Sloth (Sinful Secrets #1) (56 page)

His face is looser. He’s more apt to smile. Like when he sees the origami sparrows shivering over us.

“Birds,” he whispers. “Lot of birds.” He blinks at me, a silly little smirk on his face. “Get up,” he whispers. “I want to... get up.”

I help him out of bed without too much trouble, and we walk to the window. I can feel him trembling. He’s weak and tired. He should be sitting down.

“You want to try to get a shower?” He nods, taking a handful of my hair and looking down at it. I giggle. “High Kellan. Sit here in this desk chair first and let me change the sheets again.”

I put on the Batman sheets I bought him, just for silly fun, and then we get into the shower. He holds onto my shoulder, and I bathe him carefully. By the time we’re ready to get out, his dick is pressed against my thigh. His eyes are dark with desire.

He takes my hand as we walk to the bed. He hands a condom to me—one of the flavored ones I bought—and I smile. “Yeah?”

He nods, and tugs his pants down.

“God, you’re perfect. If you want this, I can’t wait to give it to you.”

I roll the rubber over him and suck him deep into my mouth. After a few thrusts, a few heartfelt moans, he stops me.

“Not feeling well?”

He shakes his head and puts a hand on my arm. “I don’t want to come,” he whispers. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”

“Why don’t want to? Sleep is good.”

He shakes his head and pulls me down beside him on the mattress. “I don’t like it…because I can’t feel you there.”

THE MARIJUANA TINCTURE IS A GAME-CHANGER.
After a good night’s sleep, Kellan wakes up feeling good. He seems so comfortable and happy when the doctors do their morning rounds, Willard decides to cut back sharply on the IV painkillers. After a pancake breakfast he attacks with comical enthusiasm, Kellan nods off in the recliner, thumbing through
The Wall Street Journal
. I use the quiet time to sit on the love seat near the window and have a text chat with my sister.

Around lunch time, I move over to the bed and bring my laptop out. I’m combing through my list of favorite quotes when Kellan’s eyes flip open.

“Cleo, fuck. My dick…” He blinks around the room, looking dizzy. His gaze smashes into mine. “Is this a wean?”

“A what?” I slide down off the bed and stand over his chair.

“Check this out.” He reaches for my hand and brings it down to his cock, which even through the cotton of his pants, is so hard I can almost feel his pulse in it. “Dilaudid,” he rasps. “When they cut it back... I get these crazy fucking boners. I want to be inside you…now.”

His eyes are still a little dazed from all the tincture I’ve been giving him. I grab a condom and urge him over to the bed, where he splays out and I crawl underneath the covers. I take the head of him into my mouth and he thrusts down my throat.

“Oh fuckkkk...” His legs tremble. I feel him throb. I run my hand along the seam of his balls and he explodes.

He fingers my pussy expertly, stopping to pant... and then I reach for him and feel how hard his cock is. I find my own release as I close my hand around it.

Afterward, it’s still half hard. I laugh. “Are you serious?”

“I told you.” His eyes are wide, and brighter than I’ve seen them in days. “All day. Tomorrow too I bet. Is tomorrow the rest day?”

“Tomorrow is your first day after transplant, baby.”

“Fuck. So that’s today.”

“Too stoned to keep track of the days,” I tease him. “It’s okay. I’ve been taking my pre-donation meds, and I feel fine. I’m all ready. In fact, I think I’m supposed to get a shower.”

He’s quiet as we walk into the bathroom. I start the water, strip my clothes off, and pretend not to lust after his massive, hard cock as he drops his pants. I catch him looking in the mirror before I help him remove his shirt, while being mindful of the IV lines. The left side of his chest is still bruised. Shoulder too.

He’s leaner. Leaner in the legs and hips. He’s still wide up top, but it’s a different kind of top-heavy. His arms are more sinewy, his shoulders squarer.

“Mmm,” I kiss his bicep, “that’s a .gif right there.”

He rocks his cock against my leg. “You’re a .gif. I need a file for when you’re not around.”

“I’ll always be around.”

I move the IV bag to its hook inside the shower and we step in, clutching each other.

I giggle at his dick.

He smiles a little, looking tired around the eyes.

“You feel okay?” I touch his forearm.

“I like being with you.” Another earnest answer. Thank you, marijuana. His hungry hands wash me. He fingers me until I come under the shower spray. Then he strokes himself until his lids are low, his nipples taut.

“Why are you still here?” he asks as he works his cock.

I grab his balls and kiss his chest. “Because when we get out, I get to take this home.” I grin. He smiles a little. “What a horny boy, and feeling so good too. Why don’t you sit down on this bench?”

He does so without question. I climb up on his lap and sink down on his tortured cock. We come fast, both laughing. We step out onto the rug together, tangled in each other. I dry me, and then help him. Even though he’s feeling better, he’s still weak.

He leans down so I can towel his hair, and when I rub the towel over it, it comes away in patches.

He lets me shave it with some shears I ordered for this very day, and when I present him with the soft gray beanie hat I ordered my second day here, he shuts his eyes and pulls me to him. His lips move gently over my cheek.

He sits by the windows as the sun goes down. After a few minutes cleaning up the room and rearranging the pillows and covers, I join him on the little love seat, which we have pointed toward the window.

“So…no hair,” he murmurs.

“No hair and a lovely boner.”

There’s nothing we can do but laugh.

“I UNDERSTAND SHE’S IN RECOVERY.
” I puff my breath out, wrap my hand around my iPhone. “What I’m asking is if you can have Arethea call me. Right away.”

The nurse in outpatient surgery makes a growl-like sound. “I don’t know this woman, Arethea,” she snaps. “She may work at this hospital but she doesn’t work in our department. I told you everything I can. Our system shows that Autumn Whatley is no longer in surgery, but is now in recovery. That’s more than I should tell you, Mr. Whatley. You could be anybody. Especially since Mrs. Whatley did not check the ‘married’ box on any of her intake forms.”

“We were separated. Back together now. It’s not my fault you don’t have current information.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Whatley. Can I help you in any other way?”

I hang up the phone and walk from the window to the dresser. It’s true, I swore I wouldn’t leave the room, but Arethea swore she would fucking call me. If Cleo’s been in recovery for more than an hour, something’s wrong. I’m going down to find out what it is.

I have to hold onto the arm of a chair to get out of my black longue pants and into a pair of jeans that Cleo bought me. I don’t have time for underwear.

Even though I know I’ve lost some weight, I’m shocked by how easily I can wear the smaller size. When I button them, I’ve got about an inch of slack. Well, fuck. That’s why I brought a belt, I guess.

Threading the belt through the loops is fucking hard as shit with my hands shaking like this. Drives me fucking crazy. Everything is so damn slow. And it’s so cold in here. What the fuck is that thermostat set on? I pull on a button-up—in case I get stupid and decide to make the trip down to outpatient surgery with just a mask and not the full biohazard shit. I hold my breath as I button it. This is the real test of whether the weights I’ve got hidden under the desk have helped me retain any muscle mass.

It’s not snug, like it was. But it’s not that loose.

I hope tomorrow I can lift again. Maybe ride the stationary bike, or fuck Cleo from on top. Other than hugging porcelain right after Arethea came with a wheel chair for Cleo, this detox hasn’t been so bad. I feel like shit, of course, but that’s to be expected. Feeling lousy, jacking off all day.

The feeling shitty isn’t new for me. I haven’t felt great since January at least. I’m actually better now that all the blasts have been killed off by the preparative regime.

My heart pounds as I think about the next few weeks. If I remember right from last time, that’s when things get really shitty. I hate it when my counts are this low. Always tired. All the fucking rashes and other stupid problems that go along with having no immune system.

I finish buttoning the shirt and look over in the corner where my shoes are. The door opens and I whip around, so fast I almost lose my balance. I see the front end of a bed wheeled in, and glee and anxiety hit me all at once.

I feel a deep trough of grief from out of fucking nowhere, that she had to go through this without me. Someone numbed her lower body and dug around her bones, and it wasn’t my hands she was squeezing. I had Arethea give her a letter to read while they prepped her, but that’s nothing. I should have been there. My presence at the surgery is one of many things I can’t give her. I’m such a selfish shit for what I’m doing.

Arethea smiles as she wheels the bed through my door. I stalk over, finding Cleo on her side, facing away from me. She’s covered with these horrible white blankets that must be made in some third-world dungeon. I can see her hands clasped loosely out in front of her.

I’m too afraid to walk around the bed and see her from the front, so I flick my eyes to Arethea’s brown ones. “Why is she on a bed?” I snap. “Is that a hep lock?” I ask, nodding at the IV in her hand. “I thought she would be discharged. What went wrong?” My heart pounds desperately as I walk around the bed and—Cleo’s smiling.

“Hey you,” she whispers.

My chest flares with heat. The room tilts. My cock throbs. Fucking withdrawal.

Arethea starts rolling the bed again, over toward a corner of the room where a guest cot could go.

“Not there,” I snap. She turns. I wave at my bed. “I don’t want her in that crappy cot at all. It looks like shit. It’s a fucking slab of metal with a lumpy mattress and four wheels. Put her in my bed.”

Arethea smirks at me, and the smirk turns into a smile. “I see mama bear,” she teases.

Cleo’s eyes are on me. “I want to stay here for right now. It’s okay. Just come and see me. I want to hold your hand.”

I feel like an ass for not being by her side already, but I want this right. I move my bed over, so Arethea has room for Cleo’s cot between my bed and the wall, so if we’re both lying down, she’s facing me.

I realize I can’t see her now unless I’m on my bed. I sigh, then run my hands over her hair. I lean over and kiss her forehead.

I give her the pink fleece blankets that I used to wrap the brick that time, and then her pillow from the Tri Gam house, and then a small, stuff sloth that makes her grin.

“I love him. And you.”

“I love you too.”

I wish I didn’t. I wish more that she didn’t. But who the fuck can change these things?