I kept staring at the door, my mind immersing in all kinds of dark thoughts. I hoped my nightmare this morning wasn’t a sign something bad was going to happen.
"Carter?" I asked again, trying the handle for a few more times before starting to knock on the door.
"Hey, are you ok? Why is the door locked?"
I looked around, wal
Carter's PoV: I walked into the kitchen, a wicked smirk making its way onto my face as I saw my husband leaned against the counter, a cup of tea steaming between his fingers. He was wearing a white apron, "The chef's kiss is the best" being written with sparkling glitter over his chest. I bought that appron for him. "Morning, love!" I said as I made my way between my husband's legs, lifting him onto the counter and making him yelp in surprise. Fifteen years had passed since my legs have been amputated and fourteen years since I got my prosthetics. Now, I had two robotic legs and could walk like a normal person. It was all thanks to Ryder Morris. I don't
Carter’s PoV: I exited the bathroom, making my way towards the bed. Ryder was already tucked in, laying on my side of the bed, my pillow held tightly in his arms. “You can hug the real thing.” I said as I climbed next to my husband, my arms finding their way around Ryder’s body and lips brushing softly over his nape , making him shudder. “It took you too long to brush your teeth.” “I also took a dump.” I teased, hearing Ryder groan a sleepy response. “Tired?” I asked, rubbing Ryder’s tummy softly and feeling him arch against me. He just hummed a husky response, pressing his muscular body closer to mine. The sensation of Ryder’s hard abs against my fingertips made my own body heat up. My lips locked on the skin of his neck and hands travelled towards his chest, each kiss, bite and touch being accompanied by Ryder’s q
"Drink it, drink it, drink it!" The football team cheered as I tilted my head backwards and swallowed the throat burning alcohol. Then I smashed the cup on the counter, looking at the boys with a dizzied smirk. "For the team and for our future matches, let's win them all and become better with each passing year!" Glasses clinked against each other,
"These pancakes are an absolute heaven, Mr. Matvey, but you shouldn't have bothered..." "Nonsense, nonsense. There are so many of them just for the three of us. Eat them all and if you want more, don't be shy to grab another one from the plate. I will leave them on the table so you can serve yourself anytime." I stuffed my mouth full, muffling the groan which was threatening to betray my annoyance. All my life I thought Ryder was a raging homophobe. He hated me for being gay and I hated him for being a homophobe. But th
I was strumming my guitar when the edges of my fringes brushed against my eyelids and made me realize two things: my hair was growing long and I needed a haircut; and my eyes were getting tired and I needed to take a break. So I put the guitar in my lap and secured it between the handles of my wheelchair and my arms, starting to move back towards the house. But when I turned around and saw Ryder leaned against the door frame watching me, I stopped stuck in my track. I remembered the time our team went camping. At night we all sat around this huge bonfire while telling stories, joking around and simply getting wasted. Then th
Ryder’s decision ignited not a fight, but a full raging war… between me and his patience, his iron clad nerves.Three days and twenty-three episode of "Chandralekha" had passed since Ryder had officially become my caregiver and I’ve tried to annoy, bully, even to constipate him into resigning. Every method had been unsuccessful. But I didn’t give up because no matter how patient Ryder was, I was tenfold more determined to get rid of him. "How does she still talk with a bullet in her head?"
You would believe one would be more lenient with their disabled child… not my parents. My phone, laptop, ipad and guitar got confiscated for two weeks, I couldn’t watch TV, nor use my xbox, and they denied buying me any snacks. They were treating me like a little child getting grounded for punching his middle school classmate. It wasn’t me who told Ryder to climb on the roof or to get scratched on his cheek. My only fault was that I left muddy trails on the carpet after entering the house with my dirty wheelchair. But again, I think my fathers’ goal was not to punish me, but rather to make me “bond” with Ryder. After they told me that “You act like a little kid, you get punished like one”, my dad also implied that now when I had no distractions, I might get to know Ryder better and actually befriend him.
Monday, at seven in the morning, we were already in the car on the way to the capital of the country where my cousin and her family lived. I was sitting in the passenger seat with my head leaned against the window and the seatbelt placed under my armpits and around my chest, due to it rubbing my neck and irritating my skin. Ryder was humming the song playing at the radio, his hands stuck on the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the road. From time to time he would turn his head, stealing subtle, not so subtle stares at me. Per total, it was a nicely comfortable drive.This until Ryder