13. Alexei
13
ALEXEI
“ H ello?” I answer my phone.
“Don’t answer. I’m hanging up and calling again.”
“Why?”
“Because. I’m going to leave you a voicemail,” Gage says. “Hurry and hang up so I can call again.”
“Why not just tell me whatever you want to say?”
“Because. I’m chickening out of saying it straight to your ear. I need to talk to a machine. Hang up. I miss you, but hang up.”
I hang up, and when Gage’s name flashes across the screen, it kills me a little not to answer it. Because I’m counting seconds and staring at my phone like a loser, three whole minutes go by before a voicemail notification pops up. Before I can listen to it, Gage calls again.
“Am I allowed to answer this time?”
“Delete that.”
“No.”
“Alexei! I should have asked if you’re the type to be filthy-romanced via voice or in the written form. I forget how to date. I’m doing it all wrong.”
“You left me a filthy romantic message?” I ask, already flushing with anticipation.
“Yeah, I read you my journal entry. But now I’m wondering if I should have just given you the journal. So? How do you wanna be wooed? Vocal or written?”
“And you’re too chicken to read it to me in person?”
Gage groans, but fuck me, it’s a sexy sound. “Yes, I’m too afraid I’ll actually try to… I’m not at the filthy, sexy romance portion of my recovery yet. It can’t be in person. Not until I talk to my... yeah, just… listen to it, okay? And then call me back.”
There’s that sexy self-awareness again. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he says, breathless.
“Okay,” I repeat.
Dead silence on the line. We’re both holding our breath. I don’t know why I’m not hanging up.
“Okay,” he says again. “Three. Two. Two. Two.”
“One.” I smile as I end the call.
Dad’s not home, and I should be working, but instead, I take my phone to my room, close the door, and hesitate. Because the natural progression of a relationship isn’t supposed to go this way. We’re supposed to flirt, touch a little, tease and taunt, kiss for the first time and set our worlds on fire. I’m not supposed to hear the gritty details of his arousal journal before I’ve even kissed him, but then again, maybe dating Gage Rossum is different from dating anyone else. Yes, because he’s a recovering sex addict, but also just because… he’s Gage Rossum. And I’m Alexei Kopacek, a proud weird guy. Neither of us is traditionally normal, so it makes me smile shyly to know that our relationship isn’t normal. Normal is boring. What even is normal?
I pick up my phone. Unlock it. Click the phone icon and toggle over to the voicemail part. Hover my thumb over the button. Stalling. Anticipating. Building.
Gage’s name flashes across the screen instead, calling me again.
“Forget something?” I answer.
“Have you listened yet?” He’s breathless. Frantic.
“No.”
“Don’t. I have a better idea. I’m coming over.” He hangs up.
Oh no. Oh yes?
“I like the grout,” Gage says, forcing me into my favourite bathroom. “The dark tones will look good with the dark tiles.”
“Did you seriously come over here to talk to me about grout while there’s a filthy romantic arousal journal entry sitting in my voicemail inbox?”
Gage steers me from behind, closing the bathroom door behind us. “No, but if you do this grout work without me, we’re gonna have our first real fight. Did you bring the speaker?”
I hold up the portable Bluetooth speaker he demanded I bring. Gage looks at it, nods, runs his hands through his dark hair, and blows out a breath.
“I have an idea.”
I love ideas. And I love how much effort it’s taking him to pretend to be chill about it. His sweatpants are rumpled and his t-shirt is on inside out, but that just adds a certain allure to the vibrant picture he’s painting.
“Go on.”
“I wanna listen to it together. While watching each other,” he says, looking nervous.
“No.”
“What? Why?” He sags.
“Because you just told me we can’t do it in person because you’re not at the filthy?—”
“Yeah, I know. But I have a plan for that part.” He nods to the walk-in glass shower. “I’m putting a barrier between us. I just want to watch you, Alexei. I want you to watch me. To see me.” He steps forward, so close to me I can smell that same laundry detergent and the subtle hint of cigarettes. “Because I tried so hard not to flirt, and now I’m flirting while being horrible at it, and I want you to know… fuck, I want you to know what you do to me.” He swallows, and my peripheral vision watches his throat roll while my eyes stay on his. “Because I’m so fucking into you, Alexei, but I’m trying to be responsible about it. Because you’re…”
Important. He wants to tell me I’m important, and it means everything to me. Not because he thinks it, but because he knows it. I am important, but so is his recovery.
“Dating me is going to be hard,” he says instead. “And I won’t blame you if you change your mind. You deserve?—”
“Don’t presume to know what I deserve,” I say, backing up until my ass hits the vanity. I sit on it, feet dangling. “Come here.”
Gage steps between my legs, hands dutifully balled into responsible fists at his sides. His eyes are wide, almost scared, but there’s an excitement in them that empowers me. He’s a thrill-seeker, but he’s not seeking a thrill right now. His vulnerability is seeking validation. I love it.
“How many people have you had sex with?” I ask, the inside of my knees brushing against his hips.
“A lot. Too many.”
“How many have you kissed?”
His eyebrows furrow, and he tilts his head. “Uh… not that many.”
“So, sex was more freely given than kissing was?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah, I guess. Kissing is more… personal. More intimate. And when I’m drunk and high and horny as hell, I’m chasing an orgasm, not intimacy.”
For the first real time, I touch him. I wrap my fingers around his wrists and gently work his fists free. When his hands relax, I twine our fingers together slowly, exploring him. Gage’s eyes drop, watching our hands, exploring with me. I let him watch, taking my time, living in that spark of vibrancy that started when he touched me at the diner. It’s more subtle now, and it’s because the mood is more tender, more raw. When his eyes meet mine again, I set his hands flat on my thighs.
“We can chase orgasms if you want, and only when you’re ready,” I say. “But it's the intimacy I’m after. You can get me off with voicemails and arousal journals. You can touch me and tease me and make me watch you. You can confer with your therapist and make sure you’re on track and that I’m helping you in a healthy way.”
I reach up and wrap my fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his face down to mine. Our noses touch and our foreheads brush, and Gage’s breath hitches in his throat while mine just breathes through the moment. He wets his lips and I lick mine, and then I turn and lean in, my lips brushing his cheek.
Against his ear, I whisper, “And when chasing an orgasm isn’t enough for you anymore, I want you to kiss me. We’re going backwards, Gage. Make me come first and kiss me after. But when you do, when you give in and kiss me, you better be ready for the level of intimacy I’m after.”
Gage’s exhale comes out as a groan. He leans his temple against the side of my head, locked in restraint but taking in my words. His hands travel up my thighs, caressing and squeezing until he gets to my hips.
When he turns his head, his lips against my cheek, he says, “I’m fucking dying to kiss you now.”
He almost does it—tries to do it—but I press two fingers to his lips to stop him. He kisses them anyway, pressed up against my lips, eyes closed and chest panting.
“Press play,” he demands.
With his forehead still against mine, I press play. The sound of his voice comes from the speaker, filling the bathroom with the husky yet jittery timbre that proves he was as nervous as he was excited when he left the voicemail.
“Entry number eighteen. Alexei’s smooth, naked chest glows in the moonlight.”
“Get in the shower,” I tell him, my dick already getting excited just from his first words. I’m a master of discipline and the gatekeeper to my self-control, but Gage tempts my willpower.
“I will. Give me a minute,” he says, while the recording says, “Fucking hell. To see him in bed, asleep and cute, was the first thing that turned me on. Then he moved, and the blankets dropped down to his hips. Fuck me, his body is… I want to wrap myself around him and feel him everywhere. He’s all hard and tattooed and manly, and…fuck. My cock was so hard when I kissed his cheek, and to hear the way he held his breath made it fucking leak.”
“Gage,” I warn, speaking against his cheek. I pause the voicemail.
“I won’t touch you,” he promises. And then his hands are moving up my thighs and his fingers are popping open my fly, contradicting his words. His eyes meet mine and his lip gets tugged between his teeth, and goddammit, the backs of his knuckles graze my hard cock. “Will you touch yourself?” he asks, moving my hand to rest on my dick.
I’m not shy, but I’m not fearless, either. I’m scared, but excited about it. Sex has only ever been a transactional thing for me. Meet someone, hook-up, have a good time, go home. I’ve never performed or been watched. I’ve never jacked off in front of someone. I’ve never been the centre of attention or at the mercy of someone else’s demands. But Gage, whether he knows it yet or not, is my soulmate, and despite how intimidated I am, I’m even more frantic to have this experience.
I nod, wiggling my fingers under where he holds them. “Will you? Can you?”
He pushes his forehead to mine, groans, and then pushes off me. Backing away until he’s in the shower with the glass door closed, he rubs the crotch of his pants, showing me how affected he is.
“Fuck yeah, I can,” he says. He sits on the stone bench in the shower, legs spread, hand rubbing. I mimic him, feeling the outline of my cock through the material of my pants. “Press play.”
My blue eyes on his brown ones, hands on our own dicks, I press play and lean back against the mirror. While Gage’s recording sets the scene, describing all the ways he felt when he saw me in bed, admitting to himself that he wanted me, and recalling the mess of my hair and the way the moonlight reflected off my glossy eyes, I rub myself through my pants and feel my body warm, a slow build of heat that matches the flush tinting Gage’s cheeks.
“I wanted to pin him to his bed and force him to look me in the eye while I fed him my cock. Ah, fuck. His lips would stretch around me, and he’d whimper and drool and silently beg for more.”
Through the recording, I can hear the desperation in his tone. In front of me, I can see the pure lust in his eyes and the way he’s imagining it again now. Picturing me sprawled out beneath him, his ass on my chest and his cock down my throat. I grip my dick hard and Gage notices. Before he can dare me to, I reach inside my pants and boxer-briefs, unsure if I want to keep myself hidden from him to taunt him or if taunting a sex addict is a bad idea.
Gage beats me to it. His sweats are pulled down, and right there, in his firm grip, is his hard cock. He strokes, the tip already glistening, his touch careful but experienced.
“And when his begging could no longer stay silent, he’d take charge. Push me off him. And demand what he wants.”
He knows me. He knows I’m not a pushover.
I pull my cock free and let him watch me stroke it. His eyes glaze while my neck heats, and when his voice continues to fill the bathroom with the perfect imagery, reality makes it even better.
Our hands work in synchronization. Our chests heave with the same laboured breaths. Our hips gyrate, phantom fucking through six feet of space and a glass wall.
“And when I came, it was because I imagined Alexei looking down at me, taking exactly what he wanted. Me. Because no one has ever wanted me like Alexei wants me. And I can’t wait for us to fuck.”
My eyes flutter and my orgasm builds. Gage’s lips are slick with spit, and when his hand drops all the way down to the base, a pulse of cum spurts from the tip of his cock, landing on his abs.
“Fuck, I want you, Alexei,” he says here and now.
My hand follows the path his took. Circling the tip, I slide all the way down to the base, and my orgasm hits like a slow-building storm. The tremors start first, the shaking comes next, and the toe-curling mingles with it all. I force my eyes open to watch him come, coating my own stomach in a release I couldn’t have stopped if I tried.
“I want you so fucking bad, Alexei,” the recording says.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan, choking out an exhale while my mind goes calm and my body tenses everywhere.
“You’re goddamn gorgeous,” Gage says. “My god.”
I’d tell him he was too, if I knew how to speak. I’m all jumbled up and stupid-calm, but boneless and shivering. I slump against the mirror and watch Gage’s abs glisten with his cum, drooling to lick him clean. Those abs…
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he prompts, still breathing hard.
What I’m thinking? My thoughts are background music. They’re there, but I can’t catch them. They’re running a million miles a minute but aren’t in a rush to get anywhere. I can’t slow them. I can’t stop them. I can’t even remind them to make themselves clear and obvious. They’re just in there, alive and thriving, but I’m not actively thinking about any of them.
So, I blurt, “I know we’re doing everything backwards, but I’m trying not to fall in love with you so soon.”
Instead of being spooked, Gage laughs. “Don’t try too hard.” He smirks.