Page 45 of Inferno

As he slips out from behind me, I’m engulfed in coldness the moment he leaves the bed, the chill of the morning air surrounding me without him to hold it at bay. His dick is hard in his boxers, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

Reaching into the shower stall, he turns on the water, keeping his hand under the spray until steam starts to fill the air. Nodding to himself, he closes the door, then pads over to the bed, throwing back the covers and holding his hand out to me.

“I should…” I point in the direction of the toilet.

“Okay,” he says, taking my hand and tugging me upright, then leading me to the toilet. Tugging down my soggy, cum-soaked bottoms, he reaches around me, grabs my cock, and points it in the direction of the toilet, while I internally try to understand how him doing this makes me feel.

My experience with men is extremely limited, but even if it wasn’t, I’m pretty confident that holding another man’s dick while he pees isn’t standard behavior. When he did it at his house the other day, it felt…weird, but not unpleasant, and I don’t hate it this morning either.

Having him dothisfor me is odd but kind of nice, like he’s showing me that when we’re together I’m totally under his care… his control. He’s mentioned his control issues more than once, but I still don’t really understand what he wants or needs from me. A different kind of person would ask, but ignorance does feel a little like bliss. Because right now, not knowing is allowing me to indulge in the fantasy of the two of us working out and having a future together.

I know he’s worried that his need for control will hurt me, but as someone who has never had another person truly care for them, the idea of him caring for me so deeply that he wants to be a part of every aspect of my life doesn’t sound like the issue that Anders is suggesting it is.

When I’ve finished, he guides me to the shower, strips the rest of my pj’s off me, then opens and closes the stall door before sitting back down on the bed, his gaze following my every move as I quickly clean myself, just in case the hot water runs out.

In just his boxers, he’s a sight to behold. His tall, lean body is cut with more muscles than I’ve ever seen on a person in real life before, and his skin is a warm tan color that gives him a healthy glow that is incredibly sexy.

His long hair is disheveled, strands falling messily from his man bun that he didn’t undo before he fell asleep. I want to pull out the hair tie and run my hands through it, but the only time I’ve seen him with his hair down was when we showered together at his place, and that ended with him retreating and me sleeping in his guest room.

Understanding how to navigate an intimate relationship is entirely foreign to me. I’ve never done it or even seen it. Most people model their relationships on their parents or family members, but I’ve never had those things either.

I don’t have friends, and beyond the foster families I lived with, I’ve never spent time with anyone who was in a realrelationship, and none of those people are role models that I’d want to emulate. All the things that Anders has been describing as red flags are the things I crave, but I don’t know if that’s normal or a messed-up remnant of my dysfunctional childhood.

My fingers itch with the desire to touch him, but I don’t know if that’s okay or even something he’d want. So instead of going to him, I hold back, waiting for him to come to me. Allowing him to lead feels natural, and I can’t do something wrong if I’m literally taking my prompts from him.

“What do you normally have for breakfast?” he asks.

Shrugging, my mind scatters as I try to remember if I have any kind of food that he’d consider breakfast. I know I have a couple of slices of bread and some peanut butter, but there was no fruit in the reduced section the last time I went to the grocery store, and the fresh stuff was too expensive.

“I don’t usually bother,” I say, trying to keep my tone light as I grab clean clothes and start to get dressed. “Do you want to shower?”

“No thanks. I’m going to go for a run when I get home, so I’ll shower after I’m done,” he tells me, his gaze hot as he watches me rush to pull on clothes.

“You run?” I ask, twisting to hide my body from his view, even though he’s had his hands all over me already this morning.

“Yeah, the trails around the ranch are beautiful. Is there a diner or something open we can stop at?”

I shrug. “I don’t eat out too much.”

Climbing lazily from the bed, he uses the toilet, then washes up and brushes his teeth with my toothbrush before getting dressed in his clothes from yesterday.

“I’d offer to loan you something clean to wear, but I don’t think my things would fit you,” I say, my cheeks heating at the thought of him trying to squeeze into my clothes.

“I’d like to see you in my clothes.” His eyes flash with lust, and I silently tell my dick to calm down. I’ve come twice already this morning; I will not be making a mess in my pants a third time.

Once we’re both ready, I consider making myself lunch, but I don’t think I have enough to offer to make him something, and that feels rude. So instead, I grab my backpack and haul it onto my shoulders, then quickly start to make the bed.

Like we’ve done it a million times before, Anders immediately starts to smooth the sheets on the side he slept in, and between us, we straighten the comforter and then reset the room so that it’s clean and ready for me to use when I get home later.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod, then follow him to the door, watching as he systematically opens the locks one by one as I wait a step behind him. I’ve lived in dozens and dozens of houses, but I never ever felt comfortable in any of them. Even after I moved here for school, it took me nearly a year to truly consider this place my home. Yet Anders has been here for a matter of hours and he’s moving around my space like he’s been here a million times before. Somehow, he’s ingrained himself into my safe space, and even if he never comes here again, I have a feeling this place will always remind me of him now.

I hold my breath when we step outside, suddenly remembering how bad my neighborhood is and that he left his shiny, expensive car on the street all night. Shockingly, his car is still in one piece with all of the wheels still attached.

“Come on, Kitten,” he says, opening the car door for me, then leaning over me to fasten my seat belt. Instead of pulling straight back, he captures my chin with his finger and thumb, turning me to look at him before he presses his lips to mine.

His mouth tastes like mint as he pushes his tongue between my lips. I have no one to compare him too, but his kisses feel amazing. His lips are full and soft, his tongue insistent and explorative, but not overbearing. He’s clearly in control of the kiss, but he’s not forcing me, he’s simply showing me what he likes, and I appreciate it. I like him guiding me, I like him showing me what he wants and expects.

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