Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KELLAN
Idon’t understand why Wells is acting like the world’s imploding because I gave him head. And I’m no expert on this particular subject, but I think it was pretty good. Great, even, judging by the sounds he was making in spite of trying to hold them back.
Which, for the record, I loved.
So, why does he have his panties in a complete twist, back to ignoring me again.
Or… is it because he kissed me?
That’s what really seemed to send us off the rails on Halloween. I had about a minute of his lips on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth like a conquistador laying claim, before he came to his senses. He pushed past me, out of the bathroom, and I haven’t seen him since.
That was four days ago.
For four days, I’ve had to live with the knowledge of what it feels like to be ravaged by his incredible lips and tongue.
And I’d give anything to feel it again.
I’m becoming a little bit addicted to his smug, beautiful face telling me what to do. It feels so good in the moment to follow his instructions, and it’s been paying dividends in my day-to-day life.
I’ve been electric on the ice this week.
I’ve already hit two weightlifting personal records.
And last night at work, I broke up a fight seconds before it escalated, anticipating the movements of two assholes circling one another in line.
They reminded me of myself and Wells, though I don’t think that their dalliance would have come to the same satisfying conclusion as my own, had I not intervened.
It’s sort of ironic considering how much he pretended to take his tutoring job seriously when we first met. Like the only reason he wouldn’t give me the time of day was because I’m an athlete.
But now, I’m wondering if it’s me… specifically?
For a man who loves to tell me what he wants and how he wants it, he sure seems to have trouble taking ownership for what’s happening between us.
He cancelled our Tuesday session–again–but today’s meeting is still listed in the portal. So I’m here, walking into the tutoring center, wondering which version of him I’m likely to get.
And honestly, I don’t care. I just want to lay eyes on him. I want to make him look at me. Hopefully, make him acknowledge how sexually compatible we are. Because I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t spent all week fantasizing about taking him in my mouth again.
I ignore the few heads that turn my way, my sole focus on finding Wells and settling things between us. At the very least, he can’t keep blowing me off for our sessions, whether or not blowing–in a far more enjoyable form–continues to be part of our relationship.
I don’t see him in the main tutoring area.
I’d recognize him from any angle. Strong, long lines of muscle.
Every inch of him, at least the ones I’ve gotten to explore, are fucking perfect.
I’ve spent enough time imagining his body as I’ve worked myself over this week until I come all over myself in the loneliness of my bed, living off the dregs of Sunday night.
Wondering how he would feel watching me do it.
Seems like such a waste for both of us, to not have him included.
I cover the large room and head down the hallway.
The door to his office is closed, but I don’t knock before entering.
It’s five o’clock on the dot, and he’s expecting me.
If it makes him and his need for control feel better, he can believe that I’m implicitly following his instructions by showing up on time.
He doesn’t look up when I enter.
Well, isn’t someone in a brooding mood today? Not exactly surprising.
Instead of sitting down in my chair, I drop my bag on the ground and stalk around the desk.
I’m in his space, my ass leaning against his perfectly organized desk, before he can protest. I get my own little thrill at throwing him off.
I’m an equal opportunity player like that.
When it comes to sex with him, I love being told what to do.
But out here, in our day-to-day lives, I won’t be pushed around by a dude that’s too afraid to even acknowledge what’s happening between us.
Frankly, I don’t have time for that shit.
I’m in his face, with nowhere for him to hide. “What’s your deal, Wells? This hot-and-cold game you’re playing only works for so long.”
He meets my stare with hard eyes, like a deep green forest that I feel like I could get lost in. “It’s not a game. And who says that I want to keep it going?”
I laugh, remembering how he carded his hand possessively through my hair while I lapped up his come. “Would it kill you to admit that you enjoy hooking up with me?”
He shakes his head and runs his fingertips across his furrowed brow, like he’s wishing he could wake up from this bad dream.
Too bad for him, but I’ve already decided that our conversation isn’t ending without some degree of honesty from him. I won’t let it.
But seeing him for the first time in days, his dark blonde hair a little ruffled, like he was running his hands through it in worry before I showed up just does something to me. That whether he wants it or not, I’m having an impact on him, too.
I can’t stop myself as I surge forward, his mouth open in surprise when I capture my lips with his.
It feels… it feels like coming home, as we immediately slot into place. I’ve never been kissed by someone the way he kissed me on Halloween. Hungry and possessive and like he owned every inch of my mouth. Like kissing me was the most important thing he’d ever done in his entire life.
I’ve never felt that wanted before. People want things from me, but this was different.
I want that feeling back. I slide my tongue forward, licking against his teeth. I’m begging him for entry with my tongue, hoping he’ll give it to me.
His hands are pressed into my shoulders, fingers tangled in my t-shirt, and I can’t tell if he’s pulling me forward or pushing me back.
“Kellan,” he says, and it’s half-groan and half-anger, as I realize he’s flattened his palms against my chest and is pushing me away, for real this time.
I lean away from him, chest heaving, my eyes searching for some type of understanding about what he’s thinking. All I can come up with is that he wants this, maybe as much as I do, but he doesn’t want to want it.
Self-flaggelation at its best.
And for what?
“Why are you fighting this?” I ask, a vulnerability in my voice that surprises me. The anger from earlier that was surging through my veins sputtered out when I thought about the possibility that this could be over.
He shifts back in his chair, away from me, eyeing me angrily. “Are you even queer? Why are you falling all over yourself to suck me off?”
My eyes narrow. Is he serious right now? “I didn’t realize there was some application I had to fill out. Can you give me a copy of that or–”
He’s out of his chair before I can stand too, bracketing my thighs between his own. The fire between us sparks, just like it always does, like we’re two pieces of flint knocking together.
My heart thrums in my chest as he bears down on me. I’d give anything for him to wrap his arms around me and let me inhale the soft scent of his cologne.
It makes absolutely zero sense that I feel so safe with him, but I do.
“What is your game here?” He leans even closer, so that I can see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. I stare at his lips, still wet from my kisses. “Seriously, I want to know.”
This isn’t the in control version of Wells that he wants me to see. Chest rising. Staccato breaths. Cheeks flushed.
And for as much as I like to be the one causing it, I also like to be the thing that centers him. The buoy he finds in the storm that anchors him amidst choppy waters.
I could be that for him, if only he’d let me.
It’s a crazy thought to have, but I know as soon as it flits through my mind that it’s true.
I take a deep breath and run my hand down his forearm, hoping he doesn’t push me away.
I exhale when he allows me to keep touching him.
“I like how I feel when you order me around. And before you ask, no, I don’t know why.
But I’m also not stupid enough,”–I look at him pointedly–“to throw away something that feels good because I haven’t looked at it from every possible angle. ”
The hesitation is written across his face. But it’s mixed with want and frustration and… fear. It feels like a punch in the gut. I don’t want him to be afraid of me. Of this thing between us.
I speak again, soft and low as I squeeze his arm, loving the sinewy muscle and smooth skin beneath my fingertips. “I’m in, Wells. Even though I have a million other things going on in my life and I never know if you want to fight me or fuck me, I’m in. So, the real question is… are you?”