Page 32 of Butterfly
Yeah, he’s not wrong. I considered it, but I haven’t thought much about locking him out of my apartment since the night he ditched me after the game. I’ve been hoping, I guess, that he’d be drawn to my place again, like a moth to the flame. Shiloh keeps running and disappearing, but he seems to always gravitate back toward me, and that is intriguing.
Shit, even the freezing winter can’t keep him away, apparently. It’s damn cold out there, and though he’s naked now, I can’t imagine he’s bought himself proper winter clothing yet. Shiloh shivers where he stands, like his body is agreeing with my thoughts, and I reach for him, pulling him closer to the water spraying from above. Shiloh comes willingly, teeth chattering and skin chilled to the touch beneath my warm hands.
“You’re fucking frozen.”
“It’s cold out there,” he mumbles, stepping closer to my body.
I step back, pulling him forward so the water lands directly on him. Again, he comes willingly, moving close to my body but not so close that I don’t get a good look at the wild amount of tattoos he has all over his skin. There are roses and skulls, tiny stars and smudged blotches that appear to resemble spilled ink and sweeping paint strokes, every single one laid into his flesh inblacks, grays, and deep reds, including the one that catches my eye.
A butterfly on his hip bone, placed toward the front of his body. There’s something off about the skin there, though, something beneath the butterfly that’s peeking out just beyond the edges of its wings. I can’t quite figure it out before Shiloh clears his throat, drawing my attention back to his pale, sunken face and his big gray eyes. My cheeks burn a bit under his scrutiny, like I’ve been caught staring at something I shouldn’t, but I was only looking at the artwork.
Absolutely not the perfectly proportioned, half-hard cock bobbing between his legs.
Okay, maybe I glanced that way as well, but the butterfly artwork was what captured me the most. I’m about to ask about his tattoos, and the skin hidden beneath the butterfly, when he shivers again. Abandoning all questions for the moment, I pull him closer to me, wrapping myself around him and drawing him into my heat. He exhales a surprised breath, but lets me hold him beneath the water, sighing softly as it hits his chilled skin.
“You need a winter coat,” I comment, his body an ice cube against mine. He hums softly, pressing his cheek against my chest, and I pretend he’s agreeing with me even though he’s probably not. I don’t know much, but I know he’s as stubborn as a mule. I’ll have to give him one of my fleeces or something. Maybe I’ll leave it unattended on the couch so he can steal it when he leaves. He seems to like stealing my stuff.
Shiloh sighs again, leaning back and tilting his head upward. I loosen my hold on him, even though I don’t want to, and quickly turn us around so the water is hitting his cold back. He makes a small surprised sound as I manhandle him, but relaxes again once the water touches his skin. Shiloh tilts his head back and lets the water cascade over his face and trickle down his chest as I keep my hands on his hips, holding him as best I canbecause I can’t seem to stop touching him. As his hair soaks through, though, it falls away from his neck, and alarm runs through me as red marks appear. The start of bruises, I realize, in a horrid yet familiar pattern.
“Shiloh, what happened?” I ask, lifting my hand to touch the red on his neck. He moves to smack my hand away, but I don’t let him. Instead, I swallow hard, reaching up and aligning my fingers with each of the marks. Dread pools in me as his eyes meet mine, widening for a split second as my hand closes gently on his throat. With that confirmed, I move my hand away and instead place it on his cheek, stroking his sharp cheekbone with my thumb. Touching him as he’s meant to be touched. “Who did this?”
“Nobody.”
Not good enough. I bristle at the dismissal of my question and try again. “Someone put their hands on you. Who?”
“It was nobody important,” he says, making a small amendment. I make a noise of protest, but his hands fly up to cup my cheeks, and I stop my grumbling as he stares hard into my eyes. “It was nobody. I handled it, okay?”
“You handled it.”
“You don’t think I can handle myself?” he asks, quirking an odd sort of smile at me.
I hesitate, not because I don’t think he’s capable, but he’s so… small. Which is a shitty thing to think and I know it. I’ve had my shit rocked on the ice by guys smaller than me before, and I know better than to discount someone Shiloh’s size. I recall the night we met and nod, because yeah, he probably can take care of himself out there in the world. “What’d you do? Scare him off with your knife?”
A small laugh escapes from his lips and he tilts his head to the side slightly. “Something like that.”
I frown, but nod anyway. I still don’t like that he had to defend himself, and those marks are probably going to bruise up. That means he was grabbed hard, and I hate that someone touched him that way. I move my hand and gently touch the fingerprints again, wishing I could wash them off here in the shower even though that’s probably the stupidest shit I’ve thought all night. Still, I can’t keep myself from wanting to take them away somehow. He might not let me, but fuck do I ever want to try. Shiloh’s hands leave my face, and I follow them down far enough to replace my fingertips with my lips against the marks on his throat.
“Donovan,” he murmurs, as I cover up someone else’s carelessness with my affection.
Shiloh breathes hard as I sneak my hand around the back of his head, tangling my fingers in his curls while I press my kisses to his neck, pausing to deliver a short suck to his skin every so often. Now that he’s here, naked in the shower with me, I can’t seem to help myself. I want to touch every inch of him, imprint myself on his skin so deep that when he runs away again he takes me with him.
“Trying to replace the bruises with hickeys?” he asks, his voice shaky.
I grunt in response, then move my lips from his neck to his cheeks, kissing a trail toward his lips until I capture them with mine. He jerks slightly as we meet, but recovers quickly, placing his hands on my hips and pulling himself as close as he can to my body. I kiss him breathless, then keep going because he’s letting me.
His soft sighs fall from his chest as I snake my tongue into his mouth, his tongue moving to meet mine. I’m rapidly growing hard with him pressed against me, the taste of him in my mouth, and it doesn’t help that his hips have started moving slightly, hiscock rubbing against my shower-slicked flesh. I’ve gotten away with so much already tonight, but I can’t help but want more.
More skin.
More touch.
More Shiloh.
I trail my hand up his thigh and he shivers, though I know this time it isn’t because of the cold. He’s as hard as I am, and I can feel his want in the way he’s kissing me back like he needs it more than air. Shiloh’s hand lands on mine and I hesitate, stopping my touch just shy of his hip bone. For a tiny moment, I brace myself for his refusal, anticipating him brushing me away, but instead he grabs my fingers and pulls my hand to his hard cock. He curls my fingers around his length and then lets go of me entirely, clearly giving me permission to do whatever I want. I grin against his lips and break the kiss as I tighten my fist around him, watching his eyes nearly roll backward when I give his cock a single stroke.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, his head dropping forward slightly.
“You asked for it,” I say back, running my thumb across the head of his cock.
