9. Cas
Chapter nine
Cas
W ell, I may have underestimated myself for the first time ever . Because when I saw Will on Sunday, I kinda… lost it. Only internally, though. Externally, I remained calm, but on the inside… yeah, I really don’t like not getting my way. And the thought of him with another guy—even though I told him to do exactly that—nope, don’t like that. Witnessing him interact with someone else only drives the point home. The plan is back on. I’ll be damned if I let anyone else have him.
I wait a few days to message him, mostly to gather my thoughts and go over everything in my mind multiple times. This can work. This has to work.
Orchid Mantis: I saw you the other day.
Purple Puppy: Oh yeah? Where? When?
Orchid Mantis: Not telling you.
Purple Puppy: What was I doing?
Orchid Mantis: Not telling you that, either.
Purple Puppy: So, what do you want to tell me? You must’ve messaged me for a reason.
I take a very deep breath and carefully craft my reply.
Orchid Mantis: You saw me too, and you didn’t recognize me. Thought for sure my voice would tip you off, but… no.
Purple Puppy: You almost sound disappointed.
Orchid Mantis: I’m not. I’m starting to think… maybe this can’t go in the direction I wanted initially, but it can still go somewhere.
Purple Puppy: Such as?
Orchid Mantis: I don’t know yet. We can wait and see.
Purple Puppy: You really are freaked out about this, huh?
Not going to respond to that.
Purple Puppy: What do you think I’ll do if I figure out that you and someone else I know are the same person? Are you worried about how I’ll react?
Orchid Mantis: I’m not trying to find out.
Purple Puppy: So… do I get to see your cock, or will that give too much away?
And a smiley.
Orchid Mantis: I’d be impressed if you could identify anyone by that alone.
Purple Puppy: Well, we haven’t been playing to my strengths.
Purple Puppy: Clearly, I couldn’t ever pick a voice out of a lineup.
Purple Puppy: But I wholeheartedly believe I could a cock.
That gets me to chuckle.
Orchid Mantis: Here I am, thinking you’ll be happy to hear from me, but all you want is to see my dick.
Purple Puppy: I am happy. I missed texting you. I missed talking to you. I missed you .
Purple Puppy: And if you’d shown me more of your cock, I would’ve missed that, too.
Purple Puppy: I’m calling you. Right now.
Right now? It is a bit late, but now? My phone rings and sure enough, Will’s calling. As soon as I answer, I hear him breathing heavily as if he had raced somewhere.
“Running a marathon?” I tease.
“Yes,” Will sighs. “Straight to my bedroom to call you right away.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because just thinking about that one picture you sent me got me hard as a rock. And I had to talk to you. At least hear your voice.”
Fuck. Again. Thirty seconds into a conversation and my cock’s swelling. I swear, if he ever uses this voice out in public, I’ll be sporting an erection in an instant. That’ll certainly give something away.
“Baby, I need you to touch your cock for me.” Will pants into the phone and I don’t doubt he’s already started playing with his. “I’m so fucking hard and I have to hear you.”
And even harder. Again. I’m starting to believe last time wasn’t a fluke. I rip my pajama bottoms down my thighs then kick my underwear off next. Imagining Will and being able to hear him only makes touching myself even better.
“Will you fuck yourself again for me?”
“Yes.” Considering I’m shoving a lubed finger in my ass before he even asks, definitely yes. Back to crashing around in my drawers for a toy, and I’ve got it in me within minutes.
“I love the sound of you taking my cock.” Will’s voice whispers right in my ear. “You think you can come that way for me?”
Normally, no. Not even if I play with my cock the whole time, or I’m so close it feels as if a sneeze could send me over the edge. This time, absolutely positively. It’s almost as if the moment he asks, my body answers with a resounding yes .
I’m moaning his name in seconds, and I can hear the exact moment when he realizes he’s gotten me to come so fast and so hard. He shifts to unintelligible, but his voice stays so clear I can almost picture him here in this room with me. Then we’re both quiet while trying to catch our breath.
“Baby—” he gasps.
“Cas,” I whisper to correct him.
Will remains quiet for a few seconds, only the sound of his uneven breaths breaking the silence. “I don’t know anyone named Cas.”
“I know.”
“Alias?”
“No, Cas is my real name,” I say even quieter. “The one you know is just another name.”
“And what name would that be?” He softly snickers.
“I’m not telling you,” I chuckle with him.
“You can’t blame me for trying.” He sighs. “I swear, if I ever find you out in the wild, I’m going to fuck your beautiful brain out.”
That probably shouldn’t make me smile, but it does. “Goodnight, Will.”
“Night, Cas.”
He hangs up the phone, but I can’t stop staring at the screen. I’m in deep fucking trouble. In so many ways. I shouldn’t have done that. I absolutely shouldn’t have done any of that. And the fact that I did means I can’t do this. I can’t have him and yet I know I have to.
Until now, I’ve held off on doing a deep dive into Will’s background. I don’t need to confirm who he is anymore, and rather than continue to dig, I attempted to cut and run. Even more now than before, I need to know what I’m dealing with and see all the pieces laid out before me. Maybe then I can reconvince myself how stupid this is and my decision will stick this time. Let’s do this.
So, I know his name, obviously. And I know where he works. Not much else. When we first started talking, he struck me as the type who gave too much away unintentionally. I don’t doubt I would’ve learned his identity eventually based on the info he gave me alone versus simply recognizing him. But what do I really know? We talk a lot and yet, I feel as if I don’t know him at all sometimes. What he’s divulged now seems carefully measured, something I would do.
Something I would do.
That makes me pause, if only for a moment. How similar are we, really? No, I’m being paranoid. I dismiss that idea as ridiculous and carry on.
Back to what I know. He works for Moonlit Meadow Farm. He lives very close to work, only a couple of miles away. Not much in the way of houses and rentals in that area. As for life before, that’s harder to find. He doesn’t seem to have any family in this area and he didn’t graduate from the local high school. Hmm.
On to social media next. Lots of pictures and the screen feels more like a one-way mirror where I can study him as much as I want without him ever noticing. Is enjoying being able to stare at him weird? Probably. Don’t care. So lovely to look at.
Buzzed hair, but not too short and still with a conscious sense of style. He has a bit of a beard in some of his other pictures, and he’s one of the lucky few who looks excellent both clean shaven (like he is these days) and not. And such intense, expressive eyes—the kind that burn so fiercely he could singe a hole right through someone.
I end up falling down a rabbit hole of clicking through years and years of photos: selfies and shots with various friends, at work and a few that are likely in his home, and plenty showing off his tattoos. While clicking through those, I can finally see what the text on his collarbone says, opposite the snake tattooed to look as if threading in and out of his body. He’s pulling the neck of his shirt down and to the side to show off fresh ink still pink around the edges. It reads: memento mori.
Remember death. Ironic.