Page 87 of His Untoward Hate

Without another word, Sky turned and went straight to the bathroom, needing a cold shower to assuage his mind and cool the tension he could not quite explain. Sky quickly slid his clothes off his body and turned the shower on. He let the cold water soak his nakedness to calm his nerves from the abrupt dilation. Sky stared at the floor and held the wall using both hands for support. He tried to relax his mind as he closed his eyes, but the image of Jude completely naked, which he had only seen for the first time, flashed through his head.

Sky caught his breath. The heat was rising more intimately inside of him again despite the coldness of the water. He looked down at his angry possession between his legs, and it was still really standing so proud. It was as if he had taken five coated tablets of Viagra.

Why can’t I fucking control myself? He mentally cursed. Sky had never felt like this about anyone he hooked up with before. Sky felt like he was going to go crazy. It had been over a week since he had had sex. He fucking needed a release.

Sky’s hand uncontrollably followed his desire as he tried to please himself. The image of Jude completely naked was implanted in his memory as he stroked his stiff member back and forth—imagining Jude on top of him and in every position there was, moaning his name in great pleasure. Sky lifted his head, facing the ceiling. Every moan Jude blurted out in every thrust Sky executed led his hand stroke faster.

A moan inevitably escaped through his mouth when he reached the peak of his orgasm. He was gasping for air when he finally had his release. He caught his breath and stared at the cum spilled onto the floor. It was almost half a glass. Yet the satisfaction was not achieved, which surprised Sky. It was still not enough. Sky felt the need for more. Sky needed to satisfy his needs not only by using his hands. His dick was looking for something.

Sky punched the tiled wall of the bathroom hard enough to reduce his sexual desires lingering through his two heads. He could not lay his hands on him.

He is in your room.

He is completely unguarded.

This is your chance.

The devil in his mind whispered.

He must stop himself. Not now or never. He would not do that to Jude.

The water on the floor was mixed with blood coming from his knuckle. The pain seeping through him was like a bite from an ant. It did not bother him.

Sky stayed in the bathroom for an hour, unsatisfied. He got out of the shower with his pet still fighting hard against the white towel wrapped around his waist. He tried to ignore looking at Jude the moment he had finished dressing himself up, but it was so hard. Sky made sure to wear a fitted brief so he could tame his angry possession, dragging on his own toward someone sleeping on his bed.

Sky was about to go out and do the laundry to distract himself, but he was captivated by him. It was as if Jude was pulling him. Instead, he found himself seated in the chair beside the bed, quietly watching Jude with a close, attentive gaze.

He was such a tease.

It took him far longer than it should have to decide whether he should hold Jude’s hand or not. In the end, Sky gave in completely. He was desperate to hold it.

Why do I worry about you this much?

Why do I care about you so deeply?

This feeling is forbidden, isn’t it?

This isn’t normal at all.

The questions kept echoing inside his head, one after another. Sky gazed at Jude’s sleeping face. He looked peaceful, but the warmth radiating from his body was higher than normal, stirring even more concern within him. Sky gently enclosed Jude’s right hand between both of his own and brought it close to his lips.

“I don’t want an extra room when we can share,” he whispered.

The small lamp, illuminating through the darkness of the room, cast a gentle glow across Jude’s features. No matter how many times he looked at him, Sky could never grow accustomed to his innocent face.

A sharp ache pierced his chest when he noticed a lone tear slipping from the corner of Jude’s eye despite being asleep.

Sky’s expression softened.

Gently, he brushed the tear away with the back of his hand before leaning down to press a tender kiss against Jude’s forehead.

“I don’t know what you have done to me,” he whispered. “But you’ve made me crazy in a way you only could.”

33

The sound of rain, combined with the aroma of familiar food and a bodily scent Jude had grown so accustomed to, stirred him awake. His head felt like it was splitting apart. His throat was even more painful than before. Using his elbows for support, he slowly pushed himself upright. His nose quickly traced the source of the smell, and his guess was right. On the small table beneath the lamp sat a plate of steamed broccoli, an omelet filled with chopped onions, a cucumber salad with sliced tomatoes and grated onions, a full glass of milk, and some medications. Yet despite the growl of his stomach and the fact that he had not eaten for the past over twenty-four hours, Jude had little desire to eat, though he was not even sure if the meal had been prepared for him.

Jude’s body felt incredibly weak. The soreness in his throat, the relentless pounding in his head, and the fever coursing through him made him want nothing more than to lie back down and sleep again. But beyond the physical discomfort, there was something worse. His heart still felt numb. It still felt hollow and empty. Jude could not even bring himself to feel ashamed of everything he had done. He could not feel himself.