From Out in the Cold by Witt L. A

Author:Witt, L. A. [Witt, L. A.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Contemporary, Gay, Erotic Romance
ISBN: 9781623001476
Publisher: Loose Id LLC
Published: 2012-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Neil

Lying alone in the darkness, still winded from my orgasm, I closed my eyes and let the last few aftershocks wash over me.

It was the first time in a long time I’d fantasized about Jeremy, but it wasn’t the first time I’d ever done it. And holy fuck, it was intense. More than it had ever been.

I wanted a cigarette but didn’t reach for the pack. I could still taste Jeremy’s kiss, and I didn’t want to lose that. Not yet.

I slowly ran the tip of my tongue across my tingling lower lip. Much as I didn’t want to move, I sat up and reached for the tissues beside the bed so I could clean myself off. As I did, I couldn’t help feeling guilty for jerking off to Jeremy while I was still dealing with losing Bruce. But it had been over a year. Bruce would have understood, wouldn’t he? Not that that stopped my conscience from berating me with a deep ache in my chest.

But Bruce would want me to move on. Wherever he was now, he was probably pissed it had taken me this long. His philosophy had always been that life was for the living. Except moving on meant letting go of him, and I wasn’t ready to let go because that meant accepting he was really gone.

And at the same time I found myself fighting the urge to go across the hall and finish what Jeremy and I had almost started. I’d already come once, but I was nowhere near satisfied. An orgasm wasn’t what I wanted. Jeremy was.

Fuck, what was the matter with me? There was a reason things had never worked out between Jeremy and me. At least, I thought there was. There had to be. Right? Or else it would have worked out. The second time, if not the first. And it hadn’t. Never even got off the ground, no matter how much I’d secretly wished it would.

I dropped the wadded tissues in the trash and lay back on the bed, lacing my fingers together behind my head. It was probably a bad idea and would only make me feel worse, but I couldn’t help it: I closed my eyes and let my mind wander back into the past.

Freshman year. First semester. Midterms had just wrapped up, and we were in Jeremy’s bedroom, knee deep in Coke, red licorice, and video games. I sat on the floor with my back against the side rail, and he lay on his stomach with his elbows over the edge of the mattress beside my head. Muscle memory and a ridiculous amount of practice let me hold my own on the game we were playing, but my heart wasn’t in it. Neither was my mind. My stomach was knotted up and inside out, and it had nothing to do with all the junk food I’d been pouring down my gullet since noon.

In between machine gun fire and camouflaged game characters screaming as blood sprayed from

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