Chapter 4 #3
He crawls over to me, sliding between them. His back hits my chest, his head on my shoulder. I can feel the stubble on his cheeks hit mine.
But I don’t touch him. I can’t do that. This is as much as I can give him. It’s safest this way.
“This how you cuddle?” he asks, turning to look at me. His lips are impossibly close. “Girls must be lining up to fuck you.”
Does he really think I want a woman, or is he fishing?
“If you want my hands somewhere, put them there.”
He sighs in annoyance and then grabs my left hand and places it on his stomach. I’ve never touched his abs. Never. My fingers spread without warning, and I feel his muscles bunch under my touch.
Fucking deadly.
“Better,” he says softly, seeming to melt into me.
We watch for a few minutes, and then he peels my right hand off the sofa cushions and places it right over his heart. I can feel the wild thump of it under my palm.
He tenses, as if realizing that I can feel what this is doing to him, but then shrugs it off, like he always does.
Everything with him just moves so easily.
Life for him must be a breeze.
Caleb dozes on and off as the show plays endlessly, and in those moments, when I know he’s asleep, I let my hands drift, touching that strong abdomen, curling against it for just a moment.
I’ve never had a man like this. So big. So overwhelming.
And if I graze his nipple ring and trace the line of his collarbone, it can’t be helped.
He’s a work of art, a sculpture.
It’s nothing more than admiration.
Of course, my father has to ruin it. Of course, he chooses to call now. I feel the buzz in my pants pocket, and I pull my phone out.
When I shift, I feel my half-hard cock bump against Caleb’s lower back and my cheeks flame, as does my irritation.
He couldn’t have felt that, right?
God, don’t let him have felt that.
“I have to take this,” I say, expecting Caleb to move. He only sinks in.
For some reason, speaking to my father while he’s here against me, another man, someone my father would not approve of, makes me feel brave. Defiant, even.
“Da?” I ask, and my father replies in Romanian.
He knows I responded to the email, that the deal is done. He doesn’t need to follow up, but he does because he can. Because he gets a thrill from controlling me.
I make sure my responses are clipped and steady, happy that Caleb has no idea what I’m saying.
I don’t need anyone to know the dark situation I’ve found myself in.
The call is over as quickly as it started. My chest constricts, anger welling up inside of me, and I toss my phone across the couch and take a deep breath.
“I didn’t know you spoke another language,” Caleb says, breaking the tense silence.
His voice, the way he shifts against me, has me calming. “I do.”
“Come on, man. Give me something. What language was that?”
“Romanian,” I say, my fingers tapping against the couch.
He reaches around and grabs them, placing my palms on his stomach. “Who was that?”
“My father.”
“Ah. Not a fan?”
“No.”
He thinks about that and then says, “You sounded angry.”
“I am.”
My fingers aren’t though. They spread across his stomach and touch him as much as they can.
“You going to be okay?” he asks, and the laugh I give is bitter. He has no idea how okay I have to be. All the fucking time.
“I always am.”
He glances up at me, at my cold tone, and does something that nearly makes me melt.
He rubs his nose against my jaw.
“Hey,” he says as he does it. “Snap out of it, man.”
The way he feels rubbing against me. Always fucking on top of me. My tongue peeks out, wetting my lips, and then I can’t help myself. I thread my fingers into his hair, fisting it, tugging it roughly. Caleb lets out a soft, surprised groan, and I feel my cock thicken in my pants.
At how pliant he is. How eager.
He can’t be straight. Can he?
He has to at least be bisexual.
“Snap out of it?” I ask, my lips hovering over his, the hand on his abdomen flexing to keep him in place.
“Do you know how I snap out of it, Caleb?” I ask, losing control completely. He’s brought me to the brink. He can’t blame me when we tumble over the edge.
“Nah,” he says on a rush of air.
I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t do something I can’t take back. My hands flex against him, and he groans once more. And then I blink, coming back to myself, the moment suddenly gone. I can’t be doing this with him.
“I need to go study,” I say quickly, pushing against him, needing him to move.
He separates himself from me slowly, languidly. Like he has no idea how close I am to coming undone.
“So, studying is how you snap out of it?” he calls to my retreating back. I’m moving quickly to the room. To get away from him.
I need space.
I can’t keep letting him touch me like that.
He can’t fucking do that to me.
I grab my messenger bag, tucking my cock under the waistband of my pants. And when I swipe my phone off the couch, Caleb is staring at me longingly, a pillow indiscreetly over his crotch.
I stare at it, knowing what that means. Fuck. I know what that means.
Maybe I should stay. I could see where this takes us. But then I remember how terrible this will end up and shake my head.
“Yes” is all I can say in answer.
Because if I tell him the truth, if I stay, who knows what I’ll do to him.
And there’s just no coming back from that.
I rush out to my car, knowing that if I move any slower, I may find my legs carrying me back to the apartment, pulling that pillow off his lap, and seeing if I’m right about all of it.
I don’t need to know if I’m right.
I just need to know I’m still sane.
So, I put an address into my phone and throw my car into drive, knowing that if I don’t do this, I’ll lose my ability to control myself.
I don’t need to know if I’m right about what Caleb was hiding under that pillow.
I already know.
I fucking know. But I can’t have it.
I can’t have him.
And having to spend the entire weekend with him and his family…
Fuck. I glance at the directions as I head to my destination. Yes, this is for the best.
I need to take the edge off.
I speed down the freeway, hopping on the toll lanes as I head into the city. And when I maneuver my car up a long incline and into a dimly lit parking lot, I let out an exhale.
I’m far enough away now that I won’t be able to turn around and head home.
I can’t go back there.
I step out of the car and head toward the smoky glass doors, two security guards tracking my every move. One holds out a card reader as I approach. I tap my phone against it, the familiar chime cutting through the music coming from inside. Not a small fee, but one I’ve paid before.
Luckily, this establishment is discreet, and what shows up on the bill doesn’t reveal to anyone what I’m spending my money on. My dad doesn’t need to know this part of me.
He already hates it.
I let my gaze slide toward the view, seeing the city lights twinkling in the distance below before moving inside.
Everything here is sapphire blue and soft rose, with mirrored walls and floor-to-ceiling windows.
From here, you can see the Pacific shimmering in the distance, and as I move my feet across the marbled floors, I hear the bass rumble through me.
I’m here to find someone to take my mind off my roommate. Someone more my type, someone to satiate the building need inside of me.
I could have called Magnus to ask for a favor, but that doesn’t feel right anymore. I need it to be anonymous. I need it to be someone I don’t know, someone I won’t remember. Someone who won’t consume my every waking moment.
As I move toward the bar top, I see men in linen blazers and tailored shirts mingling, champagne and other colorful drinks in their hands. Rich, sophisticated.
So unlike him.
So very different.
Eyes swivel toward me, and I feel my skin prickling.
And not in a good way.
It’s just nerves, I tell myself. Nothing more.
I sidle up to the glowing onyx bar top and lean forward. A bartender with a name tag that reads Velvet nods at me.
“What can I get you?” he asks, his voice smooth and low.
I know I’m young, probably one of the younger ones here, but I’m no stranger when it comes to alcohol.
Nothing like Caleb, though. I didn’t start drinking when I was thirteen. But I snuck a few bottles of my parents’ wine when I was younger.
“Champagne is fine.”
“Any preference?”
I shrug. “Whatever you think.”
Velvet eyes me for a moment before turning away, reaching for a crystal glass. He grabs a bottle and pours, and I watch as bubbles rise and break against the rim. Someone steps up beside me, close enough that I can feel the shift in the air.
I peer over at the man when he nudges me with his elbow.
“New here?” he asks, and I give him a small nod as Velvet slides the champagne toward me. I slide my credit card toward him, and he takes it before moving on to another customer.
My fingers curl around the cool glass, and I turn to face the man who nudged me. He’s thin, his brown hair slicked back, his clothes perfectly ironed and color coordinated.
So different from Caleb, I think.
The perfect man to help me forget about him.
I take a sip of my drink as the man assesses me.
“What’s your name?”
I think about Caleb asking me that when we first met and how he rolled my name off his lips on repeat, as if trying to ingrain it in his memory. How that made me feel.
The way it still makes me ache.
“Whit.”
“Whit. Nice to meet you. I’m Levi.”
I roll my lips between my teeth. “Hello, Levi.”
I try to smile at him, but it feels wrong. All of this feels fucking wrong.
Levi bites his bottom lip, one that is a little too thin, not as thick as Caleb’s, and then he flicks his gaze up to me a little flirtatiously.
“You look a little young. How old are you?”
“I’m old enough to get in here,” I tell him, and he grins, his teeth a little too straight and perfect.
“Seems so. You want to head back to the Vault? They have private rooms there. We could chat a little. Get to know one another.”