Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
It’d been a lie. He was worse now, so much worse.
Z turned and ran down the hall, each stride on his injured ankle sending jolts of deserved pain up his leg. He didn’t stop until he was in the bathroom again. The shower turned on and the cold spray rained down on his pale flesh, making it red. Making it freeze.
The shivering agony was what he needed. Maybe it would scar him so he’d never forget.
His leg hurt too much so he collapsed in the tub. Wet from tears and water, he curled into a ball and let his body shake until it shattered like the shards of mirror surrounding him.
* * *
It took Connelly a minute to come down from the incredible orgasm he hadn’t expected. His legs trembled from the force of his release, and his heart sounded like a machine gun in his ears. The rush of it, the danger—the hot-as-fuck power of Azariah pounding into him like the hounds of hell were on his heels. It all coalesced into a pulsating mass of desire that crashed over him and left him scrambling for air and reason.
They’d fucked bare.
For the first time in his life Connelly had done something irresponsible. Something so fucking risky he should be ashamed at how much it had turned him on. Maybe he was, deep down beneath the awe and wonder and gratitude.
He still couldn’t think clearly. He was high on post-orgasmic endorphins and the surprising rush of bottoming after so long. He’d forgotten how much he liked it. And now, with the aftershocks ricocheting through his system, he couldn’t remember why he’d stopped.
It was Azariah’s whispered, “Oh God,” that forced his focus to slowly shift outside himself. The silence in the room was worrying. The air was cold against his burning, bare skin. When he blinked open his eyes, the inky darkness stared back, the only light coming from the echoed glow of streetlights outside.
Then he realized the most important thing.
He was alone.
Pulling his pants up enough to walk, he followed the sound of the shower. He didn’t knock. There was no point. He pushed the door open and caught his breath at the sight that greeted him.
Darkness was broken only by the scattered reflections across the tiled floor, but Connelly’s eyes had adjusted now. He could clearly make out the broken mirror, the clumps of hair, the bloody footprints, and the sobbing figure curled up in the tub.
Connelly’s heart stopped beating.
“Azariah.” His quiet voice sounded harsh in the situation.
There were no words to describe the sheer terror that ripped through him at the sight of Azariah’s distress. No words that would fix this problem. This time, words would just get in the way. The only way Connelly could help now was to follow Azariah into the dark.
He picked his way carefully into the room, knelt next to the tub and reached out to caress Azariah’s shoulder. As soon as the water touched his skin, he hissed. The water was icy cold.
“Jesus, Azariah.”
He couldn’t reach the controls because Azariah was in the way.
“Fuck.” Without taking his clothes or shoes off, Connelly stepped into the shower between Azariah and the frigid torrent. He squatted, covering Azariah’s bare back like a shield, the water quickly soaking his jeans and jacket, and reached around him to turn the spray off.
The loss of the rushing sound left a void of silence. Not even Azariah disturbed the stillness. Either he’d stopped crying or it was the kind of sadness that was so deep and subdued it no longer produced noise as the tears fell.
“What are you doing, baby?” he whispered against Azariah’s ear. “What’s wrong? Why are you trying to turn yourself into an icicle? Huh?” He wrapped his arms around Azariah’s shaking shoulders and tried to breathe. Tried to stop his heart from aching. Tried, so hard, not to cry.
Azariah’s misery was like a thick black cloud covering everything in the room, and Connelly still didn’t understand it. He needed to understand it before he could fight it.
“It’s all my fault.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Azariah needed help and help was exactly what Connelly would do. It was how he was programmed, and for once in his life he didn’t resent that fact.
Connelly stepped out of the tub as carefully as he could. When he was clear, he bent to lift Azariah with one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back. It was like deadlifting two bags of cement that happened to be wet and slippery. Luckily Azariah was too lost in his depression to fight. As Connelly carried him from the bathroom, his slender body trembled. Maybe from the chill or maybe shock from whatever trauma he’d endured. Either way, Connelly was determined to see him through it. In the bedroom, he placed Azariah on the bed.