CHAPTER SEVEN: SAM WASHINGTON
The sound of thunder wakes me shortly after I fall asleep. Then it comes again, and again, but I realize it’s happening too quickly to be thunder. The entire house is shaking. A smattering of dust leaves the rafters and drifts down onto my upturned face. What in the world is going on?
It’s dark in the room and I have to struggle to remember where I am.
And to remember who is downstairs.
Boom. The house shakes again just as another bolt of lightning splits the sky outside the window. I go to the pane and look out, expecting to see nothing but darkness.
It’s Hugh. Downstairs on the back deck, pivoting and weaving as if he is a fighter. He’s throwing punches at nothing. No, in a new burst of light I see that it’s a heavy bag. His pale skin glows against the dark and even though I am the greenest novice when it comes to fighting, I can tell that this is a man well-practiced in his art. He hits the bag so hard that I wince with the impact. Then he backs up and throws a kick that lands near the top of the bag where it is fixed with a chain. That’s when the house rattles.
Good Lord, what a brute. I think of his books downstairs, of him throwing the ax, and the thoughts are all punctuated by the spectacle unfolding on the deck as his muscles ripple and flex. But this looks like more than a workout, more than blowing off steam, and more than simple practice.
Hugh looks as if he is trying to fight something he can’t see. Trying to get away from something that is chasing him.
That’s when I realize who he is. Holy shit!
I’m about to run downstairs and confront him with my microphone when he slows his pace and puts his hands on his hips. Just watching him breathe makes my heart race. A crazy thought comes to my mind. I think of Owen 2.0, nearby in my suitcase. Maybe if Hugh just stands there for a bit I have time to grab my trusty gadget and see if I can make it work even better than last time. This seems like it would be the perfect visual aid.
Or so I think until Hugh suddenly reaches below the waistband of his shorts and pulls them down slightly, exposing his cock. But the light was poor and I almost laughed at how disappointed I was in my poor view. I had never felt like this with Owen. It had been odd to tolerate his body, to have it on my own, inside me, but never to know what it was like to crave it.
I’m not sure I’ve ever craved anything the way I’m craving Hugh’s body. It’s making me feel like an animal, unmoored, uncaring, nothing but appetite and a burning need.
Obviously, it doesn’t help matters when he starts to stroke himself and I can almost literally see him getting harder and longer every second. I can’t stop myself. I open my suitcase, sacrificing the view for a few precious seconds so I can take Owen 2.0 out of the suitcase.
Back at the window, Hugh is still working on himself. I wonder what he’s thinking about and decide that it has to be me. Now there’s a story I couldn’t write. I pull down my flannel pajama pants and touch myself. I’m so wet that it surprises me. Again, something that I didn’t experience in the past.
Now it’s like I can’t touch myself hard enough, or fast enough. I grind myself against the vibrator, check the settings, and am surprised to see that it’s on the highest output. Still it’s not enough.
There is another flash of lightning and I can see the muscles standing out on Hugh’s neck. I start giggling, punctuating my gasps with little yips of laughter as I get closer and closer. Between the rain and my wetness and his hardness and the pane of glass out in the middle of nowhere between us, not to mention who I now know he is, it is impossibly hot and surreal. There is a feverish dreamlike quality to the whole thing. But when I start to climax, there is nothing dreamlike about it. It’s like an earthquake combined with a volcano. As I come, I fight to keep my eyes open so I can watch Hugh.
His back is arching with the power of his own orgasm. The tendons are standing out on the backs of his legs. His mouth opens as if he’s yelling, it is swallowed by another thunderclap.
When I finish, I fall backwards onto the floor. The vibrator hits the floor with a thump. I don’t know if I have ever felt so emptied out. A horrified thought crosses my mind.
What if he knew? What if he looked up and saw me when I wasn’t looking?
I don’t recognize this version of myself, but I laugh again when I realize that I wouldn’t be ashamed if that had been the case. Maybe tomorrow in the cleansing night of day. Maybe after the whiskey wore off.
But not tonight. Hell no.
Tonight has been filthy in the best way. I can’t wait to tell Lacey. But even more than that, part of me is hoping that I get a chance to share some of myself with Hugh.
But I’ll think about that tomorrow.