Chapter 5 #3
“I’m going to kill you,” he murmurs, stilling my hand once more and turning toward his aunt. “None of you should be talking to him without me knowing.”
“Why?” Luke asks, seeming genuinely confused.
“Because.”
“Not a good reason,” Sem says, and Caleb flips him off.
Aunt Del is just grinning once more as Caleb shifts on top of me.
Then she turns toward Luke. “I want you to find someone like Whit.”
“I’m not gay, Ma.”
“I know that, but I think you should find someone classy like him.”
“I’m classy,” Caleb says, and my traitorous, anxious fingers slide down slightly and are resting right against his happy trail.
And I may even let myself indulge.
I feel him shiver, and my free hand threads unwillingly into his hair. I’ve lost control of my body.
“You cold?” I ask, needing an excuse to be touching him like this. Maybe he’s coming down with something, and he’ll wrap himself around me and not move for three days.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Oh yes, it does get chilly in here,” Aunt Del says, having heard my question. She hands us a blanket, and I spread it over us. Caleb pulls it up to his chin and snuggles in a little further.
My fingers curl into my palm, trying to stop what they’re longing to do. But when they unfurl, they play with the string of his sweatpants and even slide across the waistband of those slutty pants. They may even dip down a little, beneath it entirely.
I can feel the flutter of his stomach against my fingertip.
Fuck.
“I hope you’ll come back and stay with us for Thanksgiving,” Aunt Del tells me, and my fingers are still for a moment, my mind snapping back to reality.
I’m doing all of this with his family right there. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve lost control of my senses, too, it seems.
“What makes you think we’ll still be together then?” Caleb asks, sounding slightly bothered by this.
“Oh, shut up, you,” his aunt tells him, and then says to me, “You’re welcome to come.”
“That sounds very nice, Mrs. van Beek,” I manage to say.
She blushes. “Call me Del, please.”
Caleb huffs and wiggles on top of me once more.
“How can you stand him on top of you all the time?” Sem asks me, his long, thick legs sprawled out in front of him, picking at the label of his beer.
I shrug, letting my fingers drag through his happy trail. Maybe I’m just a sadist, touching what I can’t have. “I guess I enjoy it.”
“Yeah. He enjoys it,” Caleb says and places his head on my shoulder, forcing my fingers to slide up his chest.
Right to his nipple ring.
I can’t help but touch it, tug at it.
I’m so fucking hard for this.
He sits there, curled up against me for a few long minutes, not stilling my hand, but letting me explore, when suddenly he sits up and blurts.
“I need to go to bed!”
He jumps up off my lap, the blanket clutched around his waist, and jogs up the stairs.
I glance at everyone watching me, confusion and amusement on their faces.
“Yeah, I’m going to check on him,” I say as I follow behind him.
I watch as he runs into the bedroom and tries to shut the door, but I stop it, flinging it open. I stand in the doorway, watching him intently.
Did I do something he didn’t like? Did touching him like that send him over the edge?
It almost did for me, so maybe it was too much.
And in front of his family, too. What was I thinking?
“Are you okay?” I ask as Caleb suddenly drops the blanket and stares at me.
“Do I look okay to you?” he hisses, almost in a panic. My eyes slide down, and I immediately see the way his pants are tented, and I feel my body tighten in response.
“Shut the fucking door before they get an eyeful,” he says, waving frantically at the open bedroom door.
I do as he says, stepping inside and locking it behind me.
Then we do nothing but stare at each other. The air is thick, anticipatory.
I don’t know what he wants, but I know what he needs.
“That looks painful, Caleb,” I finally say, making him groan loudly.
“Of course it is! Your fingers are infuriating. You shouldn’t have touched me like that back there,” he says as he adjusts himself. He whines again, and I step toward him.
I should absolutely not offer to help him. I should fucking not.
I clear my throat and gesture toward the bathroom.
“Perhaps you should take care of it.”
“Oh, fuck off. You should be the one taking care of it, asshole. You caused it.”
Oh, hell no. Oh god, don’t say that. Don’t even suggest it. If I do that…if I do that…
I stare at him, shifting on my feet, my jaw clenched and my fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on my thighs.
My gaze tracks down to the outline of his cock beneath his sweats, the way his chest is flushed pink, his nipples pebbled. And then, out of nowhere, something inside me snaps, sharp and unstoppable.
I stalk forward, and Caleb stumbles back.
“Wh-What are you doing?” he asks as my hand reaches out and cups him.
His hard length is in my hand.
He’s big, larger than most, and I feel it twitch beneath my palm.
A wheeze leaves him, and I can’t help but squeeze him.
Oh fuck, he’s so perfect.
“I always take responsibility for the problems I create,” I say, knowing it’s a terrible excuse to be doing this, but I can’t help myself. And then my thumbs hook into the waistband of his sweats, and I tug them down. His cock pops out, hitting his abs as if waiting for this.
It’s been waiting for me.
I stare down at it, straining between us, and wet my lips.
I shouldn’t, but I will.
“Oh fuck,” Caleb hisses when I reach out and wrap my hand around him. He’s heavy and warm in my palm.
So damn perfect.
He’s not my type? I scoff.
He’s absolutely my type in every possible way.
He glances down at me holding on to him. Neither of us moves, but his cock is dripping. Desperate. Showing me exactly how he feels about this.
“Oh god,” he whispers and then shifts his hips forward slightly.
I know what he wants, and I give it to him. I stoke him once, twice, and he gasps, his hands landing on my shoulders as he holds on for dear life.
He’s groaning and panting, his hips fucking forward through my fist. He’s moaning like a whore, and those sounds are doing things to me.
Terribly wicked things.
And he watches it all, cheeks pink, chest heaving. He knows who’s stroking him, who’s getting him off.
Me.
And when our eyes meet, his cock explodes, cum hitting my pants and shirt, some even landing on my feet.
He trembles and shakes, his eyes rolling back in his head, and then he lets out a whimper and his eyes flutter open.
I stare down at the mess he made and unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
“That was…fast,” I say. It’s the wrong thing to say, but I do it anyway. I’m still holding his softening cock, and it’s still jerking in my hand, as if riding the aftershocks.
I can’t think straight.
“Don’t say another word,” he grumbles. “It’s been a while, okay?” He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose. “Just—let go of me, Whit.”
I unwrap one finger at a time from him, dreading each and every movement that takes me away from him, and then I take a step back.
I’m filthy from his release.
Even so, my cock likes it. It likes what just happened. It’s hard and straining from the sight of Caleb utterly wrecked by me.
His gaze snags on the bulge in my pajama bottoms, and his lips twitch up in a smirk. He looks suddenly pleased with himself.
“Thought I wasn’t your type,” he rasps, and my eyes narrow.
“I’m going to go wash up.”
Then I turn and disappear into the bathroom, standing in the dark room, the only light coming from the nightlight plugged into the wall. I stare at my shadowed face in the mirror and tell myself not to.
I cannot get off to this. But my hand sneaks into my pants anyway. I pull my aching cock out and stroke myself to completion, Caleb’s moans echoing in my ears, the feel of him in my hand, the way he held on to me. Like I was a lifeline.
Like he wanted more.
When I return, scrubbed clean, Caleb is sprawled out on the little bed. He turns to watch as I approach, and he looks so fucking hot that I almost can’t bring myself to look at him. The sight of him is almost painful.
“I usually last a lot longer,” he says as I debate sleeping on the floor, but my body carries me right into the bed.
I climb in next to him and flick off the light.
Our legs brush, but I pull away and stare at the ceiling.
I need to gather myself. I bet he’ll regret this in the morning.
I bet he’ll never ask for something like this again.
Men like Caleb use men like me for experimentation. Whatever that was, it’s a one-off.
I can’t let myself think it’s more than it is.
“You don’t believe me?” he says.
I sigh heavily, turning on my side and closing my eyes. “I believe you, Caleb.”
He wiggles next to me. “I’m very good at sex.”
I fiddle with the sheets and bite my bottom lip. I’ll never know.
“Go to sleep, Caleb.”
“Whatever,” he murmurs, and then I hear him sleep restlessly through the night.
Me, however…I don’t sleep at all.
Around two in the morning, Caleb shifts on top of me. He’s half sprawled over me, warm and heavy, and I’m too stunned to move.
My hands aren’t, though. They crawl up his shirt, touching his warm, bare skin.
He feels like heaven and sin.
Like mine.
Suddenly, gunshots ring out. They rattle the window in our room. My fingers curl into Caleb, my heart thumping wildly. He seems unbothered by the sound, although it does wake him up.
“What’s that?” I ask as he nuzzles his face into my neck, inhaling deeply. I can feel his hard cock against my hip.
It’s torture.
But we also may die.
Someone is outside shooting a gun.
“That’s the sound of freedom, babe,” he mutters.
My fingers pinch his side. “I’m serious. What is that, Caleb?”
“Probably Sem unloading out there,” he replies and then rolls his hips forward, dragging his cock against me.
I shudder beneath him.
What the fuck is he doing?
“Why would he do that in the middle of the night? Is he insane?” I manage to ask, trying to distract him. And me.