I want to touch him—somewhere—so bad that I almost do. Never touching him again, never feeling his hands in my hair…it makes my throat close off like I can't breathe.
But I can.
It's okay.
This shouldn't be happening to him.
He still has his good life.
What if it's a brain tumor or something?
He had childhood epilepsy, dumb shit.
It's not because I care about Mills. I'm reacting this way due to my own shit. Miller’s just a...vehicle. I like to hate him, and now I can't, so that's annoying.
It was a lapse. That's what I said, because I meant it. Fooling around with him was nothing other than a lapse in judgment. Because he's like a fucking alien to me.
Hurting him was always at the core of what I hoped to do. Make him beg and watch him writhe. I wanted power. Just until I finally get some peace.
Seven
Josh
I wake up to Ezra. I’m looking up at him from below his sharp jaw and thick throat…even below his chiseled pecs. I feel his arms around me, because I’m lying in his lap.
We’re on my bed. I slide my gaze around my room. We’re on my bed. I can see the glowing light of early morning streaming through my window.
Last night, I just walked upstairs and came to bed, right? Why is my heart racing right now?
Ezra looks down at me—all eyes.
“What happened?” I manage.
“I don’t know.” His voice is quiet. “Think you might have had a nightmare. I was up already, so I heard you.”
Ohh yeah. I remember. I had a dream about having a seizure. I was playing soccer and…
I swallow to keep my eyes from welling up, and his hand comes to my face. “Sore from when you fell in the shower?” He looks different than the asshole from last night—sympathetic, like he cares.
I nod, biting on the inside of my cheek hard enough so I won’t cry in front of him. Even the nod makes my neck ache.
His arms loosen their grip on me. “Lie on your stomach, or your side if you want to.”
I get on my stomach with my arms above my head. Shiiit, everything hurts. I think there’s a bruise on my shoulder, but I don’t know. Cutting my eyes back that far to see it in the mirror hurts, too.
His hand touches the spot, which I guess he can see because I pulled my shirt off last night before crawling into bed. “You fell back to the left, I think.” His low, soft voice seems to move through my chest. He touches the spot again. Then his hand moves up my nape and into my hair. “That hurt there, too?”
Ouch—it fucking does.
He sifts through my hair, and then his fingers start to rub my neck. God, it feels so good. How does he know what to do?
A little groan comes from my throat. His hand stops. “Hurt?”
“No.”
He starts again, squeezing my nape then rubbing downward in smooth, firm strokes, massaging with the pads of his fingers—just hard enough. I can’t help myself; I’m breathing hard from how good it feels. His fingers work their way down toward my shoulders, and I start to tell him easy on the left one. But before I can, he murmurs, “I know. Little bit of a bruise…” His fingertip trails lightly over it.
He rubs my other shoulder and all down my spine. He’s a fucking masseuse.
“Feels good,” I moan.
When he reaches my lower back, he moves back up—all the way up, back behind my ears, where his fingertips move circular and gentle. I’m half asleep when his hand scoops upward through my hair, ruffling it lightly. Then he’s off the bed. His low voice says, “Getting some donuts. Be back.”
I reach under myself, squeezing my dick, which is aching from just his hands on me in any way. Even though he said he wouldn’t…anymore. I shut my eyes, remembering him shaking me awake in his Jeep last night.
“We’re home, Millsy.” I was fucking out of it. Just got too tired at the cabin. Seeing him with Cara made me feel like shit. Arnie told me I should go to the University of Alabama, that he’d fucked more guys in two weeks than he thought he would in his entire life. That made me feel worse.
So I was in a crap place when Ezra woke me up in his Jeep. He tried to spot me as I got out. Then, right before we reached the porch steps, he wrapped his arm around my lower back. He opened the door for me and followed me up the stairs, asking if I needed anything before I came in here to my room.
I look around now, spotting a glass of water with a straw on the nightstand, so I figure he must have left it for me.