Chapter 13
Jesse
Silence.
“H-How do you feel about me?” I asked, my interest piqued. It was a strange choice of words for Cole. Why was he being so tense? And why was his heart still hammering in his chest? “Cole,” I said again softly. “Talk to me.”
“Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget it.”
“No,” I said, my voice suddenly firm. I placed a hand on his bare chest, right over his racing heart. “You don’t get to do that. Not again.”
His skin was hot to the touch, sweaty even. The man was burning up, and I didn’t understand why. What could he possibly say that I hadn’t heard before? He claimed he didn’t hate me, but what could be worse than that?
“You really want to know?” he asked, his voice rough. “You want to know why I can’t look at you? Why I’ve been avoiding you?”
I nodded, my eyes never leaving his face.
“Because every time I do, I remember things I’ve been trying to forget for fifteen years,” he admitted, the words coming out in a rush. “Things I shouldn’t feel. Things I shouldn’t want.”
I couldn’t help a small gasp as realization dawned on me. But no. That couldn’t be it. Could it?
“Cole,” I breathed. “Are you saying—”
“Don’t,” he warned, suddenly panicking. “Just... don’t.”
But I didn’t back down. Instead, my hand moved from his chest to the side of his face, my thumb brushing against his stubbled jaw. It was a tender gesture that made him shudder.
“How long?” I asked softly.
He closed his eyes, unable to face me. “Since before you left.”
The confession hung in the air between us, heavy with years of denial and shame. I think he was waiting for disgust, for rejection, for me to pull away and demand to switch tents with someone else in the middle of a blizzard. Instead, I just let me forehead rest against his.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “You were my stepbrother, Jesse. You still are. It was wrong then, and it’s wrong now. Besides, I’m not… I’m not… like you.”
“Not like me?” I repeated, my voice barely audible over the wind howling outside. “What are you saying, Cole? That you’re not gay?”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the dim light. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted. “I’ve never... it’s only ever been...”
“Been what?” I pressed, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
“You,” he whispered, the word hanging between us like a confession. “Only ever you.”
The realization hit me like a physical blow. All these years, all the tension between us, the anger, the distance… it wasn’t just about me leaving. It was about this. About feelings he couldn’t admit to himself, let alone to me. About how I hurt him without even knowing it.
“Jesus Christ, Cole,” I breathed. My fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble rough against my skin. “All this time?”
He nodded, eyes still closed as if he couldn’t bear to see my reaction. “I tried to make it stop. Tried everything. But it never went away.” His voice cracked slightly. “And then you left, and I thought maybe with time... but when you came back...”
“When I came back?” I prompted, my thumb brushing across his lower lip.
His eyes finally opened, dark and vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before. “It all came rushing back. Stronger than ever.”
Outside, the storm raged on, snow piling against our tent, but inside, something else entirely was brewing. In here, we were in our own little world. Nobody could see us, hear us, or even disturb this moment. We were… safe.
I knew I should have been shocked, maybe even appalled at the revelation that my stepbrother had harbored these feelings for me. Instead, I felt a strange sense of clarity, like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.
“That day at the bathroom door,” I said softly. “You weren’t just accidentally passing by, were you?”
His cheeks flushed dark. “I wanted to tell you to hurry up with the hot water. But then I saw you and I... I couldn’t look away.”
I remembered the way he’d bolted when our eyes met through the crack in the door. The way he’d avoided me for days after. It all made sense now.
“Is that why you’ve been such an asshole to me? To push me away?”
He let out a shaky breath. “Wouldn’t you have done the same? These feelings... they’re not right, Jesse.”
“Says who?” I challenged, my hand still resting against his face. “We’re not actually related, Cole. We never were.”
“But we were raised as brothers,” he argued, though his body betrayed him, leaning into my touch. “What would people think? What would Jack have thought?”
“Jack’s gone,” I reminded him gently. “And I’ve made it my life’s work not to give a shit what other people think. Maybe it’s time you started too.”
Cole’s gaze met mine, his blue eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. There was fear there, and guilt, but something else too. There was a hunger that mirrored what was building inside me.
“You make it sound so simple,” he said, his voice barely audible above the howling wind.
“It is simple,” I replied, my fingers trailing down his neck to his collarbone. I felt him shiver under my touch, and this time I knew it wasn’t from the cold. “What’s complicated are all the rules we make for ourselves.”
His breathing quickened as my hand continued its journey down his chest. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, matching the rapid beat of my own. The tension between us had shifted, transforming into something electric, dangerous.
“Jesse,” he whispered, my name sounding like both a prayer and a warning on his lips. “We shouldn’t.”
“Tell me to stop then,” I challenged, my face inches from his. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
Cole’s hand came up to grip my wrist, but instead of pushing me away, he held me there against his skin. I could see the internal war raging behind his eyes, his desire fighting against a lifetime of denial and guilt.
Then… he broke.
His lips crashed against mine before I could process what had happened.
The kiss was desperate, hungry, a collision of fifteen years of repressed desire.
His mouth moved against mine with a frantic need that matched my own growing hunger.
His lips were softer than I’d imagined, contrasting with the rough scratch of his stubble against my skin.
I moaned into his mouth, my body responding instantly to his touch as heat pooled low in my belly.
Cole’s hands were everywhere at once—tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
Our chests pressed together, skin to skin, and I could feel him hard against my thigh through our jeans.
The realization that he wanted me as much as I suddenly wanted him sent a jolt of electricity down my spine.
“Fuck,” he gasped when we finally broke apart for air, his forehead resting against mine. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Shut up,” I growled, pulling him back to me. “Just shut up for once in your life, Cole.”
I kissed him again, deeper this time, my tongue sliding against his as my hand traveled down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. He groaned into my mouth when my fingers brushed against his cock straining against the denim.
“Jesse,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation.
I knew exactly what he needed. Without a word, I popped the button on his jeans and slid the zipper down. His hips bucked involuntarily as my hand slipped inside, wrapping around his cock. He was thick and hot in my palm, already leaking at the tip.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, his head falling back as I began to stroke him slowly.
I didn’t ask what he wanted next, if he wanted me to stop, or what he thought about what we were doing.
I didn’t care. Because in this moment, years worth of silent fantasies were crashing together in my mind.
That combined with nearly three months of celibacy was making me drunk with lust. I couldn’t hold back any longer.
Fuck, I didn’t even want to. I needed this. I needed Cole.
Rolling over in Cole’s arms, I forced my jeans down around my knees.
Immediately his lips were on my neck as I worked his cock, milking the pre-cum out of him.
I stopped just long enough to spit in my hand and smear it between my cheeks.
Then, with his cock coated in pre-cum, I lined up his thick head against my hole.
“Jesse… I… I don’t—”
But all his resistance died the moment I pushed back against him, his slick cock forcing me open.
His hips jerked forward, applying even more pressure.
He wanted this too. He couldn’t resist fucking me.
And I needed to be fucked. How many nights had I fingered myself in my room listening to him jerk off on the other side of the wall?
I wanted the real thing now. And he was going to give it to me.
I gasped as Cole filled me, the stretch and burn sending shock waves of pleasure up my spine. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, holding me steady as he bottomed out inside me.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice ragged in my ear. “So tight... Jesus, Jesse.”
His chest pressed against my back, his breath hot on my neck as he stayed still for a moment, both of us adjusting to the sensation.
I could feel him throbbing inside me, so thick it almost hurt, but in the best possible way.
This was nothing like the careful, planned encounters I’d had in Seattle.
This was primal, desperate, and exactly what I needed.
“Move,” I demanded, pushing back against him. “Please, Cole. Fuck me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. With a growl that sent shivers down my spine, Cole pulled back and slammed into me again, setting a brutal pace that had me seeing stars. Each thrust pushed me deeper into the sleeping bag, the fabric rustling beneath us as our bodies moved together.
“Wanted this for so long,” Cole panted against my ear, his hips snapping forward. “Wanted you for so fucking long.”
I reached back, grabbing his thigh to pull him deeper. “Harder,” I begged, not caring how needy I sounded. “Give me everything.”
Cole’s rhythm faltered for just a second before he redoubled his efforts, fucking into me with an intensity that took my breath away. One of his hands slid up my chest, fingers splaying across my throat in a possessive hold that wasn’t quite choking but made my cock leak, nonetheless.
“This what you want?” he growled, tightening his grip slightly. “This how you like it?”
“Yes,” I gasped, my body on fire everywhere he touched me. “Don’t stop.”
Outside, the storm howled, snow piling against our tent, but inside we created our own kind of storm. Cole’s other hand wrapped around my cock, the metal of my piercing sliding against his palm as he stroked me in time with his thrusts.
“Fuck, this thing,” he muttered, his thumb playing with my piercing. “Drove me crazy when I saw it.”
I moaned as he tugged gently on the ring, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. “You like it?” I managed to ask between gasps.
“Love it,” he admitted, his voice rough with desire. “Love this ass too.”
He squeezed me harder, his thumb pressing against the sensitive head of my cock.
I couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, lost in the sensation of Cole all around me, inside me, consuming me.
His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing ragged against my neck.
I knew he was close, could feel the tension building in his body as he chased his release.
“Gonna cum,” he grunted, his grip tightening on my throat. “Fuck, Jesse...”
“Give it to me,” I demanded, pushing back to meet each thrust. “Give me everything.”
That was all it took. With a hoarse cry, Cole buried himself deep inside me, his cock pulsing as he came. The feeling of his release filling me, hot and sticky, pushed me over the edge. I came with a groan, spilling over his fist and onto the sleeping bag beneath us.
For several moments, we stayed like that, connected, panting, our bodies slick with sweat despite the cold air around us. Cole’s forehead rested against my shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps that matched my own. I could feel him softening inside me, but neither of us moved to separate.
There was a blissful moment when everything seemed fine. Both of us forgot about the world outside and what it would think of our coupling. But, far too quickly, that bliss faded and reality set back in.
Cole pulled out of me, pushing away like he was suddenly electrocuted. I turned over to see him stuffing his spent cock back into his pants, a horrified look on his face.
“Cole?” I asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He pulled away as if I’d bit him. “Don’t,” he snapped, turning his face away from me. “Don’t… Don’t touch me.”
“Cole… don’t be like that…”
“Fuck off,” he growled, pulling himself out of the sleeping bag and as far away from me as he could get in our tiny tent. “And don’t… don’t fucking touch me again…”
I felt my stomach twist and a coldness spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the blizzard outside.
And for once, instead of arguing, I just turned over in my sleeping bag and closed my eyes.
Anger and hurt filled me from head to toe.
But I stayed silent. I had to. Because I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of making me cry. Not again.