Page 38 of No Kind Words

After a last pull, I let him go and grab the soap. “Time to wash up.”

“Bastard,” he says, but humour laces his voice.

“By the time I let you come, you’ll be calling me worse.”

And he is.

Finally, I let go of his balls but stroke and stop, stroke and stop on his cock with lube-slick fingers. Ben is covered in sweat, fisting the sheet over the mattress. Tiny little movements of my fingertips over the head and crown have left his skin purple, painfully dark, and pre-cum runs like beads of water down an icy glass. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Fuck yes!” His eyes are wild, dark as midnight, and boring into mine. “God knows how I haven’t already.”

I lean in and kiss him deeply, slipping my tongue languidly into his mouth as he tries to control his panting—and cursing—enough to kiss me back. When I pull back, I only have to circle his shaft and tug one more time before he comes.

Boy, does he come. Ribbons and ribbons of sticky white cum splatter over his stomach, our chests, even his chin. He sobs his release through gritted teeth, chanting “fuckfuckfuck” over and over.

When his breathing regulates and I’ve washed him clean with a warm cloth, he stares at me. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

I smile and shrug. “The same place I learnt how amazing a dick piercing feels. I knew a guy.” The guy had taught me many other things, stuff I doubt I’ll ever need to use again, not now, not with Ben. It was a way to allow myself to top, even without having to fuck.

“I don’t know whether to curse him to hell or send him a thank-you card,” Ben says as he looks straight up at the ceiling.

I burst out laughing, and soon we’re both chuckling like loons, then kissing, his hands on me this time. “I can’t replicate that, babe, but I can make you come.”

He pushes me onto my back and slides down my body to kneel between my legs. The next instant, his lips are around my cock and his hands on my hips, and I’m writhing beneath him. His blow job skills are incredible, and it takes an embarrassingly short time for me to come.

We fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, my head on Ben’s chest, the strong beat of his heart quickly lulling me to sleep.

The mattress shifting disturbs my sleep. “Hmm, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I need to get to the café. Can you take Hope home with you? I’ll be with you about midday,” Ben whispers, but it seems loud in the quiet darkness. He presses his lips against my temple. Then he’s out of bed. I fall back asleep.

The next time I wake up, the daylight is creeping through the gap in the curtains. I stretch out in Ben’s divinely comfortable bed. A wet nose peeps over the covers, and a pair of dark amber eyes meet mine. “Good morning, Isla.” She wriggles her body in delight. I sit up and check the time. It’s already eight thirty. I rarely sleep this late, but I guess I needed it.

With the decision to shower at home, I quickly get dressed and head downstairs. When I open the front door, I groan. It’s still pouring down. Both dogs look at me hopefully. A little water never puts a labrador off going for a walk. “Maybe later.” They wag their tails. They know they’ve got their own ways.

We dash to my car, and soon we’re in and on our way home. The streets are free of the usual Sunday walkers, all having to stay inside for a while. When I pull up in front of my little house, the rain is bouncing high on the road. We jump out and race to the door. After only a few steps, Hope growls, but Isla yips excitedly. I have no idea what’s causing the kerfuffle, but then I notice a heap in front of my door. What the fuck?

Isla has no qualms about rushing up. Hope and I are more hesitant. Until the heap moves and turns into a man. A man who is soaked to his bones. He straightens and looks at me with hollow eyes in a battered and bruised face, a familiar face.

“Roddy?” Not just what the hell, but how the hell? “God, look at you. Let’s get inside.”

As soon as he stands, he sways. Fuck, there’s nothing to him. He looks half-starved as well as really badly beaten. I catch him, tuck him under my arm, and manage to get the key in the lock and opened without him collapsing. His laboured breath comes out in painfully wheezing pants. He’s either got a chest infection or broken ribs. I’ll get him checked out as soon as he’s warm and dry.

When we get in, I kick the door shut and lead him straight for the stairs. I need to get him warmed up, and the shower is the quickest way. “Nearly there, mate.”

I don’t think he’s aware of his surroundings, but he lets me get him into my room and to the shower. I switch on the water, not caring how wet I’m getting. Slowly I undress him. The heavy black duffle coat falls to the floor, but there aren’t many more layers to strip off him. His boots are the toughest. The laces are knotted and swollen from the rain. Eventually, he’s naked. I hold him under the water, careful not to let the spray hit his black eye and swollen lip. He’s been beaten pretty savagely and not too long ago.

I wash his hair and most of his body, but I’m not sure it’s too painful in places. When I think he’s warmed up and has reached his limit, I lean him softly against the tiles. “Can you stand while I get us some towels?”

He nods but doesn’t speak. I step out and quickly strip off. I grab my towelling robe and the biggest towel I can find for Roddy. When I come in again, my heart breaks. He’s curled up on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. He’s sobbing so hard it’s heart-wrenching to listen to. This is a man truly at the end of his tether and ready to snap.

I slip down next to him, pull him onto my lap, and hold him while he cries.

I don’t know how long we stayed on the floor, long enough for my bum to go dead and the robe to be as wet as my clothes were. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that this young man realises he’s safe and won’t have to sleep outside another night.

Slowly the sobs subside, and Roddy relaxes into me. “I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes cast down. “It got really bad. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Shh, you don’t have to talk, not yet. Just breathe.” I pull the towel tighter around him. “Do you want food or sleep first?” What have I got in the fridge I can cook up that won’t be too rich? It doesn’t look like he’s eaten much at all lately. I can make him some porridge, bland enough not to upset his stomach but filling enough to satisfy his immediate hunger. “I can make porridge. I’ve got brown sugar and honey if you want?” I remember him having it with me before.

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