Chapter 2 #2
It’s a lie, and everyone knows it. The walls of this building have witnessed every time my skin has heated when he’s near. But it isn’t real, just confusion tangled with curiosity. Nothing more.
I stalk to the bedroom and hear Caleb lumbering behind me. I don’t turn around and look because I refuse to let him see the effect he has on me.
He’s really not my type.
There should be no effect.
“You know, it wasn’t anything negative. You’re really pretty when you blush,” he adds, and I stumble at his words. He needs to stop talking. He needs to close his mouth and shut up.
I reach for his bed and pull the covers back, needing him to go to sleep. To wake up and not remember any of this.
“Get in,” I say, my voice snapping.
“Tucking me in?” he asks, his lips curling up in a soft, adoring smile. Absolutely not. This is not happening. Thankfully, he slips between the covers, and I toss them over his body, hiding him from me.
It’s only then that I can breathe.
Caleb lets out a small moan of distress, and I peer down at him, his head peeking up beneath the covers, his hair messy, his eyes still fucking blue. They close, and he lets out a long exhale, like he’s trying not to die.
“You going to throw up?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine, man.”
I watch him closely, unsure if he’s telling the truth. The last thing I want to do is clean up his vomit, although that would probably cure whatever this nagging feeling is inside of me.
It would erase it completely.
“What?” Caleb says, his eyelid popping open to look at me. I realize I’m still hovering over him, like a ghost. A creepy one.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, needing an excuse for lingering.
“Believe me, man. I’ve been drinking since I was thirteen. I can handle a few beers.”
My eyebrows rise at that. “A few?”
“Fine, more than a few. I’ll be fine. Just go to sleep. There’s only so much scowling I can take from you.”
My lips turn down, and my eyebrows meet. “I don’t scowl.”
He groans as he murmurs, “You scowl.”
And then suddenly he flings the covers off him, exposing that chest and those thighs all over again. My heart thumps wildly as the sheets fall to the floor.
I stare at them because it’s that or at him.
“I’ll put them on the bed tomorrow,” he explains, but I don’t fucking care about the sheets. Well, maybe I do because I bend down and place them at the end of his bed. They’re in an unruly pile, and my fingers itch to fold them.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he murmurs. “Don’t fold my sheets. It’s unnatural.”
I purse my lips, my fingers flexing near my sides. “There’s nothing unnatural about folding sheets.”
He rolls to his side and holds his stomach. “You’re a freak.”
That hits me right in the chest, and I fold my arms across it protectively. I don’t need to hear those words. Not from him. I heard them enough growing up.
Caleb groans again and then gags slightly. “Ugh, I feel like shit all of a sudden.”
“You’re going to vomit, aren’t you?” I ask, his cruel words mostly forgotten.
“I never vomit,” he gasps and then leans over, and it spills from his mouth. I move before I can think, grabbing the trash can and thrusting it under his chin. Caleb moans in agony and unloads more of his stomach into it.
It smells vile. But I’m used to it. I’ve taken care of my mother enough times to put it out of sight and mind.
Caleb clutches the bin and heaves a little more before flopping back and glancing up at me.
I breathe through my mouth.
“Sorry, that’s never happened before,” he says, smiling sheepishly up at me.
I glance at the vomit-filled trash can in my hand and set it down with a sigh. I need to get the smell from this room, and then I need to get him showered. He’s currently lying in his mess, and it’s not a good look. And it can’t be comfortable either.
I wrench the window open and feel the cool breeze sweep in. Inhaling deeply, I smell the scent of grass and smoke from a bonfire filtering in. Then I move toward Caleb, who is looking down at himself in disgust.
Good. He should feel bad about this. Drinking a few beers, vomiting all over my trash can. Really, have some decorum.
“Come on, you’re going to take a shower,” I say, reaching down and helping him up. His skin is clammy and warm, and I wonder if this is more than just alcohol. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is just him being sick.
Now I feel like an asshole.
“Probably a good idea,” Caleb responds as he follows me to the bathroom.
I reach into the shower and turn the water on, trying to ignore the looming man behind me. But it’s hard when he consumes all the air in a room.
I peer behind me and see him leaning against a wall, his eyes shut, his hands holding his stomach.
“Will you be able to stay standing while I clean up?”
Caleb’s eyes blink open. “You’ll know if I can’t.”
He makes a face and then stumbles toward the tub. My hand reaches out again, and I grab on to his wrist, helping him under the water, his boxers still on, before walking away and shutting the door.
My eyes move down to my hands, and I cringe, moving quickly to the kitchen to wash them.
When they’re scrubbed pink, I pull on some gloves and get to work cleaning everything up.
I empty the trash can, throw his sheets into the wash, and when I realize he doesn’t have another set, I make his bed with some of my own.
And then I sit on my bed, my hands hanging between my legs, my chin on my chest. I’m just waiting for him to return, so I can tuck him in and get some sleep. Then I can wake up tomorrow and pretend this was all a dream.
Suddenly, from the silence in my room, I hear a thud, and my head jerks up.
Fuck, what if he fell? Is he hurt?
I move toward the bathroom door and call out, “You okay in there?”
The water turns off, but I hear another crash.
“Yep, fine,” Caleb calls out, his voice slightly muffled.
He doesn’t sound fine, and he didn’t look fine when I left him in there either. I should have stayed and waited. Should have gotten into that shower with him…
No. Absolutely not.
My hand lands on the knob, and I feel the cool metal under my palm. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.
“Can I come in?”
A moment’s hesitation and then, “Yeah.”
I twist the knob and hold my breath, the scent of his shampoo and soap hitting me like a slap across the face.
The vision of the mess I just had to clean up evaporates completely when I take him in. He’s completely naked except for a tiny towel around his waist. One of mine.
He’s far too large for something like that. It barely contains him.
I inhale slowly and let my gaze flick up his wet skin, pink from the shower, and it settles on his face.
“You still have shampoo in your hair.”
He shrugs, like he can’t be fucked with rinsing it out.
“It’s fine. Doesn’t matter.”
It matters. I just replaced his sheets. Like hell he’s going to put a still-soapy head on my pillowcase.
“Come here,” I murmur and then step forward, reaching out and pulling him toward the sink.
He goes willingly, and even though I tell myself not to, my hand reaches up and cups the back of his neck, pushing him down.
His body bends forward, his ass out, his hand holding on to that small towel for all its worth.
I see myself in the mirror and note the pink tinge on my cheeks as I guide his head under the faucet.
He sighs beneath the cool water, and I know that this will last far too long if I don’t help.
So, I let my fingers thread through his hair, helping rinse away the massive amount of shampoo he put in it.
He has thick strands. Strands meant for clutching, for pulling.
For holding on to.
He shifts on his feet, letting out a soft moan. The sound echoes from the bowl of the sink to my groin, and I quickly pull my hand away.
I need to stop touching him.
I will stop touching him.
Caleb lurches slightly at the loss of contact, and that’s when it all goes sideways.
The towel he was hanging on to so diligently slips, leaving him completely exposed. He stands up, knocking his head on the faucet, and my gaze slips down to his soft cock hanging right between his legs. For just a second, just a glance, before I reach around him and right the towel.
It’s only then that I can breathe.
“Think you need bigger towels,” he tells me as my fingertips skirt the V of his hips. They burn. They positively throb.
“Agreed. Now hold on to this.”
I guide his hand to the towel, and his fingers curl around it.
“Sorry, man. I think I’m sick.” He’s watching me in the mirror, and I peer over at him. He looks flushed, and the bit of skin I touched felt warm.
I reach out and press the back of my fingers against his forehead and then drag them down to his cheek. Water is still beaded on his shoulders, some dripping from the wet strands of his hair.
“Mm, you’re burning up.”
“Told you. I never throw up from drinking. It’s a superpower.”
I arch an eyebrow at him and then bend down, grabbing another towel and placing it over his head. I towel him off as best I can, his soft, muffled sounds slipping through my defenses. No matter how hard I try to ignore them, they still find their way in, stirring something deep inside me.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I finally say, hanging up the damp towel and stepping out of the bathroom.
“Don’t know what I’m going to sleep on. I don’t have any extra sheets. Never got around to buying more.”
“You can use some of mine.”
He stills when he sees his nicely made bed, and I fold the sheets back, hinting at him to get in.
He doesn’t even hesitate, just drops his towel and slides in. My eyes land on his bare ass, and I was right. It’s perfect. Round and muscular.
I clench my jaw and turn my gaze away, tucking him in as he turns and inhales the scent of the pillowcase.
“Smells like you.”
I glance away, not wanting to see him run his cheek up and down it, grabbing on to it like he’s desperate for something more.
There can be nothing more.
“Here, take this,” I say as I reach over and grab the medication and a glass of water I set out for him.
He takes it with shaky hands, and when I see how much he’s wobbling, I press the pills to his mouth, feel the warmth of his lips—wet, plush, impossibly perfect.
When his gaze lifts to mine, those blue eyes are wide and dark, the color almost swallowed whole by his pupils.
I hear my throat click, and I can’t help myself. I shouldn’t, but I do. “Swallow.”
He nods and does as I say. And I watch it all—the way his throat clicks, the bob of his Adam’s apple. Something inside of me unfurls even more, and I know I’m fucked.
I’m playing with fire.
I’m going to get burned.
And then, suddenly, it’s over, and I know I’m free. I can move away from him and get some air. Some space. It’s desperately needed.
“I’ll make this up to you.”
He seems so despondent that I freeze. My hand reaches out and brushes some of the wet strands from his forehead. A dangerous game to play.
He blinks, his eyes slightly unfocused.
“Just rest, okay? I’ll be here if you need me.” I shouldn’t offer that. I shouldn’t offer more than I can give, but my fingers linger a little too long, and when I finally move to pull them away, he reaches out and holds them to his face.
They spread, cupping his cheek.
My heartbeat ratchets up, an impossible feeling weaving its way through me.
“Don’t stop,” he whispers desperately, longingly.
I can’t breathe. I need to leave, to run, but I can’t move.
All my mouth does is form a promise that I’ll stay. And I do. I fucking stay.
He eventually falls asleep, and I peel myself away from him.
I do it reluctantly, berating myself the entire time as I tuck myself under my own covers and curl up beneath them. My eyes finally close, and I dream of him, the angles of his face, the shape of his body.
His legs. His ass and cock.
“Whit. I want you. Whit.”
My eyes shoot open, and I see someone looming over me. My heart, which was already thrumming, speeds up.
It’s Caleb. He’s completely naked, hovering over my bed like an apparition.
“Hell,” I murmur as I sit upright, my hand rubbing at my aching chest, my eyes moving everywhere but him.
“You okay?” I manage to ask.
“I’m so…fucking cold. Can’t…stop shaking.”
I peer up at him and see the tremble vibrating through his limbs. His teeth chatter, and I know I shouldn’t. I definitely should not.
But my arm peels the sheets back, and his eyes dart to them.
“Come here.”
His gaze darts down to his dick and then back to me.
“I’m naked.”
If I need to convince this straight man to get into bed with me, I won’t do it. I’ll let him go back to his bed, even tuck him in. But before I can even get up to do that, he crawls in next to me. The scent of him travels over me, wrapping me in a cocoon I may never escape.
I pull the covers over both of us, and I half-expect him to roll to face the wall, but what he does next makes my entire body stiffen.
He rolls himself onto me, wrapping himself around me. His leg flings over my thigh, his arms wrapped around my torso. I hold my breath, sure that he’ll realize what he’s doing and leave.
But he doesn’t. He only holds on tighter.
Then his face tucks against my shoulder, and I feel the tip of his cold nose hit my skin. He sighs happily as I lie there, unsure of what to do, of where to go. How can I hide from a man who is intent on suffocating me? Who is draped over me, breathing warmth into me?
This is terrible, a risk I can’t afford. I should push him away, tell him to go back to his bed, that it was all a mistake. That he’s just sick and confused.
That he’ll regret it in the morning.
His lips skirt the heady pulse in my neck, and my lungs constrict.
“Mm. Whit. Why do you smell so good?”
Those words—the sincerity and need lined in each one…
I let my hand gently touch his back, settling against his warm skin, and I know I’m not going anywhere.