my sore ribs. It feels nice.
Last time I was here, I tried so hard to forget my body. To pretend it wasn’t really there, and neither was the pain. But this... it’s good. Tears brim in my eyes as my dick stiffens. I love her. I just want to be inside her.
I would ask... I just... can’t.
She’s beside me now, leaned over me. She’s close to... fuck. The line. She can see my central line up close. It’s called a line, but it’s a tube. A little tube that goes into my chest.
She won’t want to touch me anymore. My dick forgets its gladness. I try to be still.
Cleo... steady. Soft. The cloth goes up my arms, my neck, my face. I want to cry. I want to ask her why she’s doing this. There’s... my robe off me. A towel. Then my hair is wet. She’s stroking... I can hear the bubbles by my ears. So nice and cool.
She tucks a towel around my hair, and I look up into her eyes.
Her gaze softens against mine. “Am I doing okay?”
She strokes my forehead.
I inhale slowly through my nose. “Why... are you still here?”
She sits down by me, takes my hand. “Because you’re here.”
“The water was cold.” Did I say that out loud?
Cleo’s breasts press against her shirt. She’s talking. Emory. Her hand is on my shoulder. The hurt one. I don’t know why... I feel my balls draw up.
Dilaudid. God... I’m fucking glowing. My dick’s hard. I need to fuck her. She’s talking... about papers. Signing papers.
She asks, “Is that okay?”
A nurse comes in. I think I get more Dilaudid, because Cleo goes away. I grab my dick. An anchor. It’s the only thing I feel. My hand or her hands... ?
His face is somber and his eyes are shut. I don’t think he’s touching himself the way I think he—oh. The blanket slips off him and I can see his hand definitely stroking his cock.
It sends a bolt of lightning through me.
I watch his chest move up and down. The motion makes his face go tighter, even as he pumps his long, thick shaft. My hands yearn to join in his rebellion. Would he like that? Would he like my help? It might just be a comfort thing. Something he can do to distract from the pain.
The more I watch his fingers curve around his cock, the more I see the strength of his hand moving in its practiced rhythm, the more I watch him pump his perfect cock—the more I understand why he needs this right now.
Heat begins to rise in my chest, gathering in a thick sting. I’m breathing deeply too, but he has no idea. I’m not sure he even knows I’m here. I watch his hand, the thickness of his shaft, the smoothness of that skin. His breaths come longer, louder and his balls draw up. And I can only stand here, feeling need unfurl between my legs.
Can I touch him? He would want it. I think he would.
I climb onto the bed. I trail my hand up his calf, then up his firm, hair-dusted thigh, so he can feel me coming. I hold my breath and stroke his balls. His hips jerk. He moans as I cover his hand with mine.
His eyelids lift. His eyes are glossy, but instead of vacancy, all I see are seas of need.
“Can I... ?” Shit. I can’t even say it.
“Please. I wanna feel... your hand.” His eyes slip shut. I feel his thighs tense as my hand replaces his hand on his cock. I tighten my grip. I try to keep his rhythm.
“Oh God, Kellan.” His legs spread out. His ass lifts off the bed.
I move up and down his thick shaft, pumping his base and gliding all the way up to his swollen head, where I find a bead of slick pre-cum. Kellan’s breaths are hoarse and shallow.
“It feels good?” I whisper.
He groans. I see the mottled bruising underneath his jaw as his head tips back, his blond hair pressed into the pillow.
“Good,” he moans. “It’s good.”
I bring my other hand under the blanket tossed over his thighs, cupping his warm balls. I knead them as I pump him hard and fast, with steady, knowing strokes. He groans. My hand slows, tugging his thick shaft toward me.
“Faster. Pull... harder.” He reaches down toward me, his fingers spread. He banks his hand over his lower abs. The fingers quiver, but he doesn’t touch me.
I pick up the