Chapter 16
Caleb punched as hard as he could. With a grunt, he made contact with the bag, bracing his core for the impact, then ducked right to dodge an imaginary threat.
Over and over, he went.
Punch. Dodge. Punch, punch. Dodge.
Slowly, his mind started to clear, and the tension in his chest started to ease. Sweat dripped from his temple, but he kept going. Just a few more minutes to get his energy out.
“What’d that bag do to you?”
The voice startled Caleb so hard he spun, fists still raised. Jamie stood at the door to their apartment gym, green eyes wide with shock. He showed his palms in surrender, but the smattering of color on his cheekbones gave away his nerves.
Hands still lifted, Jamie’s bright green eyes raked down Caleb’s sweaty body. He was suddenly very aware he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Sorry,” Caleb muttered, yanking off his boxing gloves and grabbing his water bottle. Adrenaline still surged hot and heavy through his veins as he checked the time. It was late. “What are you doing awake, anyway?”
“Was up reading,” Jamie replied. He had on joggers and a London sweatshirt. His hair was rumpled, like he’d been lying down, with his glasses perched adorably on his nose.
He looked so… soft and cozy and fuckable. It took all of Caleb’s self-control not to rush over, pull him close, and breathe him in.
These were the exact thoughts that had brought Caleb down to the gym in the first place. It was getting harder and harder to resist Jamie—he was doing a shitty job of it as is—so instead of climbing into bed to suck him off, he decided to beat the shit out of a punching bag.
Jamie stepped toward Caleb. “Thank you for the headphones, by the way. I love them.”
Caleb took a minuscule step back. “Of course. I figured you could use them on the Tube tomorrow. First day of work’s a big deal.”
Jamie smiled. “I Googled them, and they have Active Noise Cancellation.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said, scratching the back of his head. “Ellie helped me research which ones were good for people who get overstimulated.”
Jamie blushed. Even now, he still got squirmy when Caleb showed just how well he knew him. He nodded to the punching bag. “That can’t be great for your shoulder, right?”
“It’s fine.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed on Caleb’s scar. “Is it?”
“It’s alright.” Caleb fidgeted under the scrutiny.
The truth was his shoulder hurt like hell, but he was too stubborn to rest it.
It always ached when he worked it too hard, and normally, he did take good care of it, but lately, he needed to get his energy and frustration out more than he needed a functioning shoulder. Mostly, his sexual frustration.
And the source of that sexual frustration was standing in front of him now, looking like a hot professor.
Desire pulsed between them as Jamie stepped closer. Caleb’s fingers twitched at his side, unsure whether to pull him in or push him away.
His whole body had been caught in a constant war lately—torn between his need to protect his heart and his burning want for Jamie. He wanted more than Jamie could give him right now.
Before the accident, that heat in Jamie’s eyes ignited a burning fire in Caleb, often leading to Jamie pressed against a wall, a whimpering mess. Or held onto the mattress, begging to be fucked.
If Caleb let himself become aroused, his brain couldn’t tell the difference between that Jamie and this one. This one wasn’t ready. He didn’t know Caleb like that.
At least until his memories came back.
Even so, the heat in Jamie’s eyes right now was the same irresistible shade of dark green that Caleb recognized.
But he reminded himself that sex didn’t mean the same thing to Jamie anymore.
This was simply a release for him. A way to work through the mood swings and anxiety from after the accident.
It hurt like hell, but seeing the anxiety in Jamie hurt way more.
Caleb’s chest heaved as Jamie stepped closer and brushed his fingertips over the coarse skin of Caleb’s shoulder.
“You still haven’t told me how you got these scars.”
Caleb inhaled at the contact. “Shoulder surgery.”
“From football?” Jamie’s green eyes flicked up to his. He could always tell when Caleb was holding back.
Caleb swallowed and nodded. The pine smell of Jamie’s aftershave was making his head fuzzy.
“Did someone, um, tackle you too hard?” Jamie knew nothing about American football.
“Many someones, yes.”
His brows pulled together. “Is that allowed?”
Caleb shrugged. Jamie didn’t need to know that it was his own teammates who had done it to him, while his father watched.
Jamie frowned, reaching forward to trace it with the tip of his finger, sending zaps of electricity down Caleb’s arm. “Do you need to see a doctor? I can tell it’s bothering you.”
“How can you tell?”
Heavy-lidded eyes locked onto his. “You wince when you reach into the upper cabinets. And anytime I…” He swallowed. “Anytime I put weight on it, you look like you’re in pain.”
Caleb reached out and brushed a curl from Jamie’s eyes. Jamie’s breath hitched as they both thought back to last night—Jamie perched up on his knees, hands on Caleb’s shoulders, Caleb jerking him off. It hadn’t felt great on Caleb’s shoulder, but, at the time, was pretty fucking fantastic.
“What if I like it when you put weight on it?” Caleb said, dropping his voice a little lower.
“I shouldn’t have—” Jamie’s breath caught, but the way his pupils dilated gave him away. “I didn’t realize it was hurting you that much, Caleb.”
Caleb leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Worth it.” His hand, on its own, slid up Jamie’s back and into his hair. It was so soft, and now he was practically pressed up against him—sweat and all.
Jamie’s eyelashes fluttered as he melted into Caleb. His eyes locked onto Caleb’s lips, and he could feel Jamie’s hard cock digging into his thigh.
Caleb brushed his lips against Jamie’s jaw. “You want to go upstairs? Maybe to the bedroom?”
“Y-yes. Please.”
Caleb couldn’t say no to such a sweet request.
Every night that week, Caleb found some excuse to go into their bedroom to see how Jamie was doing. Check in on his symptoms, bring him a cup of tea. But then Jamie would give him those bedroom eyes, and it was over.
Sometimes it played out like that first night, with Caleb straddling his legs, hands wrapped around Jamie’s waist from behind as he jerked him off. Other times, he’d throw Jamie on his back and go down on him while working his fingers in and out, relishing in every gasp of pleasure he made.
Just last night, when Jamie had gotten out of bed, determined to return the favor, Caleb had turned him around, pushed him up against the wall, and kicked his muscular legs apart. He’d fingered him open and jerked him off, leaving his come splattered on the wall.
It was addicting, intoxicating, to know exactly how to touch Jamie. How to draw sounds from him that no one else had ever heard.
And Jamie always looked so innocently stunned.
Completely awed that Caleb knew his body this well.
It was like a drug, getting to show him what they’d had before the accident.
The work Caleb had done to map every ridge of muscle, every sensitive bit of skin, and memorize the way Jamie’s body reacted under his hands.
It had become a game. One that wasn’t particularly fun for Caleb, and often ended with an unsatisfying jerk-off in the shower, but one he deemed necessary.
Jamie was still recovering, going through something incredibly intense, and the last thing Caleb wanted was for his partner to feel obligated to return any favors.
As if worshipping Jamie’s body could ever be seen as a favor.
It was clear Jamie wanted to reciprocate.
After Caleb had wrung orgasm after orgasm from him, he would always turn—eyes glossed over and hazy—and reach for Caleb’s cock.
Maybe Jamie didn’t remember, but Caleb knew what Jamie’s ‘fuck me’ eyes looked like and he just… couldn’t.
Because what if Caleb fucked him and then he decided he didn’t want him anymore? To Jamie, Caleb was still… new. A recent partner. Not a life partner. Not a fiancé.
“I... I want—” Jamie’s voice shook as he leaned closer, arching into Caleb’s touch. He lay on his back, Caleb beside him, propped up on one elbow, lazily sliding his hand up and down his hard cock. Jamie was close, and Caleb couldn’t wait to see him splatter his smooth stomach with come.
“What do you want, J?” Caleb’s voice was husky, even to his own ears. He slid his palm up to the tip and twisted, gathering precum and earning a little whine from Jamie, and then smoothed it back down. “You like this?”
“God, yes.” A voice in Caleb’s head told him he shouldn’t be doing this. But what was one more night of making Jamie feel good?
“That’s it, J…”
Within minutes, Jamie writhed as he came. Caleb leaned in and whispered in his ear a cacophony of yes, that’s it, come for me…
Coming down from his high, Jamie’s head turned toward Caleb. “Are you—?” A moment of pause before Jamie mustered up the courage. “Are you going to let me take care of you tonight, too? I... I really want to.”
Caleb pulled back, gazing into those soft, earnest eyes. They held a single word in them: Please.
That same, stupid voice in his head screamed that it was too soon. He’d wait until Jamie was better—until he remembered that he loved Caleb.
Apparently, he took too long to answer, because Jamie’s face fell. He cleared his throat and sat up, hair rumpled, and shot out of bed.
“J…”
“Forget it,” Jamie muttered as he padded into the bathroom and shut the door.
Come on, J. Don’t take this away from me.
Caleb lay on the bed, staring at the bathroom door, until he heard Jamie finish his routine. He still had his clothes on, so he slipped from the bedroom onto the couch where he slept. When he heard Jamie climb into bed and turn off the lamp, he muttered into the dark apartment, “Shit.”
Nothing made Jamie more calm than being surrounded by books. Which made working at The British Library an absolute dream.