Chapter 22
Emotional Edging
CALEB
We slip out while everyone's attention is on the screen, earning only a few knowing glances as we head toward the stairs. Instead of going directly to my room or his, Caleb leads me to the small study at the end of the hall, the quietest room in the house, where people go to get work done.
"You okay?" Once the door is closed behind us, it's safe to talk.
"Yeah," he says, perching on the edge of the desk. "Just needed a minute away from everyone."
"Too much Christmas spirit?"
He smiles, but it looks fake. "Something like that. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow."
I step up close and lean against the desk beside him. "When do you have to leave?"
"Early. Car's picking me up at seven." He rubs a hand over his face. "Three days of campaign events dressed up as a family Christmas. Can't wait."
"Will your brothers be there?"
"Yeah. They're better at playing along, though. Thomas is thinking about running for office himself someday, so he's all about supporting the family brand." He says it without bitterness, just resignation.
"And you're the family rebel?"
"More like the family disappointment." He looks down at his hands. "The gay son who refuses to study political science or shake the right hands."
Knocking my foot against his. "Their loss."
He looks up, something vulnerable in his expression. "This is the first Christmas I've enjoyed the lead-up to. Usually, I'm dreading it from Thanksgiving onward."
"Me too. I usually try to ignore the whole thing until it's over."
"Look at us. Two holiday scrooges finding the Christmas spirit."
"Speak for yourself. I still think the commercialization of Christmas is a capitalist nightmare."
He laughs, the tension in his shoulders easing. "And there's the James I know and..." He stops abruptly, something flickering across his face.
"And?" My heart is suddenly hammering, and I'm desperate to know what he almost said.
"Like," he finishes, but we both know that wasn't what he almost said. "The James I know and like. Obviously."
"Obviously," I echo, the word catching slightly. Not pushing it, even though that warm thing in my chest is expanding fast enough to make breathing weird.
We're silent for a moment, the muffled sounds of the movie and occasional laughter drifting upstairs. Something about this quiet moment is more intimate than anything physical between us.
"I should finish packing," he says eventually, breaking the silence.
"Want company?"
"Always."
Caleb's room is neater than mine. Everything is in its place except for the open suitcase on his bed and clothes laid out beside it. He moves methodically, folding each item precisely before placing it in the suitcase. Sitting on his desk chair, I watch him.
"How long will you be gone?"
He literally told me this five minutes ago. Well done, brain. Mentally smacking myself in the forehead.
"Back on the 27th. Father has meetings in Sacramento on the 28th, so the family Christmas charade gets cut short this year." He carefully packs a sweater. "What about you? You'll be here the whole time?"
"Yeah. Nowhere else to go."
He pauses, looking up at me. "I'm sorry I won't be here for Christmas."
"It's fine. I'm used to it."
"That doesn't make it okay."
"The guys will be around. Emily's organizing a big dinner. I won't be alone."
He nods, returning to his packing, but something in his expression has shifted. "We should do something when I get back. Just us. A late Christmas."
"I'd like that," I say, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice and probably failing.
"It's weird," he says, zipping a side pocket of the suitcase. "A few months ago, I would have been looking for any excuse to avoid going home, but dreading it all the same. Now I'm... annoyed that I have to leave here."
"The frat's growing on you?"
"Not just the frat." His eyes meet mine. "You."
Oh boy.
We've been dancing around this for weeks. We've admitted that our fake relationship has turned into something real, but we've never actually talked about feelings and shit.
"Yeah?" It's all I can manage.
"Yeah." He abandons his packing and moves to stand in front of me, between my knees. "In case it wasn't painfully obvious."
Reaching out, I pull him in by his belt loops. "You're not exactly known for your transparency, Huntington."
"I'm trying something new," he says, his voice softer now. "Being honest about what I want."
"And what do you want?" My voice comes out rough.
His answer is to lean in and kiss me, his hands cupping my face with surprising gentleness. It's different from our usual kisses. This is slower, more deliberate, as if he's trying to memorize the feeling.
When he pulls back, his eyes are darker. "Take me to your room?" My room is further back in the house, so it's less likely that we will emerge to a group of guys casually critiquing our performances.
"What about the movie marathon?" I don't really care, but I want to always check in with him.
"They won't miss us," he says, tugging me toward the door.
The walk to my room takes longer than it should because we keep stopping to kiss in the hallway. When we make it inside and I kick the door shut behind us, we're both breathing hard, hands already working at each other's clothes.
"Should we be quieter?" he asks as I push him back onto my bed. "People downstairs—"
"Let them hear," the words are muffled against his neck since I can't stop nipping at his skin. "I'm done… Caleb, this is completely real for me."
His breath catches. "James—"
"Unless you want to keep being quiet?" I pull back slightly to look at him.
"No," he says firmly, pulling me back down. "No more quiet. No more fake. Just us, dating and all that."
His sweater goes over his head, followed quickly by his t-shirt. My hands explore the newly exposed skin, tracing the lines of his torso as he arches into the touch. His fingers work the buttons on my shirt quickly, pushing the fabric from my shoulders with an impatience that makes me smile.
"Someone's eager,"
"I've got three days with my family coming up," he says, his hands moving to the front of my pants. "I need something good to remember while I'm surrounded by politicians and photographers."
I laugh against his neck between biting kisses. "Happy to provide the service."
"Shut up and kiss me properly."
Doing what he asks is easy. Kissing him while our bodies push together, lining up our fronts so I can rub against his hard cock.
He touches me like he's in a hurry, like he's trying to save up enough of this feeling to get through his days away.
I take it slower, moving down his body bit by bit, wanting to stretch out the sensations. Edging Caleb a bit will be fun.
By the time we're both half naked, the fun part has turned into a more intense sex than usual. His eyes stay locked with mine as I move on top of him, both of us breathing heavily in the soft light from my bedside lamp.
"James," he whispers from beneath me, already looking wrecked, and we've barely started. His carefully styled hair is a mess from my fingers, his shirt is somewhere on the floor, and those perfectly pressed slacks are hanging off one ankle because we didn’t have the patience to actually remove them properly.
"You're thinking too much," he says, yanking me down by my collar for another kiss.
That's rich. A laugh tries to escape. My entire brain is focused on making him beg. Nothing else exists right now except Caleb and how wrecked I can get him.
It's hard to think when his tongue's in my mouth and his hands are getting my belt off pretty fast for someone who I’m supposed to be distracting.
Breaking the kiss, I work my way down his neck, tasting salt and whatever expensive cologne he wears that probably costs more than my textbooks. His breath hitches when I reach that spot below his ear, the one that makes him grab my hair hard enough to hurt.
"James—"
"Shut up." My teeth nip at his collarbone. "Let me work."
Moving lower, mapping every inch of his chest with my mouth. He's got these little freckles scattered across his shoulders that I've memorized by now, and that stupid, perfectly defined torso that should be illegal. When I drag my tongue down the center line of his abs, his whole body jerks.
"Fuck—"
Lower still, nosing at the trail of hair below his navel while my hands work his briefs the rest of the way off. His cock springs free, already hard and leaking, and the sight of it never gets old.
Wrapping my hand around the base and giving it one slow stroke from root to tip. His hips buck up, seeking more friction.
"Impatient." I give his cock another deliberately slow stroke, watching his face contort.
His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. "Three days with my family. I'm storing up good memories."
Right. The family thing. The reason he's going to be gone and I'm going to be here alone and—
Nope. Not thinking about that right now.
Instead, I lean down and take him into my mouth in one smooth motion. The sound he makes is somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and his hand flies to my hair, gripping tight.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck—"
I work him over with everything I've learned about what he likes. The way he loses it when I hollow my cheeks. How his thighs shake when I take him deep enough to feel him hit the back of my throat. The broken noises he makes when I pull off to tongue at his slit, tasting the precum gathering.
His breathing's getting ragged, thighs tensing under my hands. Close. He's close.
So naturally, I grip the base of his cock hard, stopping the orgasm in its tracks.
"JAMES!" His whole body arches off the bed. "What the—you complete bastard—"
"Not yet," I'm probably grinning like an asshole. "We're not done."
"I will murder you," he pants, glaring down at me. "I will actually commit homicide."
"I’m sure there’s a line somewhere." Probably starting with your dad– Nope, not thinking about your dad when I have your dick in my mouth.