Chapter 6 #3
His hands find my shoulders, fingers digging into me as I work him toward the edge. His sweet mewls, his neediness wrapping around us.
The way he moans my name and begs.
It’s my undoing.
“Whit. Please.”
Reaching down, I cradle his balls, and Caleb explodes, his release spilling across my fingers and palm.
Always so easy, so responsive.
It’s never felt like this with anyone.
And then, just like that, it all falls apart, collapsing around me like a burning building. My phone blares, the volume still cranked up from when I was shooting outside.
I instantly regret doing that. Nothing could drag me down from this high faster than seeing my father’s name flashing on the screen.
“Ignore it,” Caleb says as I wipe my hands as quickly as I can.
“I can’t,” I reply, dread washing through me. I wish I could exist in this bubble with Caleb, but I can’t. Reality always calls. With lungs full of air, I pull out my phone and answer in Romanian.
Truth be told, I’m surprised he hasn’t called earlier. I’ve been ignoring this for too long, doing the bare minimum to appease him.
He’s come to collect on my neglect.
“Your mother has begun the planning,” he says without greeting me.
I swallow, feeling my throat click. “Fine.”
“She has sent you several messages. You need to respond.”
Panic wells up inside of me. I’ve seen those messages and ignored them. They didn’t seem urgent. And none of this is what I want anyway. None of it. Why should I answer questions about a future I despise?
“I will.”
His voice lowers. “You will, or you know what will happen.”
My stomach twists, my lungs constricting.
And then I feel arms wrap around me, comforting, reassuring. I let out a long breath and lean back against him, his chin resting on my shoulder, his hands splayed across my abdomen.
He’s grounding me, pulling me back from the edge of my despair.
“I know,” I reply, still speaking in Romanian, not wanting Caleb to hear any of this. It will only lead to more questions I cannot answer. “I’ll make sure to respond. No need for threats.”
“I always ask nicely the first time,” he says, and I bite back a huff of disbelief. “But you only respond to threats.”
That’s not true, I think, but I once again say nothing.
He takes this as an agreement. As a child, I was always supposed to be seen, not heard.
I didn’t find my voice until high school, and maybe that’s why I fell in love with debate.
Suddenly, I could give shape to my thoughts, put words to my feelings.
In those moments, up on stage, they were clear, confident, impossible to ignore.
I was impossible to ignore.
But with my father, I realize that I’m small once again, just a thing to be used. My words have fled.
I’m nothing more than a vessel.
When we hang up several minutes later, my ears ringing from his stern lecture, Caleb is still there.
Holding on to me.
He hasn’t left.
“I hate him,” I finally admit.
“I hate him, too. He sounds like a dick,” Caleb says roughly, his face tucked into my neck.
The way he says it, with conviction, without knowing any of the backstory, makes me laugh.
“He’s not the best father.”
“I’ve never had a dad, but even I know yours can do better.”
“You have your uncle. He loves you. That’s more than I have.”
“Yeah,” he replies and presses his lips to my skin, making goosebumps erupt across my body. I may arch my neck slightly to give him more room to explore.
And he does, his breath warming me from the inside. I want to stay like this forever, to sit in his embrace, but I know that it’s impossible. To do so would only make things harder in the end.
And there has to be an end.
“We should go downstairs,” I say, and he squeezes me tight.
“Why? We could just stay up here for a while.”
“Your aunt has missed you. She wants to spend time with you. I’m sure your uncle does, too.”
“You guilting me into this, Whit? You think you can tell me what to do just because I let you jack me off?”
I pivot toward him, and the moment our eyes meet, the air shifts between us.
“Yes.”
He rolls those blue eyes and sighs. “Alright, fine. Let’s go.”
Our fingers link. Impossible and yet so easy.
We make our way downstairs, finding everyone lingering in the den watching TV, and when I suggest a round of cards, they jump up and grab a worn deck from a cabinet, settling around the kitchen table to play.
I proceed to kick their asses, Caleb’s eyes heating with every point I take.
I may rub against his hard cock beneath the table when no one is looking, forcing him to stifle a groan.
And when the game is over, Caleb and I move outside, the stars sprawled above us like a swirl of diamonds.
He unfolds the blanket, and we move underneath it, our necks craned up as our eyes linger on the beauty above us.
If only he knew the beauty beside me. If only he knew that I’d prefer to gaze at him instead.
Our hands touch, and Caleb curls around me.
“You like it out here?” Caleb asks, our hands exploring, a desperate need to touch and consume.
“Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve disconnected.”
“You should do it more. Maybe disconnect that phone of yours, too.”
I lean forward and inhale him. “Yeah, I should.”
He arches into my touch, eager, willing. “Ever feel like just running away?”
I turn to face him, pressing my face into his wild, unruly hair.
He has no idea how far I’d run. How fast.
With him.
“All the time.”
“Tomorrow, we’re going out on the ATVs. Just wanted to warn you,” Caleb tells me as we curl up in bed. I didn’t even bother resisting the pull, just climbed in next to him.
“I’ll stay back and help your aunt cook dinner,” I say, threading my fingers through his hair, and he almost purrs against me.
He rolls over until he’s on top of me, his face pressing into my neck.
“Loser,” he mutters, his lips sliding against my skin. “You’re coming with me, or we’ll drag you out there.”
“Please don’t,” I say.
He lifts his head, and our eyes meet. Those blue eyes twinkle. “You begging, baby?”
The term of endearment slips out of his mouth, and I feel my cheeks heating. I’ve never blushed so much in my life.
But I like the way that word sounds coming from him.
“I never beg,” I reply, tugging on his hair roughly.
“I bet,” he mutters and then arches his hips into mine, his cock dragging against mine. It’s delicious in the worst possible way.
“I have no problem begging,” he adds, licking his full lips. “I’m a complete slut, apparently.”
As he ruts against me, I try to lie to myself. I tell myself he’s not even what I want. Not at all. I like petite men, pretty men. Caleb is neither. Not at all.
No, it’s worse. He’s sex. All-consuming sex.
What am I even doing? I should not be entertaining this. There is too much waiting for me once this school year is up. My father has continually reminded me of that. I can’t start something with a guy who is totally wrong for me.
He doesn’t recycle. He packs his clothes in plastic bags.
His clothes are stained and wrinkled.
He has a nipple piercing.
There’s a good chance he’d want me to bend over for him, and I never do that.
No, I’m always in control. I like to be the one fucking.
I’d never give anyone so much power over me.
I need to end this, put a stop to it.
But instead of doing what I should, I say, “Roll over.”
He does as I ask, and I’m on him, pulling those pants down, pulling out his cock, and stroking him.
He makes the most delicious noises when he’s turned on. Whimpering, moaning, and whispering my name. It’s addictive.
He’s a habit I need to break.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I tell him, my hand twisting up and over his wet cockhead.
“Fuck that. Why stop when this feels so good?” he replies, panting.
He’s lasting longer than before, and my cock is straining against my pajama pants. This whole weekend has been torture. I should pull myself out and find relief, too. The two of us together.
But I won’t. I have more self-control than that. I always have control around Caleb…most of the time.
He’s chanting my name now, and I feel like a god. It’s disconcerting the way he feeds my ego.
I run my free hand over his sculpted abdomen, feeling the muscles tighten under my touch. I tell myself that all this muscle is uncivilized, but I can’t deny how much I like it.
I want to spend the rest of the night mapping the ridges and grooves of his body.
He’s a work of art.
Caleb’s hands twist in the sheets, his hips arching up into my touch, and then he’s gasping, his cum pulsing against my fingers. His eyes screw shut, his soft moans a delicious melody.
“Holy shit. How is this still so damn good?” he asks me when his eyelids flutter open.
I rub my fingers together, feeling his release between them, and then force myself off the bed. It’s that, or I’ll do something I shouldn’t. This arrangement, whatever it is, is already too precarious.
I need to end this.
I will, as soon as we get back to the apartment. I’ll tell Caleb that this cannot happen anymore.
And then, in a matter of months, I’ll never see him again.
I should feel relieved I have a plan, but when I slide back into bed with Caleb, and he scoots over to me, wrapping himself around me, I feel…
Melancholy.