CHAPTER 22 #3
“What can’t you do? Be with a man? Someone my age? Your best friend’s brother?”
“I can’t do any of it.”
“Fuck you.” He turns and walks to the van.
I stand. “Carey, I’m sorry.”
After two more steps he pivots back. “Save it. It was like pulling teeth to get you to apologize the first time, now you’re throwing it around like you actually give a shit.”
“I do give a shit—”
“Only about yourself… This might be the first time I’m actually saying it, but you’ve known for weeks that I have feelings for you.
If you cared, you would have told me nothing would ever happen before I got on my knees for you.
I even gave you an out while I was sucking you off, for Christ’s sake.
But you’re too much of a selfish prick to think about anyone but yourself, what you want, and what you can get out of any given situation, and…
” He looks down at the kettle, then back to the van.
“Forget it,” he exhales. “I’ll get dressed, you put out the fire, and… we’ll just go home.”
He walks away, and I let him. I don’t have a leg to stand on, anyway.
The van door opens, then slams shut.
My brain is fried, my chest is hollowed out, and I feel like I want to dig into my flesh and pluck out each of my bones one by one.
There's a thud inside the van.
I keep my eyes where they are until it feels like I'm going to burst, and when I do look over, I see the silhouette of Carey standing in the kitchenette. He's ditched the blanket, but I hope, for my own sanity, that the towel is still around his waist.
I pick up a stick and try to distract myself by playing with the logs in the fire because I'm sure as hell not putting it out.
I don't want to leave. I don't care if that makes me selfish.
Carey said we were spending two nights here and I plan on holding him to it.
I'll sleep in the damn tent tonight if I have to.
I jab harder at the logs but it's a pointless endeavor. My dick keeps pulling focus and grinding on me with its growing, insistent pressure, because it knows, just as well as I do, that Carey is fully naked only five yards from where I'm sitting.
I might not want to want this but, fuck it, I do.
I don't want to betray Eden, or the person I promised myself I'd be, but I want Carey Novak so badly I'm on the verge of throwing it all away.
I grip the arms of the camp chair until my knuckles pale.
I force my breathing to slow, but the images keep coming: Carey, naked and smiling that cocky sunshine smile, bent over the sink, washing himself, knowing exactly what the fuck he's doing.
I squeeze my thighs together like it'll trick my erection.
I don't want to look. I want to be strong, to resist, to not let him see how he's gotten under my skin. But I can't help myself.
The guilt burns inside me, but the need burns hotter.
I stay sitting, anchored to the chair for as long as I can stand it.
Just watching, letting the war play inside my skull as I try to recall Eden's voice and the promises I made to myself.
But all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears, and all I can see is how Carey is lingering near the window.
I want to touch him.
I want to run my hands down his back, dig my fingers into his shoulders, and devour his stomach.
I stand, throwing the camping chair back, and stomp through the cold straight to the van—every step is pure adrenaline.
When I yank open the door, I do it so hard it rattles on the tracks and slams against the stops.
The air inside hits me like steam from a furnace, and there stands Carey; his back to me.
Nothing but tan lines and the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen.
He doesn’t flinch, then after what feels like forever, he looks over his shoulder with a glance that says what took you so long?
He's so beautiful. Not just in the conventional way, but in the way that makes you feel sick with desire.
He turns slowly, knowing exactly how perfect he is.
The towel is in his hands, the majority of it hanging loose like an impeccably placed prop.
His body is lean and toned without an ounce of fat, but he doesn’t really have defined muscles either; no visible abs or large pecs. His hair is a mess, his lips are full, and I want to tear that towel away from him.
He cocks his head to the side and looks down at me. Like I never hurt him—like I never told him no. “Do you have something to say?”
“I want you.”
“I can’t hear you. You’ll have to come closer.”
I step into the van because I never stood a fucking chance.
His chin tilts up just enough that he’s looking down his nose at me. “Now, what were you saying?”
His authority makes me feel like there’s liquid fire in my veins.
Anxiety still wells in my chest like the rising tide, until he touches my arm and I fall like a house of cards. “I want you, Carey. I want to remember what it feels like to belong to someone.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t?”
“So make me.”
He drops the towel but the power in his eyes holds my focus.
He’s testing me again, and I’m living for every second of it.
Without another word he unzips my jacket, pushes it off my shoulders and slides it off my arms. When he’s judged that I’m not going to put up a fight, he grabs the hem of my hoodie and I lift my arms, allowing him to peel it and my t-shirt off.
Carey runs his hands over my chest, his gaze following his fingertips as they trace over my abs and sides until he’s at the waist band of my sweats. He bites his bottom lip and the plump flesh blooms deep pink when he releases it.
With his head still down, he looks at me again. “What do you wanna do, Tek?”
“I wanna kiss you, and… I haven't wanted to do that to anyone in more than ten years.”
He exhales, his power wavering for a split second before his hand is on the back of my neck.
I crash my mouth into his and something inside me comes violently unhinged.
His hands are in my hair right away, needy and clawing.
Mine are just as desperate—one gripping his bare ass, the other wrapped around his middle so I can get him as close to me as possible.
The skin-on-skin is electric, but we’re a mess, like neither of us can coordinate enough to lead, but holy shit if this isn’t the most turned on I’ve ever been in my entire life.
The hunger I have for Carey is truly the once in a lifetime kind.
I want him to ruin me but I’m not sure how to let him.
The way he’s moving feels like the entire world is shaking beneath me. I should be afraid, but instead I’m insatiable, because I now know that this is the only thing that will ever feel like it’s enough.
He forces his hand between our bodies and grabs my cock through my sweats, and I moan without shame.
“How does it feel—” He drags his hand down my length as he speaks against my lips. “To be kissed by a man?”
Both my hands rise to grip the nape of his neck. “Like I never want you to fucking stop.”
His breath stutters, and I know the validation he feels.
I kiss him again, and it’s already like second nature.
He tastes like the ocean. His tongue is skilled, his lips are soft, and his skin is just as rough as mine.
I denied myself of this for so long, and I realize now that it wasn’t because I didn’t think anyone was worthy, it’s because I was waiting for Carey Novak.
“I need to fuck you,” I confess—our mouths still pressed together.
His hand snakes into my hair, he grips it tight, and pulls me back so he can look me dead in the eye. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He flashes his smile, and I gift him mine.
He pushes me back onto the bed, tugs off my sweats, and looks down at me.
I prop myself up on my elbows and look at him properly for the first time.
His cock is absurdly perfect, and I’m not even sure what I mean by that. I just know that I can’t stop staring.
It’s big, thick, and slightly curved. Its size means it’s too heavy to stand up too high.
Its head is flushed and shiny, and even though I’m no expert, I’ve seen enough dicks to know this is a work of art.
I can tell he’s proud, and he doesn’t try to hide it.
He strokes himself once. Then again, slower, watching my reaction as though he’s asking for compliments and expecting to be worshiped.
And I’m locked in, my brain shorting out, because I’ve spent my entire life acting like I was in control, but with Carey, I want to give it all up and let him do with me what he will.
How is he like this?
How is he only twenty-one and already so skilled in dominance?
I want to say something clever, but the truth is I can feel my own dick twitching every time his wrist twists around the end of another stroke.
The way he grips himself defines every muscle in his arm.
The slight hunch of his back shows the faint outline of his hidden abs.
His sight drops to my cock just as I feel pre cum leak from my tip.
Cheeky as ever, like he’s grown tired of giving me a show, Carey gives a smug little smirk then leans against the mattress.
He pulls my ankles apart then sinks between them.
His hands slide up my legs.
He never takes his eyes off me until he feels the contorted scar tissue on my thigh. Pausing, he runs his thumb over the pinched skin then kisses it before moving to lick a line up my stomach.
I feel my dick graze against his chest. Then he backs up and I lose his eyes, but the pressure of his grip on me makes up for it.
His hair falls forward, so I push it back and hold his head.
It’s insane, the way his tongue circles the head of my cock—lingering just enough for the rest of my sanity to evaporate before he fills his mouth as deep as his fist.
After a few bobs of his head he lets go and takes as much of me in as he can.
His body tenses as he tries not to gag, but the way his throat chokes has me bucking my hips up on reflex.
He splutters, coughs, then is straight back on, pushing as far as he can until the head has slipped past his tonsils and his nose is pressed against my skin.
I hold my breath.
His tongue laps my underside in cruel, expert patterns.
“Fuck you’re—Fuck you’re so good at that.”