Page 43 of Encore

“Fuuuuucccckkk!” York cries, coming first.

He bites down on my lip and I feel the warmth of his cum cover my dick as Pen gasps, shuddering and shaking against me, her pussy squeezing and releasing our dicks as she draws out my own orgasm.

It’s fucking brutal.

Breathtaking.

Eye-rolling, fucking mind-blowing.

It rips through me, blinding me momentarily as I release inside of Pen, my dick pulsating as she wrings me of every last drop of come. The sound of my voice is guttural, fucking primal as I come, back arched off the sofa, York’s arm wrapped around my back as he supports us both, my forehead pressed against Pen’s shoulder as my heart tries to find a slower rhythm.

“Jesus, fuck!” I exclaim, flopping back onto the sofa, taking Pen with me.

She laughs, York chuckles and we stay pressed together with sweat-soaked skin until our heartbeats have calmed, and our breathing is less ragged.

“That was incredible!" I exclaim, laughing softly as York gently slips out of Pen and wraps his arm around her waist, dragging her upright with him. Her cheeks are flush and her limbs loose as he gently helps her to stand.

"I might need another shower," Pen laughs, biting her lip as our joint arousal glistens on her upper thighs.

"I'm down with that," York quips, pressing a kiss against her cheek as she rolls her eyes.

"Down boy, I've had quite enough dick for one day."

“Fair enough, she’s taken quite a pummeling today,” York jokes, pulling Pen closer for a hug while I slip away to get some towels to clean ourselves up with. When I return a few minutes later, they're snuggled together on the sofa, contentment radiating off them both.

NINE

Halo

DAX

Tipping my head back,I look up at the grey billowing clouds above me, blinking at the early evening sky as the sun begins to drop beyond the horizon and fat raindrops start to fall.

“This is bullshit,” I exclaim as the heavens open and the rain drenches me in seconds. I’m standing on the roof of our apartment building avoiding the people I love because I can’t face them right now. I’d sooner get struck by fucking lightning than explain to Pen, Zayn and York just what the fuck is up with me.

Xeno had stayed silent for most of the appointment, but he’d sat by my side throughout it all as the doctor explained what’s going on. The irony is, there’s nothing wrong with me. Not physically anyway. The doctor ran all the tests, he triple checked the results and he came up with the same conclusion. Physically, I’m fit.

It’s my head that’s the problem.

I’mfucked up.

All this pain is as a result of post traumatic stress disorder. I haven’t gotten over what happened to me. I haven’t accepted the loss of my arm, or the fact that I almost died. I haven’t faced the emotions of such a loss. It’s only an arm, right? I’ve got another one.

That’s the kind of stupid shit I’ve been telling myself over the years.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t tie up my own fucking shoelaces on my own. It doesn’t matter that I choose to eat pasta over my favourite meal of steak and chips because I don’t have to take twice as long cutting the damn meat one-handed. It doesn’t matter that my right bicep is slimmer than my left through lack of use. It doesn’t matter that my balance is off when I dance, or that I can’t throw Pen up in the air and catch her like I used to do.

It doesn’t matter.

And yet it does.

It fucking matters to me.

And I’ve pushed all these feelings down deep. I’ve suppressed them. I’ve refused to listen to that taunting voice in the back of my head telling me I’m not fucking worthy.

I figured this was the deal, that it wasn’t physical, but being told that by a medical professional is a punch to the gut.

I’m supposed to be fucking strong.

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