Nash
“S top eatin’ the laundry, Pipe,” I called wearily from the kitchen floor. I was knee-deep in dead flower petals from the half dozen “sorry you got
shot” floral arrangements people had sent during my recovery. It reminded me vaguely of my mom’s funeral.
The damn dog zoomed around the island, one of my clean socks hanging out of her mouth.
I was exhausted and exasperated.
I’d called the rescue in Lawlerville to see about dropping Piper off but was told they were full up after taking in a dozen pets displaced by a hurricane that had churned through Texas. I was welcome to try another shelter in DC they’d said. But after another couple of calls, all I’d gotten were more “sorry, we’re full” answers or warnings that dogs with medical issues or ones that didn’t get adopted out fast enough were at risk of being put down.
So here I was, the reluctant foster dad to a scruffy, anxiety-ridden mutt.
I could barely take care of myself. How in the hell was I supposed to take care of a dog?
We’d taken a field trip to the vet for a checkup, during which Piper had cowered behind me like the nice lady vet with treats was the devil. After her clean bill of health, we hit up Knockemout’s pet shop for some basic
supplies. But owner and shrewd sales guy, Gael, had seen my dumb ass coming a mile away. One look at Piper’s happy little face when she found an entire aisle of stuffed animals and Gael had to put the BACK IN 15 sign in the window to help me haul all my purchases home.
Fancy health food, gourmet treats, leashes with matching collars, toys, an orthopedic dog bed nicer than my own mattress. He’d even thrown in a freaking sweater thing to keep “Princess Piper” warm on walks.
Piper pranced over and gave a muffled bark through the sock and the stuffed lamb she’d managed to cram into her mouth.
“What? I don’t know what you want.”
She spit the lamb out on top of the pile of dead flowers.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. I wasn’t equipped for this. Case in point: My apartment.
It looked like Knox’s bedroom as a teenager. Smelled like it too. I hadn’t really noticed it until I’d noticed Lina and then Gael noticing.
So instead of plodding through paperwork at the station like I’d planned, I’d turned on a football game, opened the damn blinds, and got to work cleaning.
The dishwasher was on its third and final load. I had a Mount Everest of clean laundry to put away—if I could get the dog to stop stealing it. I’d attacked the layers of dust and sticky furniture rings, tossed weeks’ worth of moldy takeout, and even managed to order a small grocery delivery.
Piper kept me company as I washed, scrubbed, sorted, purged, and put away. She didn’t care much for the vacuum cleaner. But then I figured she didn’t have room to complain seeing as how up until that morning, she’d been living in a drain pipe.
She cocked her head and danced in place, her newly trimmed toenails tapping on the wood floor.
On an oath, I tossed the lamb in the direction of the living room and watched the dog tear after it in delight.
My shoulder ached. My head pounded. Weariness made my bones feel brittle as if I had suffered a case of the permanent flu. How easy would it be to just sit here on the floor for the rest of whatever time I had left?
There was a loud thunk of the broom handle hitting the floor followed by a pitiful yip and the scrambling of toenails on the floor. Piper reappeared without the sock or the lamb and threw herself in my lap, trembling.
“Fuck me,” I muttered. “You think I’m capable of protecting you from anything? I can’t even protect myself.”
This didn’t seem to concern the little dog as she was too busy burrowing deeper into my crotch.
I sighed. “Okay, weirdo. Let’s go. I’ll save you from the big bad broom.”
I tucked her under my arm and creakily got to my feet, feeling like I was a hundred years old. I dumped the rest of the flower carcasses into the overflowing trash can, snagged the last basket of laundry, and trudged into the bedroom.
“There. Happy?” I asked, putting Piper and the basket on the bed.
She trotted to the head of the bed to my pillow, then curled in a tight ball, tail over nose, and let out a snorty sigh.
“Don’t get used to it. I just dropped eighty-six bucks on a dog bed for you, not to mention the second I can find a foster family, you’re out the door.”
She closed her eyes and ignored me. “Fine. Keep the bed.”
It wasn’t as if I’d been sleeping in my bed either. Instead, I camped out on the couch, letting the hum of QVC hosts lull me into slumber, only to be haunted by dreams until I awoke to the same dark cloud that refused to let any light in.
It was a fun and productive cycle.
The mountain of folded laundry—practically my entire wardrobe—sat there, challenging me to continue ignoring it.
“Christ.” How many gray T-shirts did I need? And why on earth did an even number of socks never survive the dryer? Just one of life’s great mysteries that would forever remain unsolved. Like the meaning of it all, and why rabbits wait until you’re up to speed before darting in front of your car.
The pill bottles on the nightstand caught my attention.
I hadn’t touched the pain medication. But the others, the ones for depression and anxiety, had been helpful at first. Until I decided to just embrace the cold, dark void. To wallow in it. To test how long I could endure its murky depths.
I scraped the bottles into the drawer and shut it.
The dog let out a loud snore, and I realized it was dark outside.
I’d made it through another day. I’d eaten.
I’d cleaned.
I’d spoken to people in more than just grunts.
And I hadn’t let anyone see the gaping void in my chest.
If I could squeeze in a shower and a shave, that would be enough.
Piper’s legs tensed, and she let out a sleepy yip. She was dreaming, and I wondered if it was a good dream or a nightmare. Careful not to wake her, I tucked the lamb beside her to keep the bad dreams at bay, then headed into the bathroom.
I turned on the newly cleaned shower and cranked the water temperature up before stripping off my clothes. The pink puckered scars caught my eye in the mirror. One on my shoulder, another on my lower abdomen from the bullet that went clean through.
My body was healing, at least on the outside. But it was my mind that worried me.
Losing one’s mind and embracing a downward spiral, unfortunately, ran in the family.
There was only so far you could run from what was etched into your DNA.
The steam beckoned me into the shower. I let the water cascade over me, its heat easing the tension in my muscles. I slapped my palms against the cool tile and ducked my head under the stream.
Lina.
An image of her laughing in a damp sports bra and little else came to mind, followed quickly by memories of our morning together. Lina, wide-eyed and concerned. Lina on her hands and knees as I pulled her back against me. Lina grinning at me from the passenger seat as I drove us home.
My cock hung heavy between my legs, stirring to life as thoughts of her blurred into fantasies.
It was a depraved kind of longing. One I almost welcomed because feeling something, anything, was better than nothing. And because that twisted need had given me something I feared I’d lost.
I hadn’t gotten hard since getting shot. Not until this morning… with her.
My cock thickened as arousal sparked within me.
I hadn’t let myself dwell on it. After all, what kind of jerk prioritized the function of his dick over his mental health? So I buried the concern and pretended everything below the belt was just tired or disinterested or whatever dicks got.
But put Lina Solavita on her knees in front of me, and my fantasies came alive. I thought about the feel of her hips under my hands. The curve of her ass as I pulled her into me. Desire gripped me by the throat and balls, dragging me out of the darkness and into the fire. Toward her.
I couldn’t help myself. I needed more.
Bracing one hand on the tile, I grasped my engorged shaft with the other and bit back a curse. The contact was both a relief and a disappointment. I wanted it to be her hand, her mouth wrapped around me. My hand in her hair, guiding her as she knelt before me and made me feel human again.
Her submission would make me feel powerful, strong, alive.
I’d feel guilty about the fantasy later, I told myself. Just a few strokes to make sure that I was still whole, that everything still worked. A few strokes, and then I’d turn the water to cold.
Imagining her full lips parting, welcoming me inside, I dragged my tight fist up to the crown as water hit the back of my head. My grip forced moisture to well up and out of the slit. Imagining her eager tongue darting out to taste it, I stroked roughly down to the root.
“Fuck,” I muttered, my free hand fisting against the tile.
This was wrong. But it felt so damn good, and I needed good.
Helpless, I imagined pulling down the scoop neck of that little cropped sweater to find her braless, her nipples hard and begging for my attention even as she worked my dick with her mouth.
My hips jerked forward as if they had a mind of their own, thrusting into my fist.
“One more.” Just one more stroke, and I’d stop.
Except in my fantasy, Lina wasn’t on her knees anymore. She was straddling me, her wet heat protected only by a flimsy strip of silk. My mouth was at her breast. I swallowed hard, thinking about taking one of those dusky pink peaks past my lips and sucking.
My hand had forgotten about the one-stroke limit and was moving in swift, mean jerks up and down my shaft. Hips pumping in time, I felt a heaviness in my balls that I knew wouldn’t dissipate by just fucking my hand. But that dark desire was better than the emptiness.
I imagined pushing the silk of her thong to the side, gripping her hips, and thrusting home.
“Fuck yes, angel.”
I could almost hear her sharp intake of breath as I filled her. I slammed my other fist against the tile. Once, twice.
I was far beyond stopping now, my fist a blur as it worked my grateful cock.
I’d lick and suck her other nipple to a pebble while my hands moved her hips up and down on my shaft. While she clung to me, inside and out. While she needed me to make her come.
“Nash.”
I could almost hear her whisper my name as the tension built between us. As her sweet pussy got tighter and tighter around me.
I could see those brown eyes glaze over, taste the velvety peak of her nipple against my tongue, feel the desperate clench of her greedy muscles seizing every inch of my shaft.
“Angel.” I punched the wall again.
She’d come hard and long, the kind of orgasm that would leave her limp enough for me to carry her to bed afterward. The kind that would compel me to follow her, emptying myself inside her, marking her as mine.
But instead of the release I sought, I found something else.
My vision narrowed, the sound of the shower muffled as blood roared in my ears. My heart thudded wildly as the tension tightened. I released my cock and dragged in a shaky breath, fighting the pressure, battling the wave of terror that crashed over me.
“Fuck. Fuck,” I rasped. “Goddammit.”
My knees buckled, and I managed to lower myself into the tub.
Still hard. Still wanting. Still afraid. I put my hands on my head and knelt under the stream of water until it went cold.
