Celia

39 Make You Feel Good

Celia

I don't see Patrick in school the next day and he doesn't answer my calls. Gio says not to worry, that we'll find a different distributor. On the bright side, Chase has sold most of our supply to all the Friendsgiving parties happening this week.

Meanwhile, Gio and I have been feeding the new seedlings while messing around in between every available minute. You'd think that with all the teasing, we'd go further, but that's not what happens at all.

I realize that as much as I seek the thrill of him taking over, one small error whether from me or from him— or even imagined— puts me in a nightmare that I can't wake up from.

With other fears, I can grab it and dissect it. For example, I don't fear his motorcycle skills, he's careful and focused. He's not reckless. If I ever doubt that, my mind quickly reminds me.

But this... my mind can't reach. At times, I can't say the safe word. I don't want to. I can't think clearly to understand how anxious I am. One moment I'm excited, next I'm panicking.

Gio's gentle, soothing me with his touch and comforting words. But I'm underwater, poking my head out just barely enough to breathe. His voice muffles, my eyes gloss over, and images from the past of my dad and other men hurting my mom play in my head like a broken record.

I feel terrible, because I really like what he's doing. But it's like walking on a tight rope at all times and I need it to be a solid ground. It's just...

Gio's so overwhelming sometimes.

Like right now, I'm on the edge of the bed in my white robe, freshly showered, listening to him talk about his plans when he casually starts to take his clothes off.

He grabs the hem of his black shirt and lifts it over his head, baring his wide chest and the V-line etched down his waist. He tosses the shirt onto the ground, golden biceps and tatted forearms lowering into a subtle arch. There's this lion-like, lethally calm grace to his movements.

And he's so nonchalant, still talking about God knows what while he removes his gray sweatpants along with his black briefs, then stands up straight.

Butt fucking naked.

I turn into a statue and force myself to focus on his face. Like that thirsty SpongeBob meme with sweat dropping down my forehead.

Isn't that too big? Should I be concerned? Why is he so hard right now?

It's like... bouncing every time he moves. His deep voice doesn't help at all. Oh God. Okay, calm down. It's just like Google, but 3D.

He must notice, because he stops talking, then turns to check himself out in the mirror.

"You see how it curves down a little?" He twists his hips for a better angle.

"Huh?" I look up at his face, still not moving a muscle.

"The curve?" Gio traces his finger across the length of his shaft. "See the curve?"

"Oh! Yeah. I do."

The curve.

"Is that..." I scratch my nose. "Is that a good thing?"

"I don't know." He chuckles, then smirks with mischievous eyes. "It's supposed to be."

"Hm. Are those... ridges on the bottom?" I tilt my head, drawing in the air. My dildo looks like a ballerina compared to that.

"This?" Gio gets right in front of my face. He flips his cock over his stomach and brushes his finger across the protruded line from the base to underneath the head. "That's an artery."