Chapter Fourteen
Caleb
Kayden whips up a five-star meal in no time, still looking sexy as fuck while doing so.
His slender fingers work with practiced skill, and I wonder what else they can do.
I’ve had a hard-on since our kiss, and as we carry our plates to the living room, I try to walk without giving away how fucking horny I am.
I know he’s worried about intimacy, and I get that, but all I see when I look at Kayden, when I kiss him and touch him, is this beautiful guy I just want to devour.
I’m in awe of how he opened up to me about his fears and concerns.
It takes a lot of courage to bare yourself like that, and it only makes me want him even more.
It makes me want to reassure him and make him feel safe with me.
“Wow,” Kayden blurts as we enter the living room. “I did not expect this.”
“What?” I chuckle, looking around.
“That your place would be this… I don’t know, homey.”
“Homey? Really? Not a cliché bachelor pad?”
“No, not at all. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this is so cozy and… old-school in a way. Not slick and smooth like you,” he teases.
“I’m not slick and smooth,” I protest.
“Really?”
“Nope, not at all. I’m cozy and old-school.”
He nods solemnly, his face serious, until it cracks wide open in a stunning smile and he laughs. “Yeah, right. I’m digging it, though.”
“Digging it?”
“Yeah, isn’t that what you old-timers say?”
“Fuck you!” I laugh, my chest squeezing at how much I adore playful Kayden.
“I’m not that old.” I know I’m eighteen years older than Kayden, but when we’re together like this, it doesn’t feel that way.
It’s just easy, and we just seem to be on the same wavelength, erasing any kind of difference in age between us.
He sobers. “No, you’re not.” Then his eyes get caught on something behind me, and a tender smile plays along his lips. “Oh, I remember this.”
I turn around, following his gaze to the display of small figurines on the mantle above the fireplace. He places his plate on the coffee table, then walks to the fireplace and studies a small white and gold figurine.
“Can I?” he asks softly, and I nod, swallowing around the lump in my throat.
“Sure.” As usual, emotion takes over when I’m reminded of my parents. I don’t often revisit the past because it’s too painful and I just miss them too much, but in a way, it feels okay with Kayden here since he knew them too.
Kayden picks up the tiny ice-skating princess and studies it intently. Then he turns, facing me, his eyes wet and wistful. “I remember how much your mother loved figure skating.”
I nod because I don’t have any words. I love how he remembers something like that because, yes, my mother loved figure skating.
It was the only kind of sport she really cared about.
Especially the Olympics. My dad and I used to laugh about it because God help the poor sucker who’d dare talk to her while she was watching the Olympic finals.
He smiles in understanding, like he knows what’s going through my mind right now. His fingers trail along the ice princess’ white-and-gold dress.
“Katarina Witt, right?” He murmurs, his eyes shimmering with tears.
“Yes, Mom’s favorite.” My chest tightens. Mom loved the iconic German ice skater.
“I remember,” he says, wiping briefly at his eyes.
It does something to me that Kayden so openly shares his emotions with me.
I’m not used to it. I often shy away from any kind of intimacy with people I’m seeing, but I think my shared past with Kayden makes it different.
There’s no pretense, no way for me to hide who I am and what I’ve lost, just like there’s no point in Kayden hiding from me either.
It doesn’t freak me out, though, not one bit. It just feels safe and nice.
Placing the small figurine back on the fireplace mantle, he walks toward me. Taking the plate out of my hands, he places it next to his on the coffee table, then takes my hands in his. “She was amazing, your mom.”
“She was,” I say, my voice thick and heavy.
“Your dad, too.” I just nod, afraid of the sounds that’ll leave my mouth if I say anything. “They were good people. Just like you.”
I huff. “I’m not anything like them.”
He frowns at me, his eyelashes clinging together, still wet from the tears he shed for my mom, and perhaps for me too. “What do you mean?”
“If I could just be half the man my dad was.” I realize my dad is both my hero and my Achilles’ heel. The one I adored above anything, but the one I also constantly compared myself to and always fell short.
Kayden squeezes my fingers. “But you are. You’re more than that.
You’re the best man I know aside from Dad, and your parents would be so proud of you—they were proud of you—for what you’ve become and what you’ve accomplished.
” He pauses, then leans in and presses a light kiss against the corner of my mouth.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Caleb Morgan. ”
“You really mean that?” I’m tearing up too, which is a fucking millennial occurrence. I can’t remember the last time I teared up. Not even when they buried my mom in the frozen ground two years ago, right next to my dad.
He smiles carefully. “I do. You might be the worst fucking cook in the world, but you’re a good guy.
One of the best.” And that’s it. I can’t restrain myself any further.
Wrapping my hand around the back of Kayden’s neck, I pull him against me and slam my mouth against his.
He stiffens, then melts into me, moaning against me.
The sound vibrates against my lips and sends sparks of desire shooting through my body.
I coax his mouth open and slide my tongue inside his soft, wet mouth.
He instantly sucks on my tongue, hungry, feverish almost, as he links his arms around my neck and grinds against me.
“Caleb,” he hums around my tongue. “Caleb.” I pull him closer against me, feeling the outline of his hardness against mine.
“Fuck baby, you’re hard for me.” I squeeze his ass, feeling its rounded fullness beneath my fingers.
Kayden whimpers into my mouth, then makes a small jump into my arms and wraps his legs around me.
I hold him against me, my hands underneath his thighs, as I carry him to the couch, my tongue still exploring his mouth.
Kayden clings to me, his fingers playing with my hair, pulling at the strands frantically.
My scalp stings, but it’s the best kind of pain.
No one has ever tried to consume me this way before, not the way Kayden is right now, like he wants to devour me or perhaps disappear inside me.
I drop onto the couch, Kayden in my lap, and as soon as I’m seated, he starts grinding against me again. I grab his ass and squeeze it roughly because, fuck, Kayden has the best ass ever, and for an ass man like me, it’s pure fucking nirvana.
Kayden breaks away from me, panting, his eyes swimming with want, his lips pink and puffy, his cheeks a bright crimson. His curls are wild and windswept as they fall into his face. “I really like kissing you,” he gasps, all hot and flustered.
“I really like kissing you, too.”
“And I really like when you grab my ass like you wanna own it.” Fuck, his honesty is killing me, and it spurs on the same honesty in me.
“I do wanna own it. Eventually.”
“Yeah?” His gaze flickers, a trace of uncertainty returning.
“Fuck yes. You have no fucking idea, baby.”
A gorgeous smile takes over his face, and he’s glowing. “I can’t wait,” he whispers, then leans in and kisses me again. “I like you so much, Caleb.”
“I like you so much, too, Kayden,” I speak against his lips.
“Yeah?” He licks along my bottom lip, his hips doing this wavy motion as he moves against me.
“Yeah.” I’m overwhelmed with desire for him.
I suddenly want to know everything. How he looks underneath the layers of clothes, how he tastes, and how he feels when he comes on my tongue.
The fucking sounds he makes when he’s just on the cusp of his orgasm.
“Fuck baby, I really wanna taste you. Can I taste you?”
Dazed, he nods, still dry humping me, whimpers bursting from his lips. “Please.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’m fucking dying here.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” I laugh, then ease him off me carefully. I swipe my fingers down his chin, and he leans into me, his eyes fluttering closed. He’s so beautiful. “Shit, you’re a fucking wonder, Kayden. I love how responsive you are. Such a fucking wonder.”
“Please.” He digs his fingers into my T-shirt, fisting the fabric.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”
He slowly blinks his eyes open and looks at me.
“I need you to tell me if I do something wrong, okay?”
“Sure,” he breathes, pulling at my shirt impatiently.
“I mean it. You need to tell me if there’s something you don’t like or if there’s something that triggers you.”
His face sobers, and he nods. “I promise, Caleb. I will.”
“Good. Now take your shorts off.”
He nods eagerly and starts unzipping his shorts. I’m rock hard, and as I watch him pull down his shorts, I cup myself, squeezing my length. “Shit, sweetheart. I can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”
His shorts are now gone, and he’s in a pair of white boxer briefs. My mouth waters; his golden, tanned skin is such a contrast to the crisp white. His toned thighs are dusted with darker blond hair, and I can just make out a happy trail where his shirt has ridden up.