A continuing story - I would suggest reading the earlier chapters.
*****
Eugh. How can I possibly feel this rough? Sunlight is streaming through the window and I hide my head in the pillow. God, what time is it? I'm suddenly overtaken with nausea and rush to the bathroom, making it just in time. I feel better, though my head is still pounding.
I swallow a couple of headache pills from my bathroom cabinet and decide a shower might help. As I lean against the cool tiled wall letting lukewarm water wash over me I recognize a dull pain in my ass. The memories come flooding back. Shit. I did a very stupid thing.
I stumble back into my bedroom, sincerely wishing, for possibly the first time ever, that I had huge thick curtains to block the sun. I peer at the bed, hoping to find it empty. My luck is not in. Just then he rolls over and opens his light eyes.
"Tom. Why are you still here?"
He grins a lazy grin and reaches an arm up to pull me onto the bed.
"I would have thought that was obvious," he drawls, rolling me onto my stomach, running his strong fingers down my back.
I can't help it, he's like a drug, and I arch my back as he works my muscles.
"Did we...?"
"All night, baby," he answers.
"No, I know that. I mean, did we use a condom?"
I'm ashamed at myself that I was so out of it I can't even remember.
"Of course, sweetie, always careful."
I feel a moment of fury then. Not always careful. Not when we dated and I found out he'd fucked another guy without protection. And then come home to me and carried on as normal. Three months of soul sucking fear every time I got a call from an unknown number. But he pushes me down, scraping his teeth on my shoulder, down my side, making me shiver. He reaches the snarling black dragon head tattooed at the top of my ass.
"This is new," he laps at it, "I like it."
How can I tell him that I got it after he finished with me? Calling me clingy for getting mad about him cheating. Making me feel like less than a man. A lot less. When I vowed I wouldn't let anyone make me feel that way again I got the tattoo to keep the thought at the front of my mind. And yet here he is, in my bed. His handsome Scandinavian face pressed against my body, his hand on my ass, sliding between my cheeks and running a finger across the ridges of my hole.
He's scooped a glob of lube from the pot and is smearing it on me. I can't help it, my body reacts on autopilot, and I lift to encourage him to increase the pressure.
"Aw, my hungry little slut," he purrs as he pushes inside me.
How can any one person have the capacity to make me feel so good and so bad at the same time? He pushes a second finger in. I feel the ache; God I must have been way too drunk to let him pound me that hard.
He's doing his special trick now, featherlight touches in the vicinity of my prostate. It's like internal reiki and leaves me frustratedly gasping for more. He loves to tease me, make me beg. He likes to watch me lift and hump, desperate for release. He's been known to keep this up for more than an hour, leaving me a drooling mess. He's too impatient today though, thank God.
He rolls a condom on and pushes into me. I cry out in pain, at the ache and at his thickness. He puts his hand over my mouth.
"Ssssh, boy, you love this," he growls, biting my ear lobe.
He stays close to me, grinding with his heavy body covering mine.
"You feel so good, boy, you stayed so tight for me."
I don't like being called boy, but he does it anyway. Used to say it was because I was his. I don't think he has ever used my name when we've fucked. It's making me mad that he still thinks he can do that. I try to shift, to push him off, but he's strong and barely seems to notice, his hand still over my mouth.
I can feel myself starting to relax around his shaft, and the ache is moving to the background, being replaced by pleasure. He rolls, still inside me, so I'm on top of him. I press my hands back on his broad shoulders as he pulls my legs back and out, thrusting up into me, hitting my spot over and over again.
I'm moaning now, feeling my orgasm rise, and he lets go of one leg, reaching round to grasp my cock in one huge hand, jerking me hard until I finally twist, bending my back in release.
He likes that, moving to hold me in that arched position as he rams up inside me. The pain is back, and I'm relieved when he cums loudly, rolling me to the side. He flicks the condom off and rolls to go back to sleep. I stumble to the bathroom again. My headache hasn't abated, and I need to get this man, who I love and hate in equal measure, out of my room and out of my house.
After another shower I go downstairs to the kitchen. I need coffee. And sanity. Andy is at the table, working on his laptop.
"You have a good night in the end?" he asks.
I shrug, non-committally. I'm not sure how to address the elephant in my bed. Andy is going to be pissed. He picked up a good amount of the mess that was me after the relationship ended.
"How was Spence?" I ask.
"I'm fine," Spence walks into the kitchen wearing running gear. He is too. Doesn't look even tired.
"You want to come for a run with me?" he asks.
I feel nauseated again.
"Not today," I put my head in my hands.
"Whoa, how much did you drink after we left?" Spence looks surprised.
"Too much," I whine.
Andy looks concerned. I consider how to raise my stupidity.
As if on cue, Tom swaggers into the kitchen, looking like a Viking fresh from battle, tying his thick blond hair into a bun. I rest my head onto my arms, waiting for the fallout.
"Tom," Andy intones, "what are you doing here?"
"Ask Grayson," Tom drawls smugly.
Tom leans down to kiss my forehead and I shift away. My brain is squirming.
That infuriates Andy. He knows, probably better than anyone, the weird hold Tom has over me.
"You know what, get out Tom. You aren't welcome here."
I'm grateful to Andy for standing by me. It gives me the impetus I need to stand up for myself.
"Andy's right, Tom. I want you to go. I don't know how last night happened, but it isn't happening again. Leave."
Tom's face is a picture of fury for a moment, before it relaxes it back into its usual smug countenance. I'm relieved that Jay and James come in then. I see in Tom's eyes that he knows he'd lose a fight, verbal or otherwise, so he leaves, telling me that he'll message later.
"So, seriously Gray, you wanna tell us what that was about? You brought Tom home?!"
Andy spits his name and throws up his hands in despair.
My cheeks are flushed with shame.
"I'm sorry guys. I guess I was feeling... I don't know. He just reminded me..."
"It's okay, Gray, we all have a trigger, sounds like yours is Tom," Spence lays a hand on my shoulder. "It's just clear you can't be trusted on your own," he jokes.
"Too soon," I complain, and stumble back upstairs. I need to sleep the horror off.
I just want to collapse, but my bed is a mess. I strip the covers - I need fresh sheets before I can think about resting. Moving the sheets off the bed releases the scent of Tom; a musky, masculine cologne that he always wears and I used to love.
Right now, it just brings back the feeling of nausea and I run to the bathroom to vomit. I'm so pissed at myself. I never get that drunk. Never lose control. The fact that I would do it on the night Tom is around, Tom who I haven't set eyes on in so many months... So, so stupid.
I turn the shower on as hot as I can take and stand under it, trying to wash this feeling of disgust at myself away with my third shower of the morning. I'm getting flashbacks of Jay and James dancing close, Vic making out with some male model-type - an Abercrombie and Fitch this time.
Of getting a sense of loneliness that, now in the cold light of day, I recognize as unwarranted. Or maybe not, but I do know that if I wasn't so hung up on Spence I could date, find someone who wasn't a big, hulking dickhead who treats me like shit. Instead, I remember Tom approaching me, buying me drinks. Calling me 'boy' and for some reason that sparking memories of us being together instead of thoughts of murder like it should have.
When I dry off I'm overtaken by exhaustion. I pull on loose tracksuit pants and go back into my bedroom. Spence is there, looking a little awkward. He's made my bed and I'm overcome with gratitude for him. I can't say anything. I know I'll cry or otherwise do something stupid. He can tell and I love the fact that he doesn't need me to respond. He approaches me and guides me to the bed, pulling the sheet over me.
"Do you want me to go?" he asks softly.
I shake my head, and he climbs onto the bed, close but not touching. As we lay side by side I feel like my senses are dulled and I don't want to talk about this mess I've gotten myself into, so I ask him about his night instead.
"Yeah, she rang and messaged. I'm ignoring it for now, though. I'm pretty angry. You saw that the guy left with them? Proves it's not just some accidental one-time thing, which is what she's claiming."
"Do you know what you're going to do?" I ask, tentatively.
"Not get back with her, if that's what you're worried about," he laughs.
I can't believe how relaxed he seems about this whole thing.
"I was, a little bit. She just never seems like a nice person. I think any outside person looking in could tell you that you deserve better."
"I feel a little bit guilty," he sees the look on my face, "not enough to forgive her, don't worry. But things have been bad for a long time, and if I was braver I would have finished it years ago. I just kept waiting for her to go back to how she was, and it's taken until now for me to accept that if she ever does, it won't be because of me."
"Andy has said I can stay with you guys until I sort something else out. Well, actually, he just said I can move in, but I'm not sure that's a great idea."
