Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 255(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 255(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Her smile grew. “Kabob. It’s also my favorite. We not have BBQ, but my maman makes it in oven. Tomorrow, you come my house for dinner. We cook Kabob for you. To say thank you for helping today.”
I smiled. “I’ll go anywhere you want. Tell me where and when.”
Chapter 3
Zeke—Age 29
Present Day
Cyrus moans, shoving his head under the pillow as I step out of the shower. “Bro, get some fucking therapy for your sleeping habits. Getting up before the sun rises is fucked up.”
I slap Cyrus’s naked ass. “Keep flapping your mouth, and I’ll wake you up by shoving my cock down your throat.”
“You promise?” Cyrus wags his eyebrows.
My gaze roams his muscular frame covered in vicious burn marks. They trail in intricate swirls from his left arm across his chest and up the left side of his face. Bending, I trace my tongue along the indented flesh of his thigh until I get to his hard cock, pointing straight to the ceiling.
Cyrus fists his hand in my wet hair as he pulls me closer to the tip of his dick. “You know if you wake me up like this, my ass will become a morning person too.”
I open my lips wide and take his girth into my mouth, pushing my head down until he hits the back of my throat. My tongue glides around his smooth shaft as I gag from the upward motion of his hips, causing his cock to move deeper.
Cyrus and I move in rhythm until his body goes still. He holds my head down firmly, and I gag again as he fills my mouth with his cum. I close my eye and swallow the load he’s given me, and his hands loosen around my head.
“Guess you won’t be needing that protein shake now.” Cyrus wipes a drop of cum from the side of my mouth with his index finger before sucking it clean.
I smirk as I drop my towel and rummage for jogging pants and a t-shirt.
“Whoa, what’s the rush? Thought we’d hit up rounds two and three.”
I turn to witness Cyrus pointing to his dick, which is raring to go again. My lips curve at his ostentatious nature, and I shake my head. Usually, I’d be on him, flipping him over as I sink my teeth into his flesh and fuck him raw, but the marks on his body from last night need to heal. Guilt hits me as I glance at the teeth marks and fresh bruises on his flesh, some on his unmarked skin, while others are prominent on his scars.
I could bottom for him, but I have all this nervous energy that won’t allow it. I want to stalk, chase, and capture my prey, not submit to him. “You still gotta heal from last night. I was pretty rough on you.”
Cyrus spits on his hand and smiles as he glides it over his shaft, pumping it slowly. “Fuck, yes, you were, but that Epsom salts bath with jasmine helped.
“Gotta thank Azadeh when she finally decides to come home,” I say as I pull the black cotton t-shirt over my head.
“If she ever comes home,” Cyrus whispers, staring wistfully at the ceiling.
The clown is somber as he realizes he misses her. We all miss her. She hasn’t been back in months. Her absence has done things to our psyche we can’t explain, each of us coping in our fucked-up way. Some coping mechanisms are healthy, some questionable, and others downright destructive. I’m not sure why Azadeh has stayed away this long, but the ache in my heart won’t quit. I want to track her down, bring her back against her will if I have to.
I’ve learned over the years that Cy needs space when he’s solemn. Solitude helps to center him in ways I can’t. At first, I found it odd since he played the jester. But over the years, we’ve created a solid bond that allows him to express his wants and needs. A bond I hope Lev will also be a part of.
I kiss Cyrus’s head before leaving him in the room to wallow in misery.
Downstairs, I find a pot of coffee already started. Lev must’ve had an early start. I pour the hot liquid into a plain black mug and stare out the window.
There’s always a vacancy when Azadeh isn’t here. The three of us continue our lives and even find joy in our activities, but something is always lacking.
Jaheh shoma Kahliheh.
Over the years, Azadeh and her family have taught me Farsi. At first, I learned the language to communicate with her since she was learning English. But over time, I appreciated the poetic nature of the tongue and how everything was an emotive arrow straight to the truth of things. In Persian, you don’t simply say, “I miss you.” You say, “Jaheh shoma Kahliheh,” which means your place is empty. Azadeh not being here has left a void that nothing and no one can ever fill.