Page 27 of Broken
Slowly, as if approaching a scared animal, I step up to one of the sinks and reach for the drawer pull. Inside, my stuff is laid out neatly. Everything is out of the bags and organized, the way it’s been for days.
Asher unpacked my luggage, probably folded my clothes since all I did was throw them in the bag from the hangers, organized my toiletries, and put them away.
Cold fear and shame hit me hard as I realize what I had in my bag. My knife kit. Fuck! I rummage through all the drawers in a frantic search for the black zipper bag. Everything is a mess when I slam the drawers and cabinet doors closed. My heart races as I try to think of where he would put it. It was with my bathroom shit, but what if he thought it was for protection? Where would he put it?
Hurrying to the bedside table, I yank it open and sag in relief when the familiar black canvas bag is there. With a shaking hand, I grab the bag and walk it into the bathroom to shove it into the back of a drawer.
Exhausted, I sit on the bed and flop back onto the plush bedding, dropping my arm over my eyes. I’ve been here for only a few days, but it feels like so much longer.
With that thought, I succumb to the blessed nothingness of sleep.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Asher
Idon’t know what I’m doing, but listening to Eli jack off in the shower was the purest form of torture I have faced. Hearing his whimpers and moans when I couldn’t touch him or even see him? It was too much. I bolted from our room without shoes on because if I didn’t leave in that instant, I was going to fuck him in the shower.
Sweat beads on my forehead as I pace the deck area in front of our villa. There are people walking around, and if I really paid attention to any of them, I would probably recognize some, but that’s not what I’m here for. I need to get my shit together.
Dropping down into a crouch, I grip my head in my hands. I have to work to focus on the air entering and exiting my lungs, slowing the thundering of my heart in my ears, and relaxing the muscles in my shoulders. Being around Eli is both amazing and horrifying. All my good intentions broke him. I did this to him. By trying to protect him, I hurt him so irrevocably I’m not sure he can be healed. Not really. The damage that was done will always haunt him. All I can hope for is that he can learn to put it in the past and find the joy in life again.
How do I fix him if he won’t let me anywhere near him? And rightly so. How can I prove to him that he can trust me again? I’ve tried reaching out, waited with bated breath when I sent every text, but he never said anything. Ever.
That fucking dick pic is the first message I’ve gotten from him in six goddamn years.
Once some of the tension has left me, I stand and pace for a while longer. The slap of my bare feet on the wood planks a constant companion drumming with my heartbeat. I wait until there’s no way he’s still in the shower before I head back inside. My head is finally ready to sleep. Between jet lag and traveling, the hangover and busted knuckles and lip, I’m finally tired.
When I reach our door, I hesitate. If I open this door and he’s naked, I’m going to lose it.
Holding my breath, I open the door, listening for running water or movement. When nothing moves, I push the door open and step in, letting the door close behind me with a soft snick.
The lights are on, and Eli appears to be passed out, sideways, on the bed with his arm over his eyes. His shirt makes me pause. The AC/DC concert tee was mine once upon a time. A lifetime ago. Does he know that?
It’s faded, and the design is cracked and flaking off, the black fabric gray now, but I’m betting it is soft and comfortable. I didn’t pay much attention to his clothes when I was putting them away. On autopilot, I just folded them and put them in the drawers without taking in any details. Except skirts. I noticed the skirts. And the lack of underwear.
The slow rise and fall of his chest is calling to me. I desperately want him wrapped around me and to pass out. I want to be consumed by him.
Flicking off the lights, I carefully shuffle him under the blankets and run my hand over his curls, just once. The soft bouncy hair pulls at memories I can’t think about right now. I’ve used football and being busy to bury the memories instead of processing them. But sometimes they come back out of nowhere and wake me in the dead of night, trembling and panicking. I can’t jump off cliffs into the water anymore, and I struggle to be around if anyone else is doing it.
Eli rolls over, getting comfortable.
“Ash,” he mumbles in his sleep as I make my way to the other side of the bed. “Hold me.”
I freeze, halfway in the bed with one foot still on the floor. The words were so quiet, did I really hear them? Looking over at him, his face is pinched, but his eyes are closed. Laying down, I roll on my side to face him. His hand is between us reaching toward me, so I place my hand on top of it.
His face relaxes at the simple touch and settles back into a deep sleep. In sleep he’s so innocent, there’s no pain or hatred, just my Eli.
With my hand holding his, I close my eyes and fall asleep with my boy next to me.
At some point in the night, Eli wraps himself around me. His face in my neck, arm around my ribs, and leg over my thigh. It’s the best feeling in the world. I pull him harder into me, chest to hip pressed together for the rest of the night.
I wake later in the night or early morning to find my thigh is between Eli’s legs. He’s whimpering as he thrusts against it. He’s hard and his skin is flushed where his shirt has ridden up.
With lust humming in my blood, I slide one hand under his T-shirt, and the other goes to his ass, cupping the muscles and encouraging him to go faster. I need him to come. Fuck, I need to come too. Rolling him onto his back, I push my hips between his thighs and rut against him with my face buried in the crook of his neck. My body wash on his skin intoxicating.Heis intoxicating. Everything about him calls to me, reels me in, and finally being able to take it is like coming home.
“Please,” he whimpers in my ear, clinging to me.
The fabric of his shorts is too thick, I need to feel him, skin to skin. Lifting up to my knees, I rip the shorts down his legs without opening the button, taking whatever underwear he had on with them, then shove mine down to my thighs. When I lower back on top of him, we groan together. His skin just as hot as mine and his hands just as hurried.