17. CHAPTER 17
"Goddamn it, Carey." Even in the quiet my voice continues to rise.
I know he hears me. We're the only ones here.
"I swear to God. If you don't fucking stop, I'll—"
"What?" His body pivots one-eighty degrees; the tone of his voice matching the ferocity of mine. "What will you do, Tek?"
I march with purpose, and in seconds the distance between us is closed and his back is against the wall with my left hand braced against the bricks above his shoulder to stop me from getting even closer. "Where are my keys?"
"I already told you, I don't know."
"So why did you run?"
Carey's head rests against the wall.
There's hardly any light back here, but as my eyes adjust, the smirk on his face comes into focus. "Why did you chase me?"
"Because…"
"You were so close behind me you definitely didn't have time to ask Anaise."
My thighs flex hard enough to bend steel.
I tell myself to move, to step back, but my body has other plans.
My right hand rises as well. Now he's caged in by both arms.
"We were having such a nice conversation. What made you want to leave so suddenly?" Smuggness drips off every word, and then he licks his lips.
Seriously Tek, take a fucking step back!
"I was enjoying all that talk about a new uniform for me."
"Quit fucking around."
"And what exactly am I doing wrong? I'm just standing here, you're the one not letting me go."
Carey could move if he wanted to. He could easily duck away from between my arms.
But he doesn't.
"What changed, Tek?"
"With what?"
"With you… One minute we're having a perfectly normal discussion about work, and the next you're rummaging through Anaise's bag like you couldn't get out of there quick enough."
A growl rumbles in my chest, and I know he hears it.
I'm not proud of the extent I'm going to to hide the way he makes me feel.
At first it was easy, I could push everything down whenever a new client walked in, but lately it's like every system in my body is stuck on high alert; analyzing everything he says to anybody that isn't me, and what they say to him in return.
I might not be able to have him, but that doesn't mean I will happily accept him being with someone else.
This is the exact reason why I never let anyone else in, not after her.
If I'm already feeling this way and we've not even touched each other, imagine how I'd be if I was able to claim him.
Knowing what he tastes like and how he feels, then seeing another person try to have that as well would make me feral, and I know it.
It's why I keep my distance. It's why I power through my days until I'm so physically spent that I crash out as soon as I get home.
I give myself no spare time to think, to wonder what he's doing when I can't see him.
I'm running myself ragged but it's better than the alternative, because when my feelings get too strong, I hurt people.
"Was Wootek Oppa jealous?"
The seduction in his tone is undeniable. There's not even the tiniest slither of room left open for misinterpretation.
"I'm not jealous."
He moves away from the wall. Not much, just an inch. "I think you are."
"What could I possibly be jealous of?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Could it be that you've just taken on a little too overzealous of a role in protecting your best friend's little brother? Or is it that you want me all for yourself?"
"You're drunk. You don't know what the fuck you're saying."
"But I remember how you changed the second Austin sat down. Which makes me wonder, was it the girls at the bar?" He leans into my ear and I can feel his warmth wash through my entire body as he whispers, "Or is it Austin that you were worried about losing me to?"
I grit my teeth. "I don't care who you choose to fuck."
He lets out a gentle laugh. "And yet you're still here, holding me hostage."
"I just want my keys."
"I told you I don't have them."
"I-I don't believe you," I stutter. I'm losing control. My edge. I'm completely sober but he's making me feel dizzy. Blood is swirling around my head like a hurricane, and my pulse has been hammering out of control for so long I can't believe I haven't blacked out.
Carey slouches back against the wall, raises his arms above his head, and grips his left wrist with his right hand. "So why don't you check for yourself?"
This isn’t an invitation, it’s a challenge.
He doesn’t break eye contact, he just gives me a half grin that makes me feel like my entire chest is splitting open—as if I was made for the sole purpose of being hollowed out by Carey Novak and that goddamn flippant smile.
His whole body is on display for me in the most obscene way I’ve ever seen someone so fully clothed.
It doesn’t make sense, he’s just leaning back against a wall, so it’s got to be in the way his hips jut out.
All his weight is on his shoulders, and he’s slumped down just enough to be looking up at me, feigning a submissiveness that doesn’t feel natural to him.
His unzipped jacket has fallen apart to bare his chest, the dark grey fabric of his shirt stretched tight. Except it’s not his shirt. I knew it the second he put it on back in the shop because I’d been the one to convince Eden to buy it.
“Go ahead,” he says.
My right hand drops from the wall to land heavy on his shoulder before I can stop it.
Carey lets that arm fall loose at his side, and I drag my hand the whole way down the length of it until I reach his wrist. And that’s as far as I can go with the intensity of his stare on me like a spotlight.
I hang my head, refusing to look, but not to stop touching him.
I move to his waist, his muscles instantly tensing. I swipe my thumb, feeling for his hip bone, and he shudders—his hips moving further away from the wall.
I scoop up against his side, and the shirt rises.
I keep going until I can feel his ribs.
He’s shaking now.
His other arm falls from the wall, his hand landing on the back of my neck.
His fingers are so cold against my skin they feel hot.
“Th-there’s no pocket’s there,” his voice shakes.
My feet shuffle closer.
Carey pulls me forward until my forehead is pressed against his. “Are you just messing with me because I’m drunk?”
I open my mouth, but it takes several more seconds for me to fully process his words and how they puffed against my chin.
“Tek?” he whispers.
“I think you might be the one fucking with me.”
“Maybe I am… But also… Maybe I won’t remember this tomorrow.”
Is he giving me permission?
An out?
Is he telling me that whatever happens he’s willing to pretend that it never occurred and walk into work next Tuesday like we were never in this fucking alley?
I could rip his clothes off in seconds if I’d allow myself to.
Maybe it’s what he wants.
I can’t bear to clarify, so I just move.
My fingers shake, mimicking the tremor of Carey's body, as I lower them to the hem of his jeans.
Back and forth I trace the leather of his belt until I've built the confidence to lower my hand to his pocket.
Flattening it out, I apply just enough pressure to feel the outline of my keys against my palm.
“You caught me.”
If I could think straight, I’d grab my keys and get the hell out of here, but the craving I have for him is so strong all I want to do is push him harder against the wall until the bricks leave marks against his back.
I really could take him right here.
I could tilt his chin, and for the first time in years, take a worthy mouth for my own.
I could guide him to his knees and feel his breath hot against my skin as he looks up at me with those mismatched eyes full of mischief.
I could hold him by the hair and grind against his face until he starts fighting back. Until he takes my hands in his own, and won’t free them until I beg because I need him to make me pay for my anger.
But instead, I leave my keys where they are and snake my touch behind him. When he doesn’t stop me, I slip beneath his shirt and press against the small of his back.
He arches, and I pull him closer.
He moves his leg, wedging his thigh between mine, and I give in completely.
As I hold him still, I grind forward until I feel the sweet relief of contact, and am instantly confronted with how hard he is too.
I want to speak.
I want to tell him how naughty he is, but I know I’m the one in the wrong. Our age difference aside, he’s untouchable, and nothing he could ever say will convince me otherwise.
I’m still not into guys, but the feeling of his dick against me seems so right.
Carey’s lips are parted, and every teasing laugh and suggestive joke is gone, replaced with a quiet desperation so raw I pull him tighter against me.
His head shifts to the side until our temples are gently butting together.
It’s so intimate.
I’ve avoided moments like this for over a decade.
“I’ll only mess with you if you ask me to.” His voice makes my stomach twist in forty-five different directions, but it’s also so much smaller than I’ve ever heard it before.
I beg him; “Tell me to stop."
“No.”
I can still hear the music from the bar, and people talking.
We’re not that far away.
Just one corner.
Just one person stumbling a little too far and the whole town will know.
“You don’t care that I’m not a gi—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I curse, my throat seizing.
Carey's breath hitches, his pelvis tilting further. “I’ve never cared.” He pushes his thigh up harder then sighs against my jaw; “I like it… I like you.”
He drags his fingers through the short hairs at the base of my skull.
His free hand dives beneath my jacket and wraps around my back so it’s not just me holding him hostage. No, he’s refusing to let me go as well.
I can feel the strength he has as he grinds against me.
The only thing separating us is fabric and the last shreds of moral dignity I have left.
His nose skates along my chin and I can feel his breath in my mouth.
I know he wants my lips against his. He’s searching for them, but it's the one thing I can't bring myself to give him.