Page 44 of Hunt Me

He turns back to me and blinks rapidly as he meets my gaze before it falls again to somewhere around the middle of my chest. ‘Deaf?’

I know what he’s asking. I make the sign for profoundly Deaf. ‘Me,’ I add.

‘Born?’

I shake my head. ‘Sick when I was little. I don’t remember hearing.’ Mostly, but it’s complicated, and I don’t really want to get into that right now.

Although I should expect it, there’s a relief in my chest that Archie doesn’t ask anything else or try to apologize or ask me if I’m sad or whether or not I prefer life with my CIs on. Instead, he accepts my answer for what it is, a part of me, just like the CIs are part of me when I choose to hear, and he drags a touch along my shoulder before leaning in to kiss my neck.

‘Shower,’ he signs when he pulls back.

I turn, reluctant to leave his touch but still desperate to wash some of the drying cum out of the crack of my ass.

The shower itself isn’t anything fancy. It’s a glass door with a silver showerhead and a matching knob that turns left to right for cold and hot. I twist it, then stick my hand under the spray and wait for it to warm. When it’s just shy of scalding, Istep under the water and let out a small sigh of pleasure as my muscles immediately start to unknot.

It would be better with Archie in here next to me, but there’s something to be said about the way he’s standing a few feet from the open door, watching. He props his shoulder against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, and I make a little show of arching my back and gently running fingers over my hole as I use soap to wash the evidence of him left behind.

The tension between us is growing—the want. The need. I can feel it like it’s a tangible thing, like static in the air.

And it doesn’t last long. Archie prowls toward me, pushing the door all the way open, and he grabs me almost tight enough to hurt, but not quite. Spinning me around, he presses my hands to the cool tile wall and gives them one hard squeeze as if to say, “Keep them there.” And that is easy enough. His orders are simple, and my body seems to crave obedience when it comes to him.

My eyes close as he tugs my hips closer to him, and then his fingers spread me wide. He must fall to his knees after that because I can feel the warmth of his breath hitting my hole as he stares at me. And before I can beg him to do something—anything—he gets to work. He licks and presses sucking kisses along my rim before his tongue pushes inside of me.

He does it with such focus, like this is his sole purpose in life. Like he was made for bringing me pleasure and nothing else. I’m already worked up, so it doesn’t take long before my dick is throbbing hard and begging for some kind of touch, but Archie doesn’t wait for me to give in and move my hand from the wall.

He wraps his hand around my cock and strokes me in time with the way his tongue thrusts into my ass, and a shout erupts from my mouth as I let go. With hazy eyes, I watch my release swirl down the drain, then turn to find Archie on his knees, water running down his face, his curls tight, soaked ringlets overhis forehead. His lips are red and puffy, his cheeks pink with a flush, and I can tell from the rise and fall of his chest that his breathing is heavy.

I shut the water off and step toward him, and his hands skate up my wet, trembling skin.

My hand drifts into his hair as he presses his forehead to my stomach, breathing deeply.

I’m not really sure what to do next. Every time we’ve done this before, he’s run off. We’ve been in a game of fox and rabbit since we met, and as I push my fingers into his wet hair, I realize I don’t want that this time.

This time, I want to stay.

I want to curl up beside him, as close as he’ll let me be. I want to wake up and see his face and know that this was wanted. That I was wanted. That none of this was a mistake.

I look down again, and this time, he meets my gaze. ‘Bed?’ he mouths.

Something unknots in my chest, and with a breath, I offer him my hands, and he rises to his feet. Reaching behind him, he yanks a terry cloth robe from a hook, wraps it around me, then uses the belt to pull me across the threshold of the bathroom door and back into the room.

My gaze catches on the coffin, a moment of fear prickling up my spine, because what if he wants to sleep in that? But it’s not on offer, it seems. He turns down the bedsheets, then climbs in and pulls me against him. I’m half expecting Archie to roll away from my touch the moment we’re settled, but instead, he octopuses his arms and legs around me, keeping me tight against his chest.

I’m not used to this. It’s been far too long since I’ve fallen asleep in another man’s bed, but once again, it’s a reminder that whatever this is—whatever it’s going to become—in his arms, I’m safe.

And that is the only reason I can close my eyes and let everything else go.

12

DENVER

My body seemsto know it’s morning, even with the tiny windows covered. I wake slowly, my consciousness tugging at me in little fits and bursts until I’m blinking against a dim light coming from the bathroom.

Archie’s still out, one arm tight around my waist, but he doesn’t do more than huff and sigh, then roll over when I wriggle out of his grasp. As much as I want to bask in his arms and maybe lounge around Archie’s basement while exploring his morbid collections, I can’t. Finals are coming up, and while all the students will take full advantage of Dead Week to study for their tests, I have a shitload of videos to grade and prep to do for the end of the year.

I want to get everything done as quickly as I can because for the first time in years, I won’t be teaching summer sessions. I’m taking time for myself finally, and while it was supposed to be about focusing on my show and working on a few new numbers, now I also have Archie.

And, well, whatever this is. I want it to be something, but there’s every chance I’m just some plaything he wants to keep around until he gets bored. The thought makes my stomachache as I stand up and stare at the tattered remnants of the clothes he cut off me.