Chapter 10 #2
He grunts, and then I’m in the air, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the couch. I should tell him not to. He has a concussion, he’s hurt, but I can’t form the words. I just tuck my face into his neck and let him carry me across the room.
We fall to the couch, and my legs straddle his. After a moment of silence, Caleb says, “I’m glad it didn’t work, Whit.”
God, me too. Or I’d never have met him. Not that he’s my savior, but the bleakness of it all, the monotony of my life, has brightened considerably since meeting him.
“Do you think differently about me now?” I ask, my voice choked and raw.
“No. I like you just the same. More probably. Because I get to know you.”
My breath shudders out of me as he holds on to me. I don’t deserve this, and yet I consume it all the same.
“Are you okay now?” he asks, and I know what he means.
“Yeah, moving away from my parents helped a lot. I haven’t had an issue since freshman year. There was some therapy in there too, but the separation helped a lot.”
“Good, you need to stay away, then. Promise me you’ll stay away.”
I’m silent a moment, unable to tell him the truth.
That I can’t stay away. That I have too much riding on staying in contact.
That eventually I’ll have to move home. But I don’t want to think about it now.
Instead, I just tuck myself against him and let his good hand rub up and down my back as he comforts me.
I’ve never been cared for like this. Never been comforted when in pain. He’s teaching me what I’ve been missing all these years.
Finally, I move away from him, my eyes red-rimmed from trying not to cry. His gaze meets mine, and he brushes my hair behind my ears. “I missed you when we were apart.”
I take hold of his hand and press my lips to his palm. He’s so sincere, so open.
It’s making me want to do the same, to give him more of myself.
“Can I…can I show you something?” I ask, my voice wobbling.
“Of course,” he says softly.
I hesitate for just a heartbeat before breaking away from him. My fingers tremble as they reach for the neck of my shirt. For a second, I consider stopping, pretending I’m fine, that I have nothing to hide. But something inside me, a courage I didn’t know I possessed, pushes me past that.
Without overthinking it, I drag the fabric over my head and toss it onto the floor. Then I kick off my jeans, leaving me only in my boxers.
Air hits my skin like cold water. I feel raw, peeled open, every fragile, hidden part of me suddenly exposed. My chest tightens, and I want to fold in on myself. Hide. Disappear.
I’ve never shown anyone this. No one. Not Donovan. Not Magnus. No one.
But Caleb, he’s different. I want him to know me.
His eyes rove slowly over my arms, my hips, my legs, the skin riddled with marks and lines slashed across my skin. I see the moment he recognizes them for what they are.
My breath stutters, bracing for the recoil, for the disgust.
But instead, he mutters, “It makes so much more sense now.” His finger reaches out, tracing the scars on my hips before moving up to my arms. And I let him, my entire body trembling from being touched.
For the first time, someone is touching me beneath the fabric.
“You don’t show this to anyone, do you?” he asks softly, tracing his hands down my tender skin.
“No.”
Our gazes meet, and he takes an arm in his hand, pressing a kiss to the long, jagged line etched on my forearm.
Then he does the same on the other side.
“I don’t disgust you?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“No.” His gaze meets mine. “You’re perfect.”
“Are you sure?” I whisper, my eyes watering.
“Apparently, I have no shame. Just look between my legs.”
My eyes fall to his crotch, and I see his tented pants. A choked laugh spills from me, and I shake my head.
“Caleb,” I say, trying to sound stern, but he leans forward and presses a kiss to my hip. Right on the scars lining them.
“I’m seeing you naked for the first time. Sue me,” he mutters, nuzzling my growing cock through my boxer briefs.
“Caleb,” I murmur as he runs his good hand over my thigh and clutches at my ass. “You can’t have sex.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t make me stop. Don’t wanna.”
I shake my head and then step back, my chest heaving, my cock aching.
“Where you going?” he asks gruffly.
“We should wait, at least a few days. I won’t be responsible for you relapsing.”
“You make it sound like I’m a drug addict.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He presses the heel of his palm against his cock and groans.
“This is torture. You are torturing me, Whit.”
“You need to rest,” I say, grabbing my jeans, tugging them on, and then pulling on my shirt. I feel safe again and yet oddly bereft.
I want him to kiss my scars again. I want to feel his lips there.
Caleb sulks back onto the couch and stares at the ceiling.
I watch him, tempted to give him what he wants, but I know I shouldn’t. So instead, I move to the kitchen and start scrubbing the sink again.
“Whit, what the hell are you doing?” Caleb calls out.
“I need to distract myself.”
“By cleaning?”
“I need to…I need space to breathe, or else I’m going to fuck you into a coma. Your aunt would kill me. Your cousins would bury me alive.”
“You’re killing me right now. Literally.”
“Think of this as a safety precaution.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “You win, but when I’m better, I’m stripping you down, and we aren’t leaving this apartment until I’m done exploring.”
The cup I was holding falls to the ground, and I hear Caleb chuckle.
It’s hell not to touch him for the next four days, but I manage it. Because if I do, if I let my hands wander, if I let my mouth explore, we’ll do things the doctor would certainly not recommend. And I really don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to him.
He’s too precious for any more hurt and pain.
I tell myself that, and yet look at what I’m doing—holding on to him with all ten fingers, not letting him go like I should.
But I can’t make myself. So I do what I always do. I ignore the looming familial responsibilities I have and head to class, texting Mal to spend time with Caleb when I’m not there. To make sure he stays out of trouble.
Not that Mal is the best choice. I feel like he’s just as dangerous as the rest of them.
So, when Magnus offers to help a few days in as well, I jump on the offer.
He’s far more responsible, and it seems he and Caleb get along well.
Only maybe too much. Because when I return from class on the fourth day of his recovery, I see Caleb on the couch, hovering over Magnus, his hand on him, Magnus giggling like a fool in love.
“Oh fuck,” Magnus giggles and writhes underneath Caleb, his cropped shirt riding up as Caleb tickles him.
“Gonna make you pay,” Caleb grunts as Magnus squeals.
It makes something ugly rear up inside of me.
He’s my fake fiancé. Not Magnus’s.
“What is going on here?” I ask, my voice ugly and hoarse.
The two of them freeze.
Caleb swivels his neck around and looks at me. His cheeks flush, and then he’s pushing himself up, looking a little guilty. Or maybe I’m misreading it. Maybe that’s the face of someone who’s feeling a little smug about how I’m reacting. I’m jealous, and he knows it.
Magnus, however, doesn’t look smug at all. Instead, he just looks contrite.
“Sorry, Whit. We…I was provoking him,” Magnus murmurs, righting his midriff shirt. I say nothing, just arch an eyebrow and hold the door open for him.
He flushes and peers up at me, looking ashamed now. My gaze softens, and I force myself to say, “Thank you for helping today, Magnus.”
He nods, quickly grabs his bag, and offers Caleb a knowing smile before disappearing outside.
When the door closes, I fold my arms across my chest and stare at Caleb.
He shifts on his feet and then sighs. “Come on, man. I’m not into him. He was just being a little shit.”
I say nothing. Just wait for more.
“Aw. You jealous, baby?” he asks with a small smile, and I huff in annoyance. “Nothing to be jealous of. I got a thing for you.”
He steps toward me and pulls me into him, his face nuzzling into my neck.
“Other guys don’t do it for me. I think I’m gay just for you.”
Those words have my body relaxing against him as his teeth nibble on my earlobe. It makes my skin erupt in goosebumps, a warmth growing in my belly. It’s been so long since I’ve touched him, seen him come.
“I’m horny as hell for you, though.”
He arches his hips into mine, and I shudder slightly. He’s horny. So am I. I miss him desperately.
“I want you now.”
“Are you sure you’re better?” I ask. He nods, nipping lightly at the skin on my neck, inhaling me.
“I’m ready. Have been for days, but you’ve made me wait. I want it, and I want it now.”
I pull away and eye him, trying to gauge if he really is well enough for sex. He just stands there, touching himself as he stares back at me. He looks fine to me.
“Seems you’re ready too,” he teases, noting the bulge in my pants. I make no attempt to hide it either. I want this as much as he does.
“I want you naked, Whit. Both of us naked. And when we’re done, I’m washing you in the shower.”
My lips tremble. “Thought about this a lot, have you?”
“You have no idea. The past few days have been torture,” he says, and then slides his fingers into my hair and pulls me into a bruising kiss.
He moans into it, licking inside my mouth. I can’t help but hold on to him as our tongues tangle, as our hips grind against each other. He’s pawing at the bottom of my shirt, and when he pulls it over my head and drops it to the floor, he steps back slightly and stares at me.
For a moment, it makes me feel raw, ashamed, but the heat in his gaze…
“Stop looking at me like that,” I breathe. He ignores me, his eyes rolling slightly as he fumbles with the button on my jeans.
“I can’t help it. You’re so sexy.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m deadly serious.”
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my pants and tugs them down. They don’t come off easily, so he crouches so I can step out of them.