Chapter 18 Blake
BLAKE
Ididn’t know clay could be so erotic.
It was an oversight I can’t correct, my dick half hard in my pants as Cal returns to his own wheel, and I’m left trying to even out my breathing and not get myself arrested for wanting to maul him right here in front of everyone.
Fuck.
My hands are covered in clay, evidence of where his had rested, as he guided me in the most sensual dance. His proximity, the brush of his chest against my back, and the featherlight kiss of his breath on my skin had made my heart beat wildly in my chest.
I’m turned on in the best and most inconvenient way, and all I want to do is get out of here. I want to strip him down and fuck him—mark him the way he’s marked me.
Nicolette continues giving instructions to the other people in the room, and I pray she doesn’t come over here because I still can’t hide how hard Cal’s little lesson made me.
A wave of jealousy has me sucking in a breath, my hands tensing around the clay before I can relax them.
Did he do this with Liam?
Was Liam better than I am at this?
Is this one of the many things they had in common?
The questions are endless as I fight to maintain my composure. I was never jealous of Montana because I knew the score. My chemistry with Ellison, while compatible for what it needed to be, wasn’t explosive. It wasn’t like this.
What feels like hours later, we all clean up and Nicolette goes through the next steps of the process. I somehow managed to create something that looks like a slightly uneven pencil holder while Cal made a perfectly shaped mug.
I can’t concentrate on anything as we follow the group out into the coffee shop, the two of us waving good night and saying thanks as we bypass the small crowd and dip into the parking lot.
“That was really fun. Thank you,” Cal says as soon as we’re situated in the car. “I have a pottery unit I do with the kids at school, but it was nice to not have to teach tonight.”
“You helped me,” I point out through almost gritted teeth, the tension coursing through my body making me vibrate with need.
Fuck.
“That’s not the same,” he says wryly before rattling on about the nuances of clay and how he prefers one glaze over the other, especially when it’s projects for the kids. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel as I finally pull into his driveway.
His, not mine.
He still hasn’t given me an answer which probably means he wants things to be hands off.
I need to get out of here before I completely lose my mind.
“Cal…” I manage through clenched teeth as I slam the SUV into park.
“What?” He looks startled, probably because I must look as unhinged as I feel.
“For the love of God, stop fucking talking.”
CAL
The silence echoes as I watch Blake stalk toward the house and rip the door open. He doesn’t look back as I gape at his retreating form. The car had all but rattled when he slammed the driver’s side door closed, leaving me with that singular command repeating over and over in my head.
“For the love of God, stop fucking talking.”
Who the fuck does he think he is?
The longer I sit here, the angrier I get.
He invited me to the pottery class, peppered me with questions on the way there, watched me as I worked even though he thought I wasn’t looking.
The fucking nerve.
We have a great night and then he thinks he can just storm off? Not happening. And more than that, we need to have a conversation about us.
Wrestling out of my seatbelt, I follow his path inside, kicking my shoes off and dropping my coat onto the floor, ready to give him a piece of my mind.
But the kitchen is empty.
So is the living room.
Whirling around, my eyes are drawn to the stairs where a soft beam of light shines from the bathroom door that’s cracked open. I can hear water running as I take the steps two at a time and stop short.
Is that…
Deep grunts are barely audible as I slow my steps, the sound washing away with the water hitting the tile.
It’s hardly a conscious thought as I push the door open, the glass fogged but not enough to miss the way Blake has one hand braced on the wall and the other wrapped around his cock.
Fuck.
“What are you doing, Cal?”
“What? I didn’t, well I…” Dammit, what is there to say? All intelligent thought has effectively left the room.
At least for me.
“I am being very respectful of your boundaries, Cal,” he says, his tone dangerous as he stares at me, my dick hardening the longer we face off, “so either shut the door and let me do this or get in here and get on your fucking knees.”
There’s no hesitation as I step over the threshold and into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft snick and pulling my shirt over my head.
“Pottery does it for you?”
“You do it for me,” he growls as I shuck my boxers and pants, stumbling a little as I try to get out of my socks, my body aching for this.
For him.
“Cal,” he starts as I reach for the door, “I’m done playing games. If you get in here, that’s it. I’m going to fuck you until we both can’t stand.”
I swallow hard, my stomach flipping with nerves as I slide open the glass and holy hell. I knew from the moment I spotted Blake at Ellison’s baby shower that he was good-looking, but seeing him like this, naked and wet, is something else entirely.
Something that will consume my dreams for years to come.
But I can’t regret it.
And I won’t.
Because for the first time in a long time, I’m going to let myself have this—have him— and I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy it.