Page 49 of Splintered Hearts

“Oh, yeah, okay.” I don’t want to hang up, but I’m starting to feel tired myself, and I have that whole conversation to hopefully relive in my dreams. “Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“Are you serious about me moving in?”

“Of course.”

“Then . . . can I? Tomorrow?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you’re serious about it. I’d like that.” With a potential job within walking distance, and now a home, things are looking up. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait. Good night, Noah.”

“Night.”

The call ends and I let my phone fall to the couch, not wanting to touch it any more until I wash... everything. I look down at my cock. “You’re such a rascal.” Walking to the sink, I pray Mark doesn’t come out right now and see me Winnie the Poohing it, and after washing my hands, I take a hand towel and clean myself up.

I have no damn words.

Jamie’s moans are now my official favorite sound on earth.

Grabbing my boxers, I inspect them, and luckily they’re cum free.

Mark’s blanket . . . less fortunate.

Grabbing the blanket and impromptu kitchen-turned-cum rag, I stuff them into his washer in the laundry room. “Soap. Soap.” I don’t see any, so I walk back to the kitchen and grab the soap on the counter.

Soap is soap.

When I get back to the washer, I squirt a good amount in before turning it to the blanket setting. Mark will never know a thing.

I was feeling sticky so decided to take a shower, and I feel a million times better, but now I’m wired awake. Coming back into the living room, I freeze, trying to understand what I’m seeing.

Fuck!

I rush over to the washer, where suds are spilling over the top. What the hell! I run to the kitchen, trying to find a towel but not having any luck, then rush back to the mess and begin grabbing armfuls of bubbles. Three more passes and I’m noteven making a dent in the mess. “Goddammit.” Opening the brimming machine, I look inside at the tub filled with water. And soap. So much fucking soap. “How do you turn this fucking thing off?!”

What am I going to do?

Think. Think.

Fortunately, Hunter and Mark don’t have to work tomorrow. Unfortunately, I have to tell someone. The last thing I want to do is pay for a new washing machine.

Ah, fuck, Hunter’s going to kill me.

Mark’s asleep facing away from the door, and Hunter’s lying on his back, not wearing a shirt.Please be wearing pants. I tug Hunter’s arm gently. “Hey,” I whisper. I don’t bother trying to wake Mark, he can sleep through anything.

“Hunter.” I get up onto the bed and shake him, and he stirs a little. “Hey.”

“Not now,” he murmurs. “I’ve had enough.”

Gross.

“Hunter.” Rolling onto his side, Hunter’s arm reaches out and cups my dick, and when I swat his hand away, his eyes slowly blink open. “Hey.”

“What the fuck?” Sitting up, he grabs the blanket, putting it over his own dick. “What are you doing?”