Page 83 of Left In The Dark

“For the meantime,” I say, handing him two pills.

He takes them slowly from my hand and swallows them back with his Diet Coke. He’s so grateful for the drink. So grateful for the food. And after I fix him hot chocolate and turn on a movie, he’s grateful when I help him relax more. He touches me after asking permission to, and after exploring as much of me as he can with my clothes on, his underwear tents and I touch him.

“It hurts,” he says, writhing between me and the blanket.

“I know, piglet. I’ll make it better. This is something only I can help with. Not the pain meds or ice packs.”

“Only you,” he says, batting his lashes as he looks back at me.

I run my hand down the center of his chest, stroking his nipples, tugging on his piercing until he’s moaning uncontrollably.

He kicks his feet, metal clashing on metal, and I travel lower, slipping my fingers beneath his underwear and brushing the tips of his soft pubes. He’s soft everywhere. I palm his silky cock, tugging down his underwear until it pops all the way free. I’m going to get too used to this. It’s why I dragged out the bath schedule and washed his body last time without looking at him.

I have to let him go soon. I have to remember that. I can’t forget about the plan. It doesn’t have to be now, though, or next week, or the week after. The only thing I have to worry about now is making him feel better. He hurt himself because of me, and now he’s going to fly high in the fucking clouds because of me while wearing a smile on his face. That grateful smile.

Blake wiggles in the bed, slamming one of his heels down. “I didn’t. I promise, I didn’t.”

I sit up, rubbing my head and adjusting my mask. Sleeping with this thing on hasn’t been easy. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, but he begged me to stay after his first night in the house. He actually only asked me once but the pleading was in his body language. It’s been three days that I’ve fought to keep my distance. It’s what makes being in the same room as him my biggest problem. It’s easier to stay away when I’m in a different room.

“Blake,” I whisper, crawling closer.

“No, no, no.” He shakes his head, thrashing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do it. I’m sorry.”

I lift myself onto my knees, scooting all the way to the bed, and when I swipe my finger over his face, it’s wet with tears. I frown, my stomach knotting.

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re only dreaming.”

His head swishes from side to side and his eyes snap open. “Logan?”

“Who?” I say and quickly turn on my voice changer when I forget it’s off.

“I . . .” He blinks slowly and turns toward me. “T?”

“Yeah. It’s T. You were yelling in your sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I think I was having a nightmare.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like you can help it,” I say as quietly as I can, and he lays a hand on my arm.

“Can you lie in the bed with me?”

I look back at the floor and then at the inviting space next to him. “I think it’s best if I stay down here.”

“Please. I think I’d sleep better if I felt someone lying next to me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Cause I always fall asleep easier when I’m in your arms. Please. I’ll be good, I promise.”

I huff a breath. I feel more relaxed when I hold him too, and that’s the problem. What if I fall into too deep a sleep and he tries something stupid.

I get up onto the bed without another word. I’ve done so many stupid things already, what’s one more. He scoots back against me as I settle on my side in the bed, but I don’t get under the covers, I just wrap my arm over him and the blanket.

“Go to sleep now, piglet.”

He spins around, tracing the edge of my mask and I freeze.

“Can I touch you? I think it’ll help too.”