Page 24 of On the Mountain
There was a light dusting of dark hair on his arms and legs, and where I’d held him too tightly, there were marks on his hips. His cock was soft, crusted dry cum on his glans. It hung over his balls, which sat up higher than mine. Cyrus turned around and got into the shower, his ass perfect, round and tight.
The purple spot on his neck drew my eyes. Had I left teeth prints there? Would he let me do it again? Because I wanted my mark on him.
I watched as Cyrus showered, cleaning his body. There wasn’t a modest bone in his body as he took care of himself as if I wasn’t there studying every move he made. My fingers twitched when he got to his ass, hated that he was wiping away the evidence that I’d been inside him, that some of my cum would be washed away.
I’d never done that before, released inside a person without a condom. Just something else I’d done wrong for Cyrus that felt right to me.
A few minutes later he turned off the water, stepped out, and grabbed the towel to dry himself. My dick was still sticky from what we’d done—my cum and his ass—yet it started to plump again just watching him.
The bottoms hung loose on his hips, my T-shirt large on him too.
Cyrus picked up his shoes and dirty clothes. “What should I do with these?” His voice was so soft, broken, yet in the ways that counted, it was stronger than mine because at least he was using it.
I took them from him, stopping at the washer in the hallway, throwing them in and turning on a load. I placed his shoes beside it.
Talk to him. Tell him something.
But I only directed him to the living room. His plate was still on the counter, with a half-eaten sandwich and untouched vegetables, and I motioned to it, but Cyrus shook his head. My hand wrapped around his arm as I tried to pull him toward the counter. I’d wanted to feed him, but all I’d done was jump on him and rut into him like an animal. He needed to eat.
“I’m not hungry, Crow. You don’t get to tell me when to eat.” He jerked his arm away from me, and despite the frustration raging inside me, I let him.
He walked around the room, looking at my things, before making his way to the bookshelf. He touched each book, running his fingers along the spines, which made me twitch and shift as I reluctantly gave him free rein. I liked to see him in my clothes, though, wanted his scent on them and for mine to seep into his pores so any man that neared him would smell me on Cyrus’s skin.
Finally, he plucked a book from the shelf, took it to the couch, and curled up in the corner as if trying to make himself smaller.
I sat in the chair across from him again, the same one I’d been in the first night Cyrus was in my home, and just watched him as he read.
*
A few hours later, Cyrus looked at me over the top of his book. “I’m hungry,” he said hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to admit it.
Again, I had to bite back a smile, this action that was so unfamiliar to me.
I nodded and went into the kitchen. He didn’t leave the couch, his legs curled up beneath him as I took chicken from the fridge, seasoned it, and put it in a skillet.
“I’m negative…if you’re curious. I’m a bit of a slut, and I’ve fucked a lot of guys.” I couldn’t stop the low snarl that pulled from inside me, but Cyrus didn’t notice or wasn’t acknowledging it. “I was always checked regularly, though. I got checked again when I left rehab, and I haven’t been with anyone since the night that sent me to rehab in the first place. But there were four of them that night. You should know.”
“Don’t,” I spit out, finally finding words again.
He set the book down and headed toward me. “Don’t tell you the truth about me? I’m a whore and a drug addict, Crow.”
He was trying to rile me up, to get a reaction out of me because…because I’d made him feel like a whore. Because I’d used him and then walked away, and all that had done was reinforce the negative feelings he had about himself. “Shut up.”
“It’s true!” he shouted at me.
“Shut. Up!” I slammed my hands down on the counter. My breathing came out in hard, quick puffs, chest rising and falling rapidly. Words chased each other around in my head, making it hard to capture any of them. I wanted to tell him he was strong, that he’d been through a lot and he didn’t hide himself on a mountain. That he didn’t nearly break people’s hands or fight children in foster care. He hadn’t let his mother die for him. I’d watched him when I’d gone to town, saw him return a wallet when a man dropped it outside the coffeehouse, heard him speak to customers in the hardware store. He was kind and bighearted. Brave and… “You brought my food,” was all I said.
“Jesus, with the fucking food,” Cyrus cursed. “I did that because I was curious about you, because I’m actually a little obsessed with you, if I’m being honest. Not because I’m some good guy.”
“And I am?” fell softly and brokenly from my lips. He didn’t know how I’d worshipped Chosen, kept his secrets and put him above my own mother. He didn’t know that I would have blindly followed him anywhere, done anything, hurt anyone because I needed him to be proud of me.
That a part of me had wanted to be Chosen one day too.
My gaze tilted down toward the chicken, and I turned it. “I’ve never fucked without a condom.” My words were coming easier now, if for no other reason than I knew he deserved them. “I’ve never…seen a doctor, but I take tests at home.”
“Are you shitting me? You’ve never in your life seen a doctor?” he asked, and my gaze shot to his in warning. “I’m sorry. That’s just scary.”
“I have kits at home because there’s a man I fuck.”