Nineteen

Nic

N o amount of lidocaine cream is helping the burn in my thigh. The shower didn't help no matter what temp the water was, and I'm not sure if massaging it is doing anything. I'm dreading standing up. Between the car ride and hunting Cade down, my legs are fucking tired.

I don't want to wake him up. I know that I do sometimes when this happens back at the apartment, but it's not because I want to. The bathroom door being in our room makes it hard not to disturb him, but my scars are off-limits, so he never says anything. We both know they're here, that they're ugly, and they hurt me, but we don't acknowledge it.

That's okay. I don't want him bringing it up, looking at them like he did the first and only time he saw them.

I wish, for close to the millionth time, that I hadn't fucked myself up.

But there's no point in wishing for things that aren't possible. I'm probably going to sleep— try to sleep—on the couch downstairs. Or in the family room. I typically avoid that room because of Tracey, but she's not here. She's not at home with her son for the holiday, and I'm pretty sure that I'm the reason.

Or maybe I'm back to wishing for the impossible. Cade picking me—choosing to spend time with me over them—doesn't seem likely. I'm more of a last-resort kind of guy.

A wince has me giving up—digging the heel of my hand in my leg is doing fuck all for the pain anyway. I need some sleep. First, I have to get up and then get dressed. Walk down the hall past Cade's room where he's lying all bruised and battered and happy about it—like the pain slut he is. Right there in the same spot he was when he asked me to stay with him. It all seems like too much. Every step on the list requires so much effort—especially walking past Cade.

I don't expect him to barge in, especially since I thought I turned the lock, but there he is—with his bed head and bloodshot eyes and absolutely no decency. He's standing there in his birthday suit while I pull my towel off the ground to cover my lap. I'm still sitting on the edge of the tub, not a shred of dignity in sight.

"You said you'd stay."

The little frown on his lips has my chest pinching, something eerily close to affection warming my insides. "I'm in the bathroom, Cade."

"Well…" He shuffles on his feet, averting his eyes now that he's noticed my nakedness. "Are you okay?"

I can say I'm fine, almost do, but he won't believe me and I don't want to see the skepticism on his face. So, I say nothing.

"Wait here."

It doesn't occur to me that I didn't have to listen to him until I'm watching his flaccid dick bounce with his every step. It makes me laugh. "You could have put some shorts on."

"And deprive you of this view?"

"Looks like a dead fish."

" Tsk . You just wore him out." He holds up a round container wrapped in a black label for me to take. "It's my mom's. She gets it from the dispensary."

"CBD creams don't do much for me." Plus, it's hers. I highly doubt she'd be okay with me using it.

"It has CBD and THC. And it's the good shit that you can only get with a medical card."

I'm not convinced, and the look on my face tells him so.

"Just try it." He twists the cap off and shoves his fingers in the jar, scooping out a big glob and immediately sinking to his knees in front of me.

"I can do— Cade ."

He ignores me, doesn't even ask which leg it is that's bothering me before he starts rubbing the cool ointment right into my scars. "How'd you do this? They're mostly uniform—like grill marks almost. Except this one. This is the one that hurts all the time, huh?" He looks up at me under his lashes, giving me a very brief view of his green irises. I used to tell myself his eyes were ugly. Compare them to muddy swamps or whatever else I could think of to try and convince myself that Cade isn't stunning. But lying to myself didn't change reality.

He pays more attention to me than I'd have guessed. Or maybe I don't hide shit as well as I think because how does he know this is my problem leg?

" Ah— " I go to grab his wrist as he digs his thumbs deeper into my mangled flesh, but hold back.

"Sorry. It should help, though."

"They were craft bars," I say after a moment of quiet, this time avoiding his eyes when he looks up at me. "My mom had these little brass rods, and I…" I shrug. There's no need to state the obvious. I'd take a lighter and wait until they were hot, and then brand myself—the evidence is right in front of us. Right where it always is, where I'll never be able to forget about them.

I don't know why I did it that way. I could have cut myself like a normal person. Hit myself and ended up with no scars. I don't know why I chose to burn my skin, but I know that it made me feel better. Sitting down, walking, doing anything that stretched the skin while I was simply struggling through my days also helped. It grounded me and gave me something to focus on other than how bad things were getting. Until I went too far. "This one got infected. That's why it's so much worse than the rest." It even needed a skin graft.

He hums his acknowledgment, going silent as he finishes rubbing the cream in. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now. If he thinks I'm an idiot for burning myself, he's not showing it. He seems focused, working my muscles with skilled fingers and saying nothing. He also doesn't look grossed out, so that's good. He wasn't at all bothered to touch me.

And when he's done, he smiles like a dope, jumping right into character like the perv he is. "You know what else is good for pain management?" He waggles his brows, and just in case that isn't enough of a hint, he pokes my dick.

"That's the sexiest way I've ever been propositioned for a blowjob in my life."

"Whatever." He scoots closer, taking me in hand and giving me a self-satisfied smirk when I start to stiffen. "It's not supposed to be sexy. It's for medicinal reasons."

I don't tell him that I already feel better, that just him being here has helped take my mind off of the pain. It's a selfish thing, letting him work me over like this, but I want it. It seems that I'm as starved for attention as he is.

He watches his movements closely, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth until I'm heavy in his palm. As soon as he decides I'm ready, he leans forward only to stop altogether.

"Hold on." He moves to get up, but I grab his shoulder to stop him, brow cocked in a silent question. "I need—" A nod at the sink clues me in. "My mouth is dry."

I don't think too hard about it before I cup his cheek, letting my thumb smooth over the stubble along his jaw and urging his face closer to mine. No words are needed as I lean down. If he were someone else, I might ask permission. But with Cade, there's no need. My stepbrother is always ready for whatever I want to give him.

He opens his mouth eagerly, the word cherry nowhere on his mind as his tongue extends over that pouty bottom lip of his. I can't help but lick, a swift run of my tongue over his—just to try it out—before I'm spitting in his mouth and listening to the faintest moan he's ever given me, so quiet I'd have missed it if I weren't so close to him.

He always starts by licking around the head, coaxing the foreskin back just enough so that he can fit the tip of his tongue beneath it. It's an intense feeling, one that makes my hips flex as I fight the urge to thrust. His eyes are closed as he sucks me into his mouth, swift little circles being smoothed over my frenulum driving me crazy—such a contrast to the otherwise gentleness.

He takes his time, massaging my balls as he slowly bobs his head lower and lower. Cade enjoys giving head. He approaches it like it's a gift—one he's always wanted. He hollows his cheeks eagerly, looking up at me as he sucks hard enough that I can't hold back. I thrust, the movement almost involuntary, but he deosn't seem to mind. Of course he doesn't. He wants to be used, wants to please.

"Greedy boy," I murmur the words softly, sifting my fingers through his hair as a pleasant warmth spreads throughout my chest. I adore him. He's annoying and immature and the only part of my days that I enjoy all at once.

I have to look away, look at the ceiling as I moan so I don't get too carried away with all this affection poisoning me. " Fuck ." It's overwhelming. Too fucking good. "Cade…"

He pulls off with a slurp, stroking me to soothe the absence of his mouth—one hand wrapped around me and the other gently kneading my sac. "Let's go back to bed."

"Cade," I start to complain, but he's already standing up, literally dragging me by the balls and giving me no choice but to follow him. There's some bruising along his lower back, a thick reddish-purple line that fans out and fades along the edges. Probably from the stairs. There's a few more, smaller and darker on his hip that I have to assume are from my fingers.

I feel a sick sense of pride as I take inventory of all the imperfections I've painted across his flawless skin. Discolored patches that remind me of my own, only prettier.

He should always be covered in my marks.

I don't ask as he leads me to the bed. It's usually him on his back or knees, but I make myself comfortable and wait for him as he grabs lube from where I placed it in his pack after he fell asleep. It's not until he's positioning himself over me, his solid frame straddling me, that I realize what he's doing.

"Cade, stop."

"I know, I know." He uncaps the lube and pours some directly on my cock, coating me in enough that I know he's doing it for my benefit because it's much more than he'd prefer. He's awkward with it as he attempts to line us up, but I'm stopping him again. "I'm good, Nic. Promise."

I let him sink down and have to grit my teeth as he does it. I love his mouth, the view, and the perfect wet heat—I fucking love it. But this is ten times better. His ass wrapped so tightly around me, his thick thighs pressed along the outside of mine.

"God, Nic. You feel—" he gasps, his hips stuttering as he drops back down. "Why is it always so good?"

I wish I knew. It's rare that he's vocal, but when he is, he's usually singing me little praises. Thanking me for the good dick or telling me how hot I am. I've never been praised, never had anyone so lost in the pleasure that I give them that they can't help but be grateful for it. It's a heady thing, being able to make this specific boy enjoy me so much.

He has to lean back so he can brace himself on the mattress, riding me faster until his breathing picks up in pitch.

"I'm close," I warn him, reaching out to stroke the dick bouncing in time with his hips to hopefully bring him over the edge with me. He sits down, pins me with all his weight so he can roll his body over mine, and thrust his cock through my fist.

"Come on," he demands, getting desperate the closer he gets.

He's a big guy, but I'm able to lift him, roll him under me so that I can finish us off. He's too distracted to react—simply wraps his legs around me and tells me to fuck him, to fill him up. That sizzling heat is spreading, climbing up my spine and urging me to move faster, harder. I can feel his fingers digging into my back, grating over my shoulder blades with every thrust I give him.

It's a struggle to grip his cock between us, but I'm too close. I need him to come first, stroke him with a goal in mind, and immediately breathe out in relief when cum finally spills from his tip. My dick twitches in sync with his, and it feels like my heart starts to beat slower as my entire world zeroes in on us. It's just me and Cade, our pleasure and pains. His arms are still wrapped around me, his fingertips now just gently trailing soft touches along the scratches he's etched into my back. It feels like I could fall asleep like this, using his shoulder as my pillow.

"Nic?"

I'm still inside him, can feel myself throbbing as I push up enough to look at him. This time he doesn't ask, just leans up and presses his lips against mine. It's sweet and innocent—so unlike everything else we do. It's hard to think as he does it, but it's over quickly. Like he knows I'm nervous about it.

I've kissed, been kissed. I'm just not good at it. It's only happened once, and I know it's a stupid reason to hold back, but embarrassing myself in front of Cade isn't something I handle very well. And I'm so good at making him come that having him tell me my kisses suck would have been… I'm grateful that he's kept it innocent.

"Leg still hurt?"

I huff a laugh against his face and go back to laying on his shoulder. "No." It does a little, but that's okay.

"Orgasms as pain management. McDreamy knew what he was talking about. Though, I don't remember if that guy actually jerked off or if he just watched porn, but—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Grey's Anatomy."

"What?"

"It's a show. You've never seen it?"

I snort, burying my face deeper into his neck so he can feel me shake my head. Obviously, I've heard of it. I'm sure I've seen parts of episodes and clips, but why is this being discussed right now of all times? He's so random.

"No way. We gotta remedy that shit right now. Move." He taps my ribs, but I don't budge. "Let me get my iPad."

"No." I stay right where I am, breathing him in as the cum on his abs works to glue us together. It's too comfortable. Makes me wish we'd been sleeping—actually sleeping—together this whole time. Makes me wish we could do it forever .