we have? Sit in this hole forever?

Never get out, live life like ghosts? Escape somewhere else with new names?

I wet my hands again and continue to mould the clay but my arms are becoming tense now and I feel cramping in my fingers.

An oppressive and tight feeling comes over my chest, and then there are popping sounds somewhere outside, awfully similar to gunshots.

I turn suddenly, pushing the desk and a cup with various styling tools falls to the floor and breaks.

Carving sticks and knives are scattered on the floor.

I feel the red rise in my cheeks as I bend down to clean up, realizing that if Valentine Black doesn't kill me himself stress surely will.

The clay cup has completely crumbled into chips, which have spread widely. I hear footsteps from behind me.

"You ok? Did you hurt yourself?" Dylan comes through to the room, and his gaze shifts between me and the wheel, worry crossing his face.

"We can't live like this.." I mutter, heading for the sink and scrubbing wet clay off my hands. Even though it's almost three in the morning I know I won't be going back to bed.

"This is not forever," Dylan says coming around the corner.

"You have to go back to work though. See your dad. Live normal life."

Dylan looks at me, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "I will. As soon as you get better."

"And then?" I grumble. My insomnia and depressive episodes are mainly symptoms of my withdrawal but I refused to go on any medication when suggested by a doctor.

I know it takes time to recover and I am being very patient but that doesn't stop a hint of panic from wiggling its way into my mind.

Dylan hesitates for a second, uncertainty creeping in and dissolving his usual air of confidence.

"Come on." Finally, he speaks and makes his way out of the kitchen. "Put some clothes on."

We rarely leave this place so I'm not missing the opportunity even if it's the middle of the night.

I quickly scoop my hoodie and sweatpants off the chair where I left them and follow him down the stairs that lead into the back room of the gallery.

I'm surprised when Dylan doesn't go for the front door, he just turns around the corner and walks with a specific target in mind.

The night is alive with the sounds of downtown Anchorage and the walls of the spacious room are filled with artworks. The soft light from the street is not enough for me to see them clearly but Dylan takes a step closer to the one particular painting.

"What is this?" I ask as we come to a stop in front of the installation that I recognize instantly. That landscape, the frozen lake, the Northern lights, all the memories from that magical night just keep emerging. My throat feels tight. "Oh my god. Dylan?"

I turn around to look at him. "That's my painting. How did you-"

He cuts me off with a toe-curling mind-numbing kiss.

"Noah, sweetheart," he says after he pulls his mouth free of mine.

"You have no idea what you've given me. Even if I could find the words, it would take me until the end of time to make you understand what it meant to me that you decided to stay with me, in my world, in this lonely, cold place and make it feel so incredibly warm.

What I'm trying to say, whatever is happening now, no matter how ugly and uncomfortable and unfair it is to both of us, it's only a very small amount of time compared to the rest of our lives. "

I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. "Are you proposing?" I haven't smiled like this in forever. It's a joke, of course it is, but as soon as those words are out my heart skips several beats. Dylan looks me right in the eye as his grin matches mine.

"Do you want me to?" His voice is teasing.

I begin chewing on my lip, a sure sign I am nervous. "I was thinking... McKenna might be a better fit."

He stills at that.

"They said I might need to change my name. Noah McKenna," I say softly. "What do you think?"

"Are you...fuck, are you actually asking me to..."

"I mean I don't have a ring or anything. But if you meant that thing, about the rest of our lives...Would you want that?" I ask, fumbling over my words. I can't think straight and my heart is hammering against my ribs trying to claw its way out of my chest.

"Noah-" He kisses me hard, and my heart feels like it could burst. "Noah Noah Noah..." His kissing continues while I laugh and then he looks at me with so much emotion. "Noah?"

"Yeah?" I whisper.

"This is me saying yes," he almost snarls as he slams his mouth down on mine and crushes me with a hug. "... to whatever the question is."

"It's me asking you to marry me one day."

Dylan puts his forehead to mine and stares into my eyes, teary-eyed, then he nods. "I mean...Christ, I can't even speak." He chokes out a laugh, clearly overwhelmed with emotion.

"Let's wait until everything settles down and we'll make it official, yeah? I'm getting you a ring."He says as he skims his lips over my pulse point.

I moan and push up against him. Now there's nothing between us.

Only lips on lips and bodies pressed together as close as humanly possible.

I run my fingers through his soft hair and meet him, kiss for kiss.

Our tongues, the way we are clinging to each other, all speak the words of love and complete devotion.

Dylan lifts me up and almost slams me against the wall, right next to the painting. My painting. He has my painting up in the gallery.

"When did you do this?" I mumble into the kiss.

"It was my birthday present to you." He grips my thighs tighter and I'm officially as hard as I'll ever be.

It's safe to say my libido is back to normal.

"I made the frame and asked Ravi to have it on display," he grinds against my erection with his own, making my eyes roll and my moan reverberate through the space.

"And it seems that you like your present. "

"So much, so so much," I whisper. "Touch me."

"Someone can see us here, if they walk past the windows and really pay attention.

" Dylan reasons and the thought of it would excite me if we weren't trying to hide from the whole world right now.

So he lowers me down and leads me backwards into the back room, then up the stairs, shedding my clothes as we go.

He manages to lock the loft door as we fumble past, then into the bedroom, laughing and kissing until we fall into bed.

He spreads my thighs with his own and I raise my hips to meet him.

This is where Dylan fits best; over me, inside me, holding me, taking care of me.

"This is going to be quick," Dylan's grin widens.

He kisses his way back to my mouth and slips his tongue between my lips.

I can't take this anymore, the way his tongue tangles with mine, like he's fucking me, owning me.

Finally I manage to find my way into his jeans.

Dylan's cock springs free, bare beneath the denim.

"Oh God, how can I want you this much? Please tell me you have condoms?"

"No, not here. Fuck."

"Please, please..." I wrap my fingers around his dick, rubbing him with one hand and myself with the other.

I can't seem to find the right rhythm, I shiver from cold and desire, all of a sudden and my ability to focus on anything but the raging need dissipates.

I bury my face into his neck. "I want to. .. I don't..."

"Let me," he reaches for me and wraps his fingers around my erection, taking over the steady pumping. "I want to try something. You're going to like it, promise. Look."

I let out a little squeak when he suddenly rolls us over, pulling me with him as he sits up. He grabs my ass and holds me to him so I am straddling him.

Framed in worn denim, his cock pokes out from the vee of his fly. I watch him grip his base, rolling the foreskin back, exposing the glistening tip of his erection. "Touch me. Play with my head."

My eyes are trained on his gorgeous dick and the two fingers he is using to aim his erect shaft at mine.

The possibilities are endless but I decide to run my index finger along the slit.

He jerks his dick slowly, engulfing my finger with his foreskin.

Instead of rolling it back again, he just lets it stay like that, and I move the tip of my finger slowly, gathering the precum that's leaking, spreading it around on the inside of the extra skin.

"Fuck, yeah... like that," Dylan says hoarsely. He bumps our cock heads together and I realize what he is trying to do all along.

It takes a second for him to line things up correctly, but soon enough Dylan is dragging the foreskin over the head of my cock and a hot thrill rushes through me, tightening my balls and making precum leak from my slit. It's slicking the head of Dylan's cock too. Oh. My. God.

"Oh fuck, that feels incredible," I gasp, tightening my fingers on his biceps, my hips twitching.

He groans in agreement, finding a rhythm that works, jacking his hand over the heads of both our cocks.

Wet sounds fill the room, more and more of our precum mixes and drips from the sleeve of his foreskin.

The spongy head of my cock drags and kisses against his, my breaths coming in shallow pants as he jerks us faster and faster.

There's something about feeling the ridge of my cockhead covered by his silky foreskin with each stroke that has me right on the edge.

"You fit me perfectly. I knew you would.

" The satisfied possessiveness gleaming in his eyes causes my legs to tremble.

Somehow I know he doesn't only mean like this.

He is nuzzling my neck, alternating biting with licking while I watch the most obscene thing in the world.

I fit him as if we are moulded for each other.

"Oh god, I'm so close," I moan, my body trembling and fingers digging into the thick pads of muscle covering his shoulders. My balls are tightening as heat rushes through me. "I'm... Ah shit. Ah... I'm coming!"

The first hard spurt of my cum hitting the head of his cock and oozing out around his foreskin sends Dylan over the edge.

He groans from deep in his chest, and his cum joins mine.

His hand is on autopilot, still jerking us both off, sending droplets of our seed flying, landing on our skin and just about everywhere else.

Our combined release drips from his hand, coating the heads of both our cocks when we finally pull apart.

I grab his wrist, pulling his hand to my mouth so I can lick it clean. My tongue laps at his palm and then around each finger, careful not to miss a drop.

"That was fucking hot," I murmur happily once his hand is clean, slumping forward. My head falls against his shoulder with a smile on my lips.

"Hell yeah, it was," he agrees, tilting his face so he can steal one last kiss, savoring the flavor of our combined cum on his lips. "I'm serious about this. Us. I love you, Noah, and we're going to be free soon," he whispers.

"Love you too," I say as I sink my fingers into his hair.

I've never been a religious man, but I wanted to drop to my knees and thank God that I'd somehow found my way back to this place I'd thought I'd never be again.

Even after all the mistakes I made, and all the misfortune, I'm back in his arms. And I plan to stay here forever.

"My Noah," he says firmly as his gorgeous eyes hold mine.

"Always," I say simply. And it is true. Whether he is my husband, my lover, my boyfriend...doesn't matter. I am and always will be, first and foremost, his.