I don’t know why I do it, but I detach my mouth from Aly and peer down the hall, watching her get her key in the lock, shifting her weight back and forth from foot to foot like Matty does when he’s gotta go pee. It’s fucking adorable, and I find myself unable to look away. She’s so approachable with that one movement. Maybe I can talk to her without showing how much of a tool I am.
Maybe.
“Hunter, what’s wrong?” Aly asks, putting her claws on my head and yanking me over to her mouth, where she nips and sucks on my lips with an eagerness that should be understood with extensive therapy. I pull back again, wondering if the babe has any reaction to my name. She owns a piece of me now.
“Baby, are we gonna go inside? Please?” Aly whines and starts kissing along my neck when she knows I fucking hate that. I punish her with a kiss that she ends up liking anyway. I hear the door closing next door, and ignore the way I’m imagining kissing her.
I pull away long enough to get my door unlocked and open, hating and needing the way Aly paws at my chest with her front pressed to my back, long nails snagging on my hoodie, on my shirt, skimming along the waist of my jeans.
Fuck. I’m torn between yelling at her to fuck off, and wanting to ask for more touching, more of the crazy lust she makes me feel. More to make me forget what I did to Jules, and what I’m doing to her son. I’m so fucked. When it comes to the kid, my dick comes first.
I get us inside, not bothering to lock the door. Matty knows how to lock a door anyway, so it’s not a big deal. I have the decency to check on the little guy, making sure he’s asleep in his bed after the whole craziness at the hospital. If I had any shred of humanity left, I would apologize to Matty, or buy him his own gumball machine to say I’m sorry in the only way I know how to, with bribes and gifts that are meaningless in the end. Mom taught me that.
I get my bedroom door closed, all while Aly’s hands make my dick throb with every graze and caress and I’m ready to explode. I clench my jaw, and a shot of pain spears my ear and left temple. Awesome, I’m breaking teeth to stop myself from coming.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” she says, yanking off my hoodie, and impatiently grabbing my shirt and pulling it over my head. Her impatience used to get me off, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I have half a mind to shoot my load in the condom once I’m in her and let her take care of herself after I’m done. Then I’d be the asshole I profess to be. I hold back my grin.
Aly comes to face me, practically tearing off her own clothes, scratching her pale skin until red ribbons of disturbed flesh glare at me like it’s my fault.
“Fuck me now, Hunter. Please, I need to be fucked.” My dick twitches to comply, but I’d rather she shut her mouth. There’s no need to be talking now. I kiss her, play with her tongue, suck on it as I pull out all my moves and try to get one out of her before I embarrass myself.
When she’s close enough, panting, moaning for more do I get a condom from my nightstand, feeling every ounce of blood rush to the pre-come coating the slit of my dick as she begins touching herself, impatient for me.
I mean, what the fuck am I here for, if you can already do it yourself?
Three strokes in and I’m fucking ready. She’s milking me enough that I know she’s about to go off, and I don’t want to wait.
“Hunter! Hunter! Hunterrrrr!” Aly moans my name, and every time she does, I’m wishing it was her doing it. Fuck, I bet she’d be sweet, maybe a little naughty since she doesn’t show it on the outside. Christ, I could teach her to be naughty.
The thought spirals in my brain as I eke out two more hard pumps and I’m done for, wishing it could go on forever, wishing I could disappear or that this becomes my reality, and I don’t have to go back to being a dad, a fuckup with a chronic disease and a murderer.
I wind down all too soon with enough time to pull out of her and dispose of the condom in the bathroom. I snag a pair of sweats, refusing to look at Aly, who’s catching her breath and frowning at the ceiling. I move to the kitchen to check my sugar before peeking in on Matty, feeling like an eighteen-wheeler has parked itself on my chest. Dread swirls in my gut, and I wonder if I can afford to upchuck the food I managed to get down this morning, and how badly I’m going to be fucked up if I can’t eat.
It’s just another battle, another fight I have to wage on my body. I’ve become really good at this – I know exactly how to convince myself that I’m all right when I’m anything but. All it takes is a few words, and deep breaths I have to pull in through my nose and push out of my mouth.