Chapter 15 Luke
Luke
I feel like I’m floating. Not only when he touches me, I feel like I’m floating when I’m in the same room as him, when I can see him or hear him.
As long as he’s close, my footing feels unsteady, and my insides feel like they’re trembling.
It’s been almost a week since things started happening between us again and instead of getting milder, the feeling keeps getting stronger.
I’ve never been more grateful for anything in life than I am for the fact our parents put us in the guest house together, and that they both have full-time jobs.
Jeez, having them around all this past weekend nearly killed me.
My mom wanted us all to go to a farmers’ market on Sunday.
Usually I love that kind of thing. Not this time.
I narrowly survived the ordeal, and when she insisted we take the bikes for a ride on the China Rock – Fan Shell beach loop, I almost had a sense of humor failure.
Jessie being Jessie, took one look at my face and said, “That sounds like a great idea, Rachel,” and then spent the entire ride pedaling behind me, boring his eyes into me with so much heat, I almost crashed twice.
I took my T-shirt off when we stopped to take in the view and after that, he quieted down considerably.
It's weird when you’ve waited for something for so long and it finally happens.
In a way, I thought I’d be disappointed because I was pretty sure there’s no way getting physical with someone could feel as good as I’d built it up in my mind to feel.
I was wrong. With Jessie it feels even better than I imagined.
And I don’t just mean getting my hands in his pants, or having his in mine.
Even though that’s unreal, the things I like even more are the little looks he gives me when others are around, and we can’t touch each other.
His face changes from sullen and broody, to pure mischief, blue-green lights up and takes flight.
It happens quickly, so no-one else notices.
Yesterday we were sitting at the kitchen island eating breakfast. My mom was there, she was washing up at the sink, so she had her back turned to me.
Jessie got up to get another cup of coffee.
As he walked back to his seat, he got that look in his eye.
That crazy, wild glint that told me he was feeling just as unhinged as I feel when I’m close to him.
He walked over to me, coffee in one hand, and took the hair on the back of my head in the other.
He tugged it so sharply it was all I could do not to cry out in shock.
He glanced over at my mom and when he deemed the coast clear, he leant down and kissed me.
Hard. With tongue. He forced his tongue so deep into my mouth it left me panting.
It was over in less than two seconds but afterwards I was so turned on I could barely remember how to feed myself.
“Are you for real?” I mouthed to him when he sat down.
“Sorry. Lost my concentration,” he mouthed back, with a careless shrug and a filthy smile.
We lost several hours when my mom finally left for work. We lost more hours last night. He came to my room like he does every night. He took care of me, and I took care of him. It was so good that afterwards I couldn’t move.
When both of us were spent he did what he always does.
He seemed to sober up and get awkward and uncomfortable with what just happened between us.
His eyes grew hard. I could almost see the armor come down as he tried to put distance between us.
When he gets like that, he pulls away from me physically, almost recoiling when I try to touch him.
He says nonsense like, “I’ll let you get some sleep,” and then he bolts out of my room.
I’m left lying in the dark, feeling exhausted and weak, wondering if it was something I did.
Or if it’s because I’m a guy and from what I can tell he’s mainly been with girls in the past. Or if it’s because our parents are married and we’re stepbrothers, and no matter how you look at it, that’s far from ideal.
Or if it’s because he doesn’t like me the way I like him.
I’m trying hard not to spiral or put pressure on him, but I can’t say it doesn’t hurt me.
It does and every day, it hurts me a little more.
I wish I could talk to someone. Don’t know who, though.
Obviously not my mom or Greg. Or Gould or Chase.
Gould would be ridiculous about it and Chase has been super weird about everything recently.
I have a feeling he doesn’t really like Jessie.
He was pretty rude to him the last time he came over.
He probably wouldn’t be the best person to talk to.
I feel weird talking to Izzy about Jessie, too.
Ordinarily she’d be the person I’d go to with something like this.
I don’t know exactly what was going on between them at the beach, but I sure as hell didn’t like it.
I don’t want to get her involved if I can help it, which sucks, as she’d probably have the best advice for me out of everyone.
I bet she’d give me some off-the-wall advice. I bet she’d say something like, “Dude’s trying to fuck with you. Fuck him back harder.” She loves saying things like that.
Maybe that’s what I should do.
All thoughts of doing anything sensible or otherwise regarding Jessie evaporate to nothing the second he sits down in the living room.
He’s been out with his dad, and it’s been a couple of hours since I’ve seen him.
I guess they went to the beach, as they both look windswept.
Jessie’s lips and cheeks look pinker than usual.
If you took away the ripped jeans and the slouchy beanie and added a crisp white tank and a pair of boardshorts, he’d look like the kind of guy whose happiness is dependent on how big the waves are any given day.
“Are you guys okay ordering something in? Tacos, maybe? We’re meeting the Maliks for racket ball and then we’re going out for dinner,” says my mom.
Jessie’s eyes flicker. Green then blue. He gets me on his wavelength, and he holds me there.
I can’t look away or swallow. I try to sit very, very still.
When I can’t take it anymore, I get up to head back to our place.
He glances up at our parents and when he finds their attention elsewhere, he reaches out, quick as a cat, and taps my dick.
I sit down heavily, rendered entirely braindead by a single touch.
He understands. He knows exactly what he’s done to me.
He doesn’t even try to hide his smile. It creeps up his face, twisting his mouth up at the sides and creasing his eyes deeply.
Fuck knows why, but when he treats me like this, my dick loses its mind. My face bursts into heat and I sit there trying not to squirm. He likes it. He likes seeing how much he’s turned me on. The thing is, I want to see him turned on like this too.
Wanna play, Jess? I say with my eyes.
He considers me and gives me a slight nod.
Cocksure doesn’t begin to describe the way he’s looking at me.
It inflames me and sets caution on fire.
I know what I’m going to do. I know exactly what I want and today I’m going to take it.
Right now I don’t care about consequences.
My mom leaves the room to get ready to go out.
I wait. I don’t move. I wait until Greg looks away then I look Jessie dead in the eye, and mouth the words, “Wanna fuck?”
His eyes fly open, and he sits up straight. He looks around wildly, checking to see if Greg’s looking. He isn’t.
“What?” he chokes out.
“Do you,” I point at him very deliberately, moving my mouth in an exaggerated way, “want to fuck me?”
He sits there catching flies. I love it. I feel dizzy from the power of it. I’ve finally managed to affect him as much as he affects me every time I come within twenty feet of him. Jessie’s phone lights up on the coffee table. I see his mom’s name on the screen. He doesn’t move to answer it.
Greg starts to head upstairs. “You boys have fun tonight.”
“Oh, we will,” I smile at Greg. When he’s out of earshot, I say, “You should get that, Jess,” indicating to the phone. I lower my voice and my gaze. “I’m going to our place to get ready for you.”
By the time I hear him opening the guest house door, I’m on my bed.
I’m still warm from the shower. I’m wearing a pair of gray athletic shorts and nothing else.
I’m lying on my belly with my laptop open in front of me.
I hear him approach, quiet footsteps on the wood floor.
He pauses at my doorway, the way he always does.
I look back and give him an up-nod and what I hope is an obvious how you doin’ look.
He stands at the doorway for so long, I start thinking that maybe this time he really won’t come in.
He has one hand in his pocket and a faraway expression on his face.
He’s looking down at his feet. His hair has fallen into his face, creating a dark screen for him to peer through when he finally looks up.
“What’re you reading?” he says at last.
I show him the screen. I’m reading an article titled How to Make Bottoming Better.
He keeps his face passive, but the sinew in his neck tenses.
“I read that one too,” he says quietly. He walks over to the bed and lies down beside me. We’re both on our bellies, propped up on our elbows. One side of my body feels warm from being close to him.
“You been reading up on this?”
“Maybe.” He nudges me with his shoulder, and I nudge him back. I try not to grin like a complete dork, but I’m wholly unsuccessful.
“Have you read this one?” he does a quick search and pulls up an article. I skim through it. The language is serious and staid, the writer seems hellbent on leaving readers with no doubt that he’s a medical doctor.
“Dude sure likes using the word sphincter, huh?” I say.