Chapter Twelve

 

Adrian

 

I could still feel the heat of his mouth against my skin and had checked twice since my cab pulled up to see if my neck was damp with his saliva. The ghosting memory had caused a continual problem in the southern region of my body that needed to go away soon because I was only a few blocks from the government building where I worked.

The cab driver had paid no attention to my frazzled state of mind like it was a normal occurrence in his passengers. It was apparently also normal for them to yield shoulder bags as shields against potential onlookers who might notice said passenger’s erection that refused to go down.

I adjusted my bag on my lap, ignoring the way it rubbed against my perpetual problem, before leaning back and pinching the bridge of my nose. Everything had been going so well, too. Progress was being made, and I’d reined in my near suffocating desires for Rory the entire time I was at his apartment—until he’d mentioned Krew and his frequent visits. Then, for whatever reason, my personal feelings surfaced.

They’re best friends!

I was jealous, and if I wasn’t mistaken, Rory had picked up on it, too. Krew was outgoing and bubbly and far more open and free about his sexuality than I could ever be. Rory looked after his cat, who he obviously didn’t like, but he did it because they were close friends. Oh, and Krew wasn’t bound by stupid rules and regulations that didn’t permit him to fraternize with clients. Who was I kidding, they were probably sleeping together. But that didn’t explain why Rory was actively seeking more from me.

I was bitter and grumpy over some guy Rory had assured me was simply a friend. I had to pull my shit together. Just because he was the first guy who’d returned an interest in me in…oh, I don’t know… twenty-four years and I couldn’t reciprocate didn’t mean it was the end of the world.

My raging boner sure thought so.

By the time I was dropped off at the office building, I’d sufficiently calmed my issue enough I didn’t need to walk with my bag in front of me. I took the elevator to the third floor and slipped unseen past the handful of midnight staff to my personal space.

Sinking low in my chair, I closed my eyes while my computer booted, and I considered my evening. I needed a game plan. I couldn’t keep crossing lines with Rory. We’d made excellent progress earlier, and it was in his best interest he continued to seek help. After breaking down everything I’d learned, I was starting to piece together his phobia a little bit more every day. There was definitely a triggering incident at its root, but I had yet to pull that piece of information out of him. With our growing connection, I felt confident he’d eventually share. The challenge would be keeping everything professional.

And that was proving to be the bigger threat.

I pulled up his digital file and proceeded to break down everything we’d gone over that evening. In a side tab, I pulled up a behavioral psychology site I’d frequented lately which focused intently on the development of phobias. It explained how the brain could condition itself to behave a certain way based on interactions within the environment. It worked under the principle that people could be conditioned to respond a certain way with enough influence. Let’s say a man was bitten by a snapping turtle every time he went to a pond to fish. That man may develop a fear of his pond or all bodies of water, or more irrationally, a fear of fishing itself. His brain automatically links ponds to pain or fishing to biting turtles, and a pattern is set.

Rory’s responses to his environment were triggered by an undisclosed event. Whatever happened, I suspected it involved being burned in some way. Previously, I’d read people who suffered from Heliophobia had often developed a fear of sunlight as a response to having personally dealt with or had a close relative who suffered severe skin cancer. The brain then rationalized that no exposure was the safest course of action to prevent cancer. However, I didn’t feel skin cancer pertained to Rory’s case at all.

Sometimes, an irrational fear of sunlight could occur simply because the person experienced an unpleasant event which was unrelated to sunlight but occurred during a sunny day. The brain then links sunlight to that event, regardless of the rationale, and the phobia was born. If that were the case, then the cause for Rory’s fear could be anything.

The biggest triggering effect he’d shared was the sensation of his skin being on fire. Paralysis was also a biggie. Those two reactions, I suspected, were somehow linked to the event that had happened when Rory was in college.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard.”

I jerked my head up from my computer screen to find Alyssa hovering next to the open entrance to my cubicle.

“Hi, yeah, just puzzling something out.”

“Need a hand?” She helped herself to the extra seat across from my desk before I could respond.

“I don’t know. My brain is a bit scattered.”

She laughed and fixed her tight braid, so it hung over her shoulder. “You’re three hours into your first shift of the week. That bad already?”

If only I could tell her the half of it. “You ever had a client who was more interested in being your friend than talking about why they called the clinic to begin with?”

“Many times. It’s classic avoidance. Give it time, the person will eventually talk.”

“Yeah, he has. It’s just funny how everything I learned in clinical skills pre-practorium just flies out the window when I’m sitting in a session with him. Makes me feel completely unprofessional because I scramble and say all the wrong things.”

“That’s normal, too, Adrian. You know, with your client’s permission, you can ask someone who’s been here a while to shadow you during appointments and lend advice. It’s not uncommon if you are struggling in learning to communicate with patients. Going from the classroom to the field is challenging.”

If only that were the case for me across the board. I’d had no trouble with the crisis line. The problem rested solely with Rory, and truthfully, I knew why. I studied Alyssa and wondered if I could simplify it, so it didn’t paint me as a rule breaker.

“Here’s the thing. It’s only this one patient. Because he was so resistant to talking, I worked at keeping our lines of communication open other ways, like I’ve been taught.” She nodded, understanding that method of practice because it was commonly used. “Because we chatted so much on a friendly basis, we inadvertently became friends. So now it’s harder to define those lines when we meet.”

“Hence the scattered brain tonight?”

“Yeah.” I chuckled and ran a hand through my hair. “I suggested maybe I pass his case off to someone else, but he didn’t seem to like that idea.”

“It’s probably not as bad as you make it out to be.”

Oh, no, it’s way worse. Like, “ride across town with a raging boner that won’t go down” worse.

I shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing with her statement.

“Here’s the thing. If you keep the friendship professional, it can actually help him. He’ll trust you more and share more readily than if he saw you as a stranger. Just insist on clear boundaries. If the friendship wants to grow outside those boundaries, then talk to him about options.”

At least I knew I wasn’t a complete idiot because I’d done all those things. In theory, all those things would work and made perfect sense, if I didn't want to desperately throw myself at Rory every chance I got. My conversation with Alyssa hadn’t helped at all.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“No problem.” She rose and flattened her skirt before nodding at the phone on my desk. “I came by to remind you to connect your line to receive crisis calls.”

“Oh, shit. I forgot.”

“No worries.”

She disappeared into the maze toward where I assumed her desk was located. Truthfully, I hadn’t wandered far from my own desk on the midnight shift, so I had no idea. I kept to myself and tried to stay busy.

 

* * *

 

The week dragged. When I got home Wednesday morning, the house was pleasantly quiet, so after a shower, I made some food and settled on the couch to watch a bit of TV before heading to bed. It was a luxury I rarely got to enjoy since I spent most of my time locked in my room.

I put on the morning news and zoned out after a few minutes when my thoughts drifted to Rory. It’d been impossible to keep my mind off him. Since our parting moment on Monday night, it took all my effort to stay focused. His touch was seared into my flesh, and whenever I remembered the feathering impression of his tongue on my neck, I was instantly hard.

Embarrassingly, I’d watched more porn and jerked off more times than I thought possible in two days. The memories and resulting lust couldn’t be tempered. I was as hot and bothered as ever.

Forcing my attention away from Rory, I tried to follow the current political blunders taking place in countries I knew little about. It wasn’t enough to keep me awake, and I was asleep before I could decide to head to bed.

That was a huge mistake.

My dreams were filled with a redheaded, tattooed, celestial being whose sole purpose was to make me tremble in bliss under the workings of his magical tongue and mouth. I didn’t know anything could feel so amazing, nor was I aware that my moaning, vocal responses had pierced the veil of my dream and echoed into reality, drawing the attention of my three roommates.

I awoke to laughter and sounds that horrified me when I understood my cries of passion were being mimicked. In a panic to flee the humiliation that had befallen me, I knocked into Dylan who refused to move and acted more like a brick wall, foiling my escape. Toppling to the side, I clipped the end table with my hip, sending blinding white pain through my body. My glasses fell, and in all the frenzy, I crushed them under my palm when I tried to stand.

The three men who shared my living space were almost collapsed on the ground in side-splitting laughter without a care in the world that their sheer presence had mortified me to such a degree tears spilled down my cheeks. Even Marcus was there, laughing for all it was worth at my utter embarrassment.

It was one thing to deal with their shit, but to be witnessed experiencing pleasure I had never even known in real life was more than I could take.

As I stumbled blindly up the stairs, Calvin’s laughter-choked voice trailed after me. “Who was he, Adrianna? Come on, we want details.”

“Faggot,” Dylan spewed.

I locked myself in my room and collapsed on my bed to examine my broken glasses. The right lens was cracked, and the frames were significantly bent.

“Dammit.”

I didn’t have a spare pair anymore since I’d managed to break them a few years ago as well. Contacts irritated my eyes. I had a box of throwaways I’d bought two years back when I was determined to get rid of glasses for good, but it turned out after about two hours in my eyes they itched and bothered me to such a degree I had to take them out. With my luck, the ones I had left over were probably expired anyhow.

I checked the time and was grateful to see it was after nine in the morning. My eye doctor was open, so I placed a call to see if I could bring in my glasses and have them repaired as quickly as possible. Once I confirmed I could drop them off, I called a cab and slipped out of the house, blind as a bat, to wait for its arrival.

By eleven, I was heading home with a new pair of disposable contacts which they’d happily supplied—despite my issue—so I’d have something in case I needed to leave the house again. They promised to have my glasses repaired by the following afternoon which meant I’d need to call into work that night because there was no way I could work blind.

Another phone call completed, and I was too tired to think anymore. I rolled myself in my blankets, happy the house was quiet and empty for a change and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was nearly six when I woke. Lying in the dark, I wondered what I was going to do with my night since I couldn’t go to work, was basically legally blind, and nothing was opened much past nine at night. Not even the library where I’d have liked to have done some more research into phobias. With my days and nights mixed up, it gave me a much clearer picture of Rory’s daily life. Except, his limitations included avoiding lit areas altogether. No wonder he frequented bars for something to do. What else was there?

I spent a few hours with my computer on my chest, pulled up as close to my face as I could get it, so I could see while I looked up all the information I could. In my exploration, I found a local psychiatrist, Dr. Kelby, who’d recently written an article about life crippling phobias.

In the article, she’d interviewed a patient of hers, Finnley Hollins, who suffered from Somniphobia. The article was incredibly fascinating. The man, Finnley, had gone most of his life with an intense anxiety disorder that revolved around his fear of falling asleep. Dr. Kelby explained the therapy practice they’d followed along with drug interventions that had worked overtime to control his reactions to sleep to a point where his life was less affected by his phobia.

It was a completely different scenario than what Rory was going through, but at the same time, there were a lot of elements that were the same.

After getting away from that particular phobia, Dr. Kelby went on to explore other patient’s phobias and the results of specific immersion therapy studies she’d been involved in over the past five years. That research was a much more plausible form of therapy for Rory and gave me the drive to do more studying where that was concerned.

I printed the article, both to have a reference and because I thought I might contact Dr. Kelby as a student seeking advice. I had a feeling I could learn a lot from her.

By midnight, I was bored sick. I’d exposed myself to ridicule when I’d needed to go down to the kitchen for food, but Calvin and Dylan grew bored with me when I didn’t let their taunts get under my skin. It was only truly fun to badger me when I complained about it. That was something I knew in theory, but it wasn’t always easy in practice.

Marcus had stared from behind his work at the island. He’d neither involved himself in the ongoing name calling and teasing or defended me. Again, I couldn’t make sense of the man. There were days I wished I knew for sure if he was on my side.

Wide awake with nothing to do, I put in the disposable contacts the eye doctor had given me and decided to venture out for a few hours until they became too unbearable, and I needed to head home to remove them. I brought a book and thought I’d take a second shot at finding a late-night coffee house off campus.

As I wandered the same route I’d taken over a week back, my thoughts returned to Rory. I caught myself studying the few people I passed, searching for his face in the shadows, yet knowing I wouldn’t find him. There was no reason to believe he’d be out near campus again that night. For all he knew, I was working.

Besides, I shouldn’t have been wishing for such things at all.

On the main road of downtown, Cobbler Dr., I slowed my pace, undecided which direction to wander. There were a few coffee houses farther west but Bottoms Up and Rory’s house were on the east end. I flipped my head in both directions, knowing the right decision but unable to convince my feet to take the journey.

I headed east.

The entire time I walked, I blamed my latent sexual drive that had never been fully developed or nurtured while I was in high school. The same drive that burned in my core because someone had finally shown an interest in me. Not just someone, but Rory. A man I was incredibly attracted to and who I’d dreamt about all week.

My father was right about one thing, and it would be a cold day in hell before I admitted it, but sex made the mind weak. No matter how many arguments my brain made up, I couldn’t force myself onto a different path. I needed to see Rory again. Wanted to see him.

When I went as far as Bottoms Up, all the good sense I’d been running away from caught up with me. Peering at the tinted-out windows from across the street, I knew I could never force myself to go inside and look for him. It was as foolish a decision as when I’d tried out for my high school soccer team. The results were bound to be similar.

Besides, what if he wasn’t there? What if he was? What if Krew was clung to him, kissing him, or doing something else equally obscene? I think my soul would be crushed.

Deciding my impromptu journey was idiotic, I spun, prepared to bolt back the way I’d come, when I smashed into a hard chest I was surprisingly—and shamefully—familiar with. The scent of cigarettes on denim aroused my brain in a way I didn’t expect.

Rory.

“Woah, where are you flying off to?”

The instinct to run was mixed up with my body’s desire to cling. While those two conflicting feelings battled for control, I didn’t move and remained pressed to Rory’s chest where he’d caught me, eyes wide and pulse frantic.

“Where are your glasses?” His fingers trailed down the side of my face with his question, and my knees almost gave out. The fluttering in my belly was overwhelming in a way I’d never experienced, and my brain went completely offline.

“They’re broken.”

“Broken how? What happened to them?”

I opened my mouth to answer and slammed it shut as the vivid dream I’d been having just before the entire incident had occurred resurfaced.

“I crushed them under my hand by accident.”

He studied me. Skepticism ruled his features as though he could see through me to the truth I desperately wanted to hide.

“I’m wearing contacts, but I tend to react to them. My doctor feels it is probably an underlying ocular or systemic condition such as my seasonal allergies causing it, but they can’t rule out that I might have a biochemical reaction when the material of the contact lens comes in contact with the tear film on my…” I trailed off, knowing I sounded like an idiot and was babbling. “Nevermind. Anyhow, that’s why I’m not at work.” But that didn’t explain why I was there, outside Bottoms Up, clearly gawking and looking undecided about entering.

“Did you come for a drink?”

I glanced at the bar and back at Rory. He hadn’t loosened his hold in the slightest, our bodies touched in a few places and sizzled my nerve-endings to life.

“Yes. No. Umm… I was just…” I shrugged. Because even if I wanted to, I couldn’t explain my sudden urge to seek him out. There was nothing rational about my decision at all. Logic had failed me.

His hand on my hip tightened a fraction and pulled me closer until our bodies were fully aligned. I didn’t offer any resistance; my actions were no longer my own. He leaned his head closer, so his mouth was by my ear before he spoke. The heat of his body was having a dizzying effect.

“Why are you here, Adrian?”

“I…” Again, nothing. I had no answer that made any sense.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued, his moist breath fanning across my ear, successfully raising the hairs over my body to attention. “There is only one solution to our predicament.”

I pulled back enough I could look him in the eyes. He wasn’t wearing his shades, and the green of his irises glimmered in the streetlight. His hand on my hip slid around my waist and rested at the small of my back, keeping me close.

“What predicament?” I was fully aware of what he meant but was unprepared to give it voice, because, in my mind, there was no solution.

He leaned his face closer, grazing his lips over my mouth. The force of the shudder that rippled through my system came from years and years of longing and need.

When I spoke, I hated every word that fell past my lips. “Rory, we can’t.”

“Yes, we can.” Another light caress, issuing the promise of a kiss but not quite delivering.

“How?” I breathed.

“You’re fired. I don’t want you as my counselor. I don’t want anyone as my counselor. I don’t need your services or your help. What I need, is this.”

He sealed his mouth over mine and took my breath away. It was everything I wanted and more than I’d dreamed. There weren’t enough adequate words in the English language to describe the sheer bliss of feeling a man’s touch in that way. And not just any man, but Rory.

It was demanding, yet gentle. Soft, yet hard enough I knew I’d feel the memory of Rory’s touch for days after it ended. It took us to be connected for a full minute for my self-perceived inadequacies to surface. Was I kissing right? I’d never done this before. What if I was a bad kisser and we’d taken this step for nothing? Would Rory change his mind?

His tongue teased at the seam of my mouth and brought me back into the moment. When I opened and received my first true taste, I was sure I was going to come in my pants like a twelve-year-old kid. It was sensation overload. The rasp of his scruff grazing against my chin as he kissed was exuberant. I found the courage to cup his face and feel it under my fingers too.

There, in the middle of the street in downtown Dewhurst Point, I was no longer the twenty-four-year-old man who’d never been kissed. Although that was not where I expected my first kiss to happen, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

It ended too soon yet had gone on long enough my lips were swollen and chin bore evidence of scruff-burn. We were both breathless and focused solely on each other. It was only then when his words caught up with me, and the lust-filled fog cleared enough I could think again.

He’d fired me. Quit the center altogether. Made claims he didn’t need help all because of the growing bond we’d been unable to ignore. I couldn’t let him do that.

“Come back to my place.”

I slid my hands to the back of his head, loving the feel of the shaved sides under my fingers. I held him in place even though I should have been pulling away.

“You can’t fire me. You need this.”

“Afraid I already did. I called the center this afternoon and told them I wanted to close my file. If you’d gone to work, you’d have probably been making that happen right now.”

“Rory—”

“I’ve been doing this for six years without help. I’ll figure it out.”

His lips brushed my cheek again, weakening my resolve even more. “Come on.”

His hand found mine, and then he dragged me down the street toward where I knew he lived. The probability of what could happen when we got there spiked my adrenaline and thrummed the blood more intensely through my veins. The fact that he’d dropped therapy remained only a distant worry in the faraway reaches of my mind. It should have been the more pressing issue, but I couldn’t bring myself to force its importance.

The entire journey, my brain scrambled over every detail of what I was up against. Everything I knew about gay sex blasted to the forefront of my mind, from the endless porn I’d watched to the countless articles I’d read. The mechanics of the act were ingrained in my mind. Because, yes, I was a nerd and needed to thoroughly examine every angle of something before I put it to practice.

Shit, as much as I’d longed for this day since I was fourteen, I didn’t feel remotely ready.

We entered at the back of his building into the stairwell, and Rory guided me ahead. I vaguely remembered conquering those ten stories recently and in a much more impaired state. It was more difficult sober. Especially with a throbbing erection I couldn’t hide and a steady tremble in my legs.

Once we reached his apartment, and he closed the door behind us, we were awash in complete darkness. Finding a light was not Rory’s concern as it would be most people’s. He immediately pressed me against the back of the door and claimed my mouth with higher frenzy than he’d shown on the street. Lips, tongues, and teeth collided, and I quickly learned, there was no rhyme or rhythm to kissing. There were no rules to follow or proper practices to adhere to. Kissing was simply a tangle of lust between two people as they broke down any barriers in their way to come together in a union. It was desperate and hungry, an ongoing battle to get closer and a greediness to have more.

Rory’s hands found their way under my shirt, but mine were too nervous to do anything more than cling to his sides. Our bodies melded together, his arousal as evident as my own where it pressed eagerly into my thigh. I feared if he ground too readily against my own, it would all be over. For all the times I’d embarrassed myself in my life, that was the time I prayed to any higher being there might be that I wouldn’t come in my pants.

Where I was normally good at maneuvering multiple thought patterns at once, Rory rendered me useless. Between the overwhelming sensation of our shared kiss, the mind-numbing tingle riveting my body when his hands met bare flesh, and the prospect of where we might end up, I couldn’t think straight at all.

Then, I ruined it by opening my stupid mouth.

“Rory,” I panted as he released my lips and moved his attack to my neck. That hot tongue of his licked the sensitive flesh by my collar, sending a shudder through my entire system. “I’ve… I’ve never done this before.”

He froze. Every part of him just stopped moving like someone had hit the pause button. Then, he lifted his face to meet my eyes, the moisture on my neck turned cold from being abandoned. With his forehead creased and lips parted and swollen from abuse, he stared at me like I’d spoken a language he didn’t understand. Embarrassment flamed my cheeks, and I wanted to run away faster than I’d ever run in my life.

“What… What do you mean?” he finally asked, breathing hitched and uncertainty clear in his tone. “Are… Are you a virgin?”

With my humility at an all-time high, all I could do was nod.