by Nicky James
I didn’t let Arden go once I’d climbed up on the deck either. Carrying him to the hot tub, he pulled off my mouth and scowled, batting my shoulder.
“What are you doing? I can walk.”
“I can carry you. You weigh nothing. I bench press easily twice your weight every day. Plus… I like you against me like this.” I nipped his pout, adjusting him in my arms and brushed my lower body against his backside. He moaned in response.
Dropping his head to my shoulder, he sighed and squirmed his lower half against my abdomen, grinding a bit and building friction. Although, with how frigidly cold he was, there was no physical evidence of arousal from him.
I let him down beside the hot tub and squeezed his hand. “Hop in. I’ll set the timer on the jets.”
I gave us thirty minutes of bubble time since it was getting late and I’d personally worked up an appetite swimming all afternoon. What dinner entailed was anybody’s guess, but I figured eventually we’d need to sort it out.
I slipped into the steaming water beside Arden and tugged him closer until he was on my lap, resting back against me, his head on my shoulder, his ass snuggly pressed to my semi. I secured my arms around him and nuzzled his neck while he closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow, and I thought he might drift off.
He didn’t seem to mind when I roamed my hands over his abdomen and snuck a few teasing touches just under the waistband of his swim trunks. His body remained unresponsive, but I didn’t question the half-asleep man in my arms. Instead, I enjoyed the snuggle and closeness.
We didn’t speak and enjoyed the late afternoon sun as it lowered in the sky. It was peaceful and tranquil.
When the jets died off, Arden rolled his head toward me and groaned. “I don’t wanna move. This is too perfect. I’m finally warm.”
“I hear ya, but I’m starving. How about we head inside?”
A hint of discomfort came and went across his face before he cracked his eyes open and slid off my lap, stretching. “Sure.”
I climbed out first and headed toward the lounge chairs and our waiting towels. Scooping mine up, I wiped the dripping water from my face and chest as I turned around.
One minute, I was staring at a gorgeous man as he cleared the top of the stairs from the hot tub, the next, he wobbled and swayed, then Arden’s legs crumpled underneath him. He landed hard and motionless on the concrete deck. By some twisted turn of fate, he only barely missed cracking his head on the ground since his shoulder landed first and cushioned the blow.
“Arden!”
I dropped my towel and shot across the deck to his side, dropping hard onto my knees and rolling him onto his back. He was out cold. Unconscious. Immediately, my training kicked in, and I checked his pulse and breathing. Both were present, although his pulse was much weaker than I would have liked.
I had no watch to measure beats per minute, so I had to take comfort in its existence alone.
“Arden?” I stroked his cheek, my heart racing as I watched the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, his rosy lips parted but unmoving. “Hey, come back to me. Open your eyes. Arden?”
It felt like an eternity but was probably no more than a single minute before he stirred, opening his eyes and blinking up in confusion.
“There you are. How are you doing?”
He smacked his lips a few times, peering around before groaning and trying to sit up. I helped but stopped him when he tried to get to his feet.
“Sit for a few minutes. Deep breaths.”
“I just got lightheaded. I’m fine. Stood up too fast.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Sometimes. Normally I don’t pass out. Just kinda get fuzzy and lose my vision for a second or two.”
My worry grew.
“Do you hurt anywhere? You went down pretty hard. Does your shoulder feel okay?”
“Yeah. Not hurting. Just a little faint and fuzzy. It will pass.”
I hated to ask, but I needed to know. “When did you eat last?”
He dropped his chin, but I tipped it up again.
“At brunch.”
“What? How much?”
“A piece of toast. Most of it.”
“Is that all you’ve had today?”
He nodded.
One piece of toast in the morning and a half hour in the hot tub after an afternoon in the sun was a bad combination.
“Let me help you up. No arguing.”
Arden allowed me to take most of his weight. I helped him get his towel and dry off then I guided him to my apartment. Even when he walked alongside me, his legs noticeably trembled with weakness.
Inside my apartment, Arden shivered at the sudden blast of air-conditioned air. Bypassing the washroom, I took him directly into my bedroom and instructed him to strip out of his wet swim trunks as I found him a pair of thick jogging pants and a heavy, pullover hoodie.
“Change, and I’ll be right back.”
In the kitchen, I boiled the kettle for tea and rooted through my cupboards, knowing Arden needed something to eat but not knowing what I could give him that he wouldn’t argue about.
I kept searching. I’d seen him eat crackers, apples, and he admitted to eating toast at home. The other day, he’d had peanut butter in his backpack too, so I assumed that might be a possibility as well.
While his tea steeped, I tossed a few slices of bread in the toaster and found my half-eaten jar of peanut butter.
As I smeared the second piece with a thick coating, Arden wandered into the kitchen looking pale and shaky, his blond hair disheveled and damp from having rubbed a towel over it. My clothes were miles too big on him.
He noted what I was doing and froze, losing a few more shades of color as his eyes widened.
“You said you eat toast, and I saw you with peanut butter the other day, so I figured this was okay.” I plated it and offered it to him. “You need to eat something, Arden. Even if you don’t want to. You’re probably feeling faint because you haven’t eaten enough today. Please.”
He didn’t take the plate. Staring at it, his features morphed into a frown and his gorge worked through a hard swallow. Reluctantly, he accepted the plate but set it directly on the counter. For a second, I thought he was going to take a slice. His fingers hovered over the toast with an evident tremor, but he pulled his hand back and scanned the counter.
His gaze flipped between the loaf of bread and the jar of peanut butter before landing on me. He swallowed a few more times, his neck muscles straining enough to catch my attention before he shifted his focus back to the plate.
“Arden?”
He nodded. It was a sharp, pointed gesture that seemed forced and not natural like he wasn’t convinced of his answer.
His lower lip trembled too as he picked up a piece of toast. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath he took. Labored, and growing faster and more desperate by the second. Then his stomach clenched and he buckled at the waist, clutching his gut and stilling before standing straight again.
“Arden?”
A single tear slipped down his cheek. The moment he felt it, he dropped the toast back on the plate and swatted the tear away, backing up from the counter and almost losing his footing.
“I gotta go.”
He was too slow, and I caught his elbow, tugging him back around before he was a foot away. I crowded him against the doorframe of the kitchen, caging him in, bringing his face up to look me in the eyes.
“Stop.” I kept my voice hushed and soothing. The same way I did when dealing with accident victims. “Don’t run away. I was only trying to help. You need something, and I thought this was an okay choice. Teach me, Arden. Show me what I did wrong. Explain it so I know for next time.”
He didn’t fight me. Petrified in place, his jaw ticking with the amount of pressure he applied to his teeth as he clenched them, he searched my face with watery eyes, blinking heavily to ward off the tears before they fell.
He didn’t speak, so I tried again
. “Those are all things you’ve eaten before, aren’t they?”
His gaze shifted to the plate on the counter. “Sort of.”
“Did I prepare it wrong?”
“It’s just… I can’t…” He sighed. “Is the kettle still hot?”
“Yeah. I made you a tea like last time.”
I stroked his cheeks—his pale color making the dark circles under his eyes more prominent. The information I’d learned about Arden stirred and churned in my mind as I tried to pin down the root cause of his food dilemma. Something wasn’t right. Something…
“I have food in my bag I’ll eat. I’m sorry you made that. I just… can’t.”
“It’s okay. I’ll eat it.”
I let him go, and he found his backpack in the living room. When he returned to the kitchen, he carried a packet of ramen noodles, a familiar sleeve of crackers, and an apple.
I considered the items and couldn’t shake the oddness they stirred. Once again, I got that strange feeling like an important piece of information lingered just out of reach.
“Do you have a bowl I could use?”
Shaking off the sensation, I found him a bowl in the cupboard and silently observed as he made a bowl of noodles. We sat together at the table where I ate the toast I’d made him along with a banana and Arden picked at the soup. Literally picked! He ate one single noodle at a time. Tiny nibbles. Examined them each and every time. Scrutinized, frowned, sniffed, strained. It was almost painful to watch.
Ramen noodles, crackers, apples, peanut butter, and toast.
“Phoenix told you I’m anorexic, didn’t he?”
“Is it true?”
“My family and counselors say so. I wouldn’t dare disagree with them.”
“So are you saying they’re wrong?”
“No, Iggy, I’m saying I’m anorexic.”
Except why doesn’t that sound right to me?
By the time nearly an entire hour had passed, he’d managed to consume only half the bowl of noodles. It must have been stone cold by that time. When he leaned back in his chair and set his spoon down, I knew he was finished.
“Is that all you’re eating.”
“It’s cold and getting mushy. I…” He shook his head and shrugged.
“How about that apple or a few crackers?”
It’s not enough!
He’d left the other items in the kitchen, but with the small number of noodles he’d eaten, I hoped I could encourage him to eat more of something else.
“Sure.”
He pushed back from the table, but I jumped up and grabbed his dishes. “I can get it.”
I had to think. That thought I couldn’t quite grasp lingered so close to the surface, I could almost see it.
What was I missing?
My offer didn’t stand. Arden followed on my heels and took the apple from my hand to the sink. Using a generous squirt of dish soap, he washed it under a stream of water.
Not washed—scrubbed.
And then kept scrubbing.
And scrubbing.
And scrubbing.
All I could do was watch this strange ritual unfold. It was obsessive, almost manic. Like the way he checked his crackers only worse. Compulsive. To the point, I was concerned he wasn’t going to stop.
For a solid minute, Arden didn’t leave the sink. When he deemed his apple clean, he turned and asked, “Do you have a knife?” as though what he’d just done was so commonplace it didn’t warrant attention.
Stalling, rattled by his behavior, it took me a second to process his request. Jumping into action, I found one in a nearby drawer and removed the apple from his hand.
“W-what are you doing?”
I guided him to the couch and sat, pulling him onto my lap so he straddled me. He came warily, eyeing me then the apple.
Carefully, I peeled the skin the same way I’d seen him do before—except this time, I didn’t waste the peels and popped them into my mouth instead. Arden’s body stiffened as he watched, his lips set in a firm line, and he dug fingers into my sides. Once I’d cleared half the apple of peel, I sliced him a wedge and held it to his mouth.
He jerked his head away, panic flooding his face before he removed the apple piece from my hand. Once he’d examined it thoroughly—including sniffing it with a screwed-up scowl—he nibbled the piece much like a rabbit until it was fully consumed.
We continued in this fashion, me cutting pieces and Arden performing a ritual of checking them over before eating each at a snail’s pace. I noted all of it and compared it to the notes I’d made earlier in my mind.
Why scrub it so clean if you’re only going to skin it?
Once he’d put back three pieces, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What is it you’re looking for? Why can’t I just feed them to you?”
Shrugging off my question, he nibbled the wedge in his hand, avoiding eye contact.
“You do it with the crackers, too. And the noodles.”
It was clear I wasn’t going to get an answer, so I let it go and continued to feed him wedges until he screwed up his nose at a piece he was examining and handed it back, refusing to eat it. The apple was showing signs of oxidizing. I popped it into my mouth without care, studying the concern on his face.
“How are you feeling?” I asked after putting the remaining apple on the coffee table.
“I’m all right. Less dizzy.”
“Good. Are you warming up?”
He stared down at my over-sized clothes and huffed. “These look ridiculous on me.”
I tugged him closer, my arms wrapped around his waist as I nuzzled the curve of his neck. “I like you in my clothes.” He groaned and let his head fall to the side as he pressed his chest to mine. “You like that?” I asked, kissing along his collarbone, sucking over his pulse and noting the way he shivered with desire.
“Yes.”
Arden turned, and our mouths came together. Like every time we’d kissed in the pool, the heat between us rose. Except for this time, we were alone and somewhere private. This time, I had less willpower to stop us from going further.
And Arden pushed us right along that road without concern.
I was a lost cause with him. He called to that part of me. I wanted to take care of him, make him feel good, explore what made him moan and beg, and taste every inch of him. Also, I had this powerful urge to protect him and hold him and ensure he was okay.
Slowly but surely, a little at a time, Arden was stealing my heart.
Chapter Fourteen
Arden
I was lost in euphoria. The man I’d lusted after for too many years was busy sucking up hickeys on my neck. Hickeys I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide. We did everything to be closer. Encased in his arms while his hot mouth traveled over my chilled flesh, an embarrassing moan leaked through despite all efforts to hold it back.
Iggy groaned when he heard it, breaking our connection and peering up with a lust-drunk haze in his amber eyes. “You’re killing me, Arden.”
Moving me like I was nothing more than a weightless rag doll, Iggy stood, my legs hooked around his waist automatically, and he spun us around before dropping me lengthwise on the couch. Then, he was on top of me, kissing me hard and deep before I could take my next breath.
All day we’d barely been able to keep our hands off each other. I thought I’d killed any hope of moving us forward when I’d blacked out at the pool then caused a scene with dinner.
I saw the way he watched and hovered. He had questions, but he’d been careful not to push.
Aware of keeping his weight from crushing me, Iggy propped himself on one arm by my head, legs weaved together, while his other hand wandered under the hoodie he’d lent me. I tensed, knowing what he felt, hating what he must think.
But this time, I didn’t stop him. If we were going to make a relationship work, I had to cross this line and hope for the best.
I’d allowed him to see and touch me in the pool. I wanted this to go further. So I
fought all urges to hide and allowed him to explore.
His tongue slid over mine, silky and gentle, scouting out new territory, never pressing or demanding. No one had ever kissed me like that. Not that I’d had a great many conquests for comparison, but Iggy far surpassed my previous encounters. We kissed and touched. Hands roamed bare skin under clothes. Fingers brushed sensitive areas and noted every reaction.
Iggy had a soft smattering of chest hair I couldn’t get enough of. My chest was embarrassingly bare, but he didn’t seem to mind.
I stroked fingers up his abdomen, memorizing every ridge of muscle and teased his pert nipples when I encountered them.
One of his hands rested low on my hip, and his thumb brushed the crevice just above the bone, sending a shiver over my entire body. I arched into the touch, rubbing our lower halves together and instantly encountered the thick length of Iggy’s arousal when it pressed against my thigh.
“Arden,” he breathed, clutching my hip with a firmer grasp, stilling my movements. It was more of a warning than a question.
Ignoring it, I hiked my hips off the couch again and rutted against his obvious erection. He groaned and buried his face in my neck, pressing back against me and grinding, seeking more friction.
“You are not making it easy to behave,” he mumbled.
“Why behave? Iggy, you have no idea how badly I want this. You. I’m not even kidding when I say years.”
He chuckled as his hand slipped lower and he grasped my semi through the too-big joggers he’d given me to wear. I hated that I was only half hard. In the pool earlier, it’d been an impossible feat no matter how many times I’d rubbed against him.
I’d blamed the cold, but I knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
Embarrassingly, it always took extra effort to get fully engorged lately. Even when taking care of myself. As a result, I often gave up trying to pleasure myself because the drive wasn’t strong enough to keep me going. It’d been concerning. However, my sex-drive was running rampant now, I just needed my stupid dick to realize it too and cooperate.
Maybe I hadn’t cared much when it was just me involved, but today I cared. Today I hated my slow-to-react system for depriving me of what should have been a healthy dick of steel by this point, especially having Iggy freaking Rojas on top of me.