#Chapter 88: A Scent Tells A Story

Caught in the afterglow, I have no way of knowing which was is up and which is down. My brain is nothing by white-noise. My body is a pleasant goo. Neil’s spend is hot on my torso. His breathing is labored. When he says, “Fuck,” again, it sounds less sexy, and more really pissed off. “Neil?” “What the hell did I do?” He reaches forward and snatches the shirt away from my eyes. I blink against the sudden blinding lights in the room. He wipes his spend away from my skin with his shirt and then steps off the bed. I never get to catch a peak of what he’s carrying. He’s already tucked away with his zipper up. He walks straight to the trash can and throws the soiled shirt away. I could have washed it, but I don’t mention that now. He pushes his hands through his hair as if he’s trying to manage it into some kind of order. The strands are chaotic, falling in every direction. His eyes are wildly shifting around the room. He is still shirtless and every muscle on him looks tense as a c