Page 25 of Say You'll Stay

“Or that. Only one way to find out.”

He sighs in resignation. “It’s not too far, but we’d have to drive for sure. We can’t walk there.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. If you’re up for it? If not, you gotta say. Want you to be feeling your best before we head off again.”

She’s looked better than ever these past few days. Got plenty of sleep, quick with a smile and steady on her feet. Even the hollows in her cheeks are filling out, but it’s all precarious and if he pushes her too fast, it won’t end well.

“I can do it. I promise.” She’s confident enough that he doesn’t question it.

“Okay. Tomorrow. You, me, and the museum.”

He’d been trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t matter if the allure of this place took her from him. She was never his to begin with, but knowing she’s choosing to follow him is both a relief and a brand new burning anxiety. It’s the only way. Staying here means certain death.

Still, he must be smiling the barest bit around this forkful of mac and cheese because she gives him a quizzical look. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs.

She’s skeptical, their glances catching and mingling before breaking away, and her own tentative smile spreading across her lips.

She might be the first person to choose him over another option, and he’ll do his best to make sure she never regrets that.

* **

Later, he’s in the shower thinking about their impending trip, the condoms he never should have taken, and how beautiful she looked today. All rosy cheeks and eye-squinting smiles and he’d swear her skin looks softer now that she’s not close to passing out every five seconds.

He isn’t trying to get worked up, it just happens. He thinks of Olivia and his dick rises to attention, the shaft thickening and hardening even as he tries to ignore it. It’s not right to think of her like this. Not respectful. His body has other ideas that don’t cooperate with the logical side of his mind and before he knows it, he’s got a raging hard-on swaying in the air, begging for relief.

He soaps himself up, purposely avoiding that area. Tries thinking of that one dead guy with half a missing face, or the pile of guts he stepped in on the stairwell when he first escaped his apartment. Plenty of gross shit to focus on these days, but it’s equally easy to stray into forbidden territory the moment he isn’t putting all his effort into conjuring up disgusting images.

Cole wonders how they might use those condoms he shouldn’t have accepted. Imagines her soft and wet, clinging to his cock. Her gasp of pleasure as he moves slow and deep between her legs tickles his ear, and his dick jumps in response. He’s never felt this attracted to anyone. Sure, he can appreciate a beautiful woman. He’s watched his share of porn and it’s served its purpose. Had a few extra short flings in the army. This is a whole new set of feelings he doesn’t know what to do with and it’s stressing him the hell out.

Guilt is quick to consume him for considering using her as spank bank material.

The cold tile is smooth against his forehead, and his body ison fire with desire he can’t quench.

Going out there like this is impossible. Obscene. Not an option.

He has no choice but to jerk off and get rid of it, so he wraps a hand around the shaft and mindlessly strokes. He doesn’t think about anything. Not her. Not anyone. Looks at the grout in the tile and counts the little dots where it’s begun to break down and crumble.

Six. Six tiny spots in the nasty grout in front of his face.

His orgasm is nowhere to be found, so he pumps faster, bracing his other hand on the wall, desperately trying to find relief. He’s caught in the worst boner of his life. Hopelessly aroused and unable to come.

In the end, it’s not even something sexual that gets him there. The moment he pictures her face and that beautiful, sweet smile, he’s trembling under his own touch and spilling his release with a grunt. His vision whites at the edges, his knees tremble, and a groan escapes his throat as thick ribbons of semen flow from the tip to land on the floor and disappear down the drain. How can he even look at her now? She’ll know exactly what he’s done the moment she sets eyes on him. He’s sure of it.

She appears clueless when he discovers her moments later, lying on the bed with a book, looking like a damn painting. When her attention finds him, she offers up that same gentle smile he’d been jerking off to in his head.

His shame is evident on his face, but she remains oblivious, only happy to see him as if he’s been away for more than ten minutes. Her happiness falters when he can’t return her gesture and he promises himself from here on out he’ll never wrap a hand around himself and think of her again. It makeshim shifty when he sees her, and that’s not doing either of them any good.

A few seconds of bliss isn’t worth the fallout. She’s his friend, nothing more.

He absolutely does not think of her naked in the shower when she takes her turn.

Not for a second.

* * *

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