Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Cyrus

One week turned into two, then three, and more that followed. Being on the mountain with Crow was like a dream. Every day with Crow felt better than the last, even the ones where I felt sad. There were a few days when my depression was so bad, I only got out of bed to go to the bathroom, and Crow didn’t make me feel bad about that. He didn’t have expectations of me, didn’t tell me it was a choice and that I should just snap out of it as though it were easy.

He just…brought me food to our bed.

Lay with me.

Let me relax between his legs with his dick in my mouth because cock-warming him made me feel settled…connected, in this way that wasn’t possible with anyone except him. The times I snapped at him, got frustrated with him for no reason, he didn’t yell at me about that either. When I’d told him I wanted to be alone, he’d nodded and did as I asked. I’d heard him pacing in the hallway, and though I hadn’t been able to draw it to my lips, I’d felt a smile deep inside.

But other than those few days, we’d just…been together. February had arrived too quickly. It felt like I’d just moved up the mountain with him.

We fucked a lot, Crow always behind me, railing into me, reminding me I was his. We played cards and watched shows. We started to work on the truck, but it was cold, and being outside too long wasn’t something we did a lot of. Crow was always worried about safety and being careful. I didn’t know if that was just for me, or if he was the same when I wasn’t there. But he’d taken me out to ride the snowmobile a couple of times. I was still shit at it, and I could tell it made him nervous, but I was getting a little better.

Sometimes I would bundle up on the porch and watch him use the snowplow. Next year I’d have him teach me how to use that. I wanted to be able to do everything Crow was able to do on this mountain, wanted to love it and take care of it the way he did. When he disappeared into his room in the shop was when I usually called Melody, the two of us sometimes chatting for hours.

And the kissing, Christ, all the kissing. It was as if Crow had decided to make up for a lifetime without it and could hardly keep his mouth from mine. He was obsessed with it, and I loved the thought of him being obsessed with me in any and every way.

My Christmas tree was still on the wall. I’d wondered if he would paint over it, but Crow kept it up, and I didn’t mention it. Seeing it made me happy, made me feel loved.

He still didn’t say the words, but I didn’t need him to—not most of the time. I felt it in everything he did, how he treated me and the way he looked at me. Unfortunately, I was still me, and my depression tried to smother my happiness sometimes, telling me he’d eventually tire of me, that he didn’t really want me, that I was a hole to him, and that one day I would fuck it up and lose him. I tried so hard not to let those words in, but it was difficult not to when they were spoken in my voice, always in my head, waiting to attack.

Crow was sleeping now. He was doing much better at getting rest while we were in bed together. He still woke easily, and I had no doubt that the second I moved, he would stir, but still, I worked my way down his body, tossing the blankets away as I went.

I looked up at him from between his thighs to see him staring down at me with a cocked brow. “What do you want to do today?” I pressed a soft kiss to his sac. “We can stay in bed all day.” I nuzzled beneath his balls because the musky scent of him was one of my favorite things.

Crow didn’t respond, something I was used to by now. He just ran his fingers through my hair.

“I could keep your cock between my lips the whole time.” I sucked him, felt him begin to harden against my tongue. I let him fall out so I could say, “We can have another snowball fight…or we can play some games online…” It was something I’d started to do on Crow’s laptop. He would watch, and then he started helping me with moves and then playing them himself. “You can read to me…or I can read to you.”

I licked from his sac up to the tip of his erection, which was definitely hard now, then sucked him back into my mouth. Taking Crow deep, I swallowed when his prick hit the back of my throat. My hand joined in, jerking him while I blew him. Pleasuring Crow gave me pleasure. I didn’t always have to come, didn’t need it right now, just wanted to see the bliss on his face, wanted to swallow his release because I loved knowing I had some of Crow inside me.

He groaned deeply, hand fisting in my hair, his hips thrusting so he fucked my willing mouth. Sex with Crow was always indescribable, this energy that would pulse and throb inside me for hours and days afterward. I had never been the type to believe in destiny or soulmates, but that was before Crow. Sometimes it felt like the whole world was only created so the two of us could find each other, like we were the point of it all. It was selfish thinking, but there were parts of me that had and would always be selfish.

His hot, hard cock throbbed against my tongue. I could feel the tension in him, could tell he was about to come by the quickening of his movements and the wildness of his eyes.

Crow arched up, dick in my throat, and spurted. I was ravenous for his cum, wanted to drain his balls every single day because his cum was all mine. I swallowed until there was nothing left, then rested my cheek on his thigh, suckling his soft dick.

“We will do whatever you want. It’s all I ever want to do.”

I smiled around his dick and sucked. We lay there like that, Crow playing with my hair for at least an hour before I kissed his soft prick and sat up. “First, breakfast and medication.”

He nodded and followed me up. We didn’t get dressed, the two of us heading into the kitchen. I took my pills while Crow decided what he wanted to make. He settled on French toast. I sat on my stool while he made the food.

“Your pills…they don’t always work,” he said, brows furrowed. “Why?”

The question surprised me, but then, I’d had a down day not too long ago. Sometimes I forgot he had no experience with doctors or mental illness. “Nothing is ever perfect. But I have way more good days than bad. There are times when the bad days beat the good, and then the doctor will up my dose or change my medication. I would be…a mess without them. I mean, I’m a mess with them, but it would be a million times worse.” It had been worse many times—mood swings, self-harm, suicidal ideation, feeling the hopelessness of it all weigh down on me.

“You’re not a mess.” He surprised me by reaching over and playfully smacking my arm gently with the spatula. It was so rare for Crow to be playful, so I soaked it up when he was. I was likely the only person in the world who had ever seen this side of him.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice. You might have to kiss it and make it better.”

He came over and did just that, then returned to cooking.

Without looking at me, while flipping the French toast, he said, “My mother…she would get sad sometimes.” I didn’t move, tried not to breathe. Crow was incredibly protective of his mom. I’d asked about her more than once, and he always shot me down. “Chosen would…he would get angry. He would flaunt other women in front of her, tell her she wasn’t worthy of him, that he and God should be enough to keep her happy.”

My hands fisted. I waited a moment, wondering if Crow would say anything else, but when he didn’t, just plated my food and handed it over, I said, “She might have had some kind of mental illness, or maybe life was just hard and she had bad days. There are so many things it could be. Even with me, I’ve been seeing doctors since I was a teenager. First they said I had depression, then that I was bipolar. But I never had the full manic periods, so that didn’t really fit me. They said you can present differently when you’re a teenager, so maybe that was why. Then they wondered if it could be a personality disorder. They tossed around borderline personality disorder. I did DBT—dialectical behavior therapy—where we focused on mindfulness, distress tolerance, interpersonal effectiveness, and emotional regulation. Medication for borderline symptoms is similar to bipolar or even treatment-resistant depression, so that’s what I take. I often just say I have depression or mental illness, but who knows, really.” The actual diagnosis didn’t matter as much to me. I just needed the help to fight my symptoms and try to have some kind of life.

I had to bite back the questions. I wanted to ask about his mom and the night everything changed. I’d read that he’d been feral and covered in blood when someone from the cult alerted the authorities. But I didn’t know if he knew why, what he’d seen, what kind of relationship he’d had with her. I just knew Crow was the kind of man who would blame himself even if it wasn’t his fault.

“Do you want to talk about her?”

“No!” he snapped, then closed his eyes. “I don’t…can’t. That’s enough.”

“I found my mom,” I admitted. For a moment, I wished I could suck the words back in, thinking that maybe I was telling him to try to get him to talk about his mom, but that wasn’t it. It was important to me to talk about Mom. I needed to show Crow all the parts of me, hoping he’d love me regardless.

“What happened?” he asked, knowing I needed him to.

“She relapsed. I found her passed out with a needle. She’d aspirated. I’d lain with her for hours before calling 911.” My head tilted down, the past trying to pull me under, but I fought it. It was good to speak about it. Talking helped.

Crow turned the stove off and came around the counter. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

“Me too.” I leaned into him, rested my head against his pec. “I overdosed before I went into rehab. I could have died, Crow, and all I can think is that if I had, I would’ve never met you. Sometimes I miss it, the way drugs can help you forget, but I don’t miss it while I’m on the mountain with you.”

He hooked his hand beneath my chin and tilted my head up. “Then you’ll have to stay forever.”

I smiled, and he kissed it, teased my lips with his tongue until I was drunk off him.

When my stomach growled, Crow chuckled and pulled away. “You need to eat.”

“Make your plate too, so we can eat together. Then I want…hmmm…let’s work on the truck for a while and then play a game of Stalk Cyrus.”

He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “One day, little lamb,” and like always, I knew what he meant. One day he would share more with me too.