Chapter 5 Caleb #2
“But I think,” he says, voice low and rough in my ear, “you like losing.”
Miguel’s breath fogs next to my ear, warm even through the mask. I can’t see his face, can’t see anything except that electric blue glow bleeding through the snow haze, but I can feel him, every hard line of him pressed against my back.
“Stay still,” he murmurs.
Like I could move.
Part of me wants to sass him, but that will only make things worse.
The snow is cold and soft against my knees. My pulse is so loud it drowns out the wind. I feel him shift behind me, his hand still at my throat, not choking, just a reminder.
A weight.
A promise.
He leans close enough that I can feel the plastic of the mask graze the fabric of my balaclava when he speaks. “You’re shaking.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out uneven. “It’s freezing.”
He hums low in his chest. “We both know that’s not why you’re shaking, baby.”
His hand slides from my throat down my chest, flattening over my heart. I know he can feel it hammering. His thumb strokes over the fabric of my base layer, a slow drag that leaves heat in its wake.
“Tell me,” he says softly. “What’s got you trembling, pretty boy?”
I swallow hard. My mouth is dry, my voice caught somewhere between truth and fear. “You.”
The sound he makes isn’t quite a laugh, more like satisfaction turned quiet and dangerous. “Good.”
Miguel moves then, guiding me forward until my palms sink into the snow. The world is all white and breath and heartbeat. I can feel the weight of his stare even through the mask.
“Is this what you wanted when you ran?” he asks.
I nod, barely.
“Words.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, it’s what I wanted.”
The words spill out before I can think, the sound of them stealing what’s left of my breath. He rewards me with a soft growl, the kind that starts deep in his chest and slides right down my spine.
“That’s my good boy.”
He lets the words hang there, heavy and warm in the cold air. Then his hand slides down, tracing my side, fingers curling at my waist. My shirt rides up a little, the shock of icy air hitting bare skin just before his glove presses flat against it.
I gasp.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me flinch and shiver and arch back toward him like some part of me can’t help it.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “So damn pretty out here. Breath coming apart, trying so hard to behave.”
He grips my hip and hauls me back against him, just enough for me to feel the solid heat of him through our layers. I can’t hold back the noise that tears out of me, a half-gasp, half-moan that gets lost in the wind.
“Still want to play, baby?” he asks.
I nod again.
He slides the mask up and tugs the bottom of his balaclava up, just enough that I can see his mouth and the lower half of his face.
His lips are red from the chill and his stubble is freezing from the cold air hitting the sweat.
When he leans in, he rips the part of my mask that covers my mouth down and slams his lips to mine.
The kiss is rough and deep, all teeth and breath and heat.
It’s nothing gentle. It’s a claim.
He’s claiming his prize.
Me.
When he pulls back, my lips feel numb and swollen.
“You’re mine,” he says quietly, thumb brushing over my mouth. “It doesn’t matter if we are up here, alone in the snow-covered woods, or back home with you at college playing basketball and me working… living our normal lives. Eres mío, Caleb.”
“Si, soy tuyo,” I whisper.
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
His eyes flare behind the mask, that electric blue catching on snowflakes like firelight.
“Don’t you forget it, baby. I’m never giving you up.
I may have to hide it until you’re comfortable.
But that doesn’t change the fact that nobody will ever touch you the way I do.
” He shifts behind me, easing me down until I’m half on my stomach, my body molded to the snow.
It’s almost like he’s getting ready to take me from behind.
My pulse is thrumming and inside my head, I’m screaming for him to take me.
His weight comes down over me, not crushing, but enough to remind me just how much stronger he is, how easily he could keep me here.
How safe that makes me feel.
His hand curls around the fabric of the back of my mask and turns my head to the side. “Still with me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Don’t move.”
He tugs down the neck of my base layer, pressing his lips to the back of my neck, kissing along the edge of my balaclava, the scrape of his teeth setting off sparks that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with want.
The cold disappears. The world narrows to the rhythm of his breath and the slide of his hands and the way his voice roughens when he says my name again, like it’s something he’s still tasting.
He pushes my jacket up, gloved fingers tracing the line of my spine, then sliding down to grip my hip again, tighter this time.
“Do you have any idea,” he says, voice low, “how good you look when you run from me?”
My reply is lost somewhere between a sound and a shiver.
He laughs softly, lips brushing over my fabric-covered ear. “So fucking good, baby. Makes me want to reward you. But we both know you just want me to fuck you senseless.”
“Miguel…” I shiver, the cold finally hitting me.
“And it is the season of giving, isn’t it, baby?”