11. Caleb
ELEVEN
CALEB
The smell of coffee hits me before I even open my eyes. My head throbs, my mouth is dry, and my body is sore in ways I don’t want to think about too hard.
The sheets still smell like him.
I sit up fast, panic rushing through me—but Miguel’s side of the bed is empty.
No trace of him. No proof of what we did.
Just me and the ache spreading across my body, heavy and hot.
For a second I think maybe I dreamed it all.
But the soreness between my thighs, the faint bruises on my wrists, and the raw edge of my throat—they’re proof enough.
Last night happened.
All of it.
My pulse spikes, panic mixing with something darker.
I tug on a hoodie and some basketball shorts and stumble downstairs.
Celeste’s already at the table with her pumpkin mug, scrolling on her phone.
Dad’s got the paper spread out, humming under his breath.
And Miguel—Miguel is leaning back in his chair, sipping black coffee out of a ghost mug like it’s just another Friday morning.
He glances up at me, smirks, and goes right back to his drink.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Celeste says cheerfully. She gets up and serves me a plate of pancakes, complete with a chocolate chip smile and fruit.
I smirk and dig in.
“Rough night?” She asks, patting my shoulder.
I nearly choke on the bite I shoved in my mouth the second before. My ears burn and Miguel hides his grin behind the mug.
“Uh—yeah. Didn’t sleep great,” I mutter under my breath.
“You two were up late,” Dad adds. “Sounded like a whole horror movie up there. Lot of… stomping around.”
I freeze mid-bite. Miguel doesn’t. He leans forward, eyes locked on mine, and says smoothly, “Yeah, Caleb’s a restless sleeper. I was in and out of there all night with him.”
The fork nearly slips from my hand. Heat floods my chest. My parents laugh, unaware, and I force a smile that feels like it’s going to crack my skull in half.
Miguel kicks me under the table. Not hard, just enough to make me jolt. His eyes glitter, daring me to react. I don’t.
Keep it together, Caleb.
He leans closer, voice low, so only I can hear him. “Relax, little brother. They don’t suspect a thing.”
My stomach twists and my pulse won’t steady. Every second feels like they’re about to tell me they know.
I spend the rest of breakfast barely tasting the food, shoving pancakes and fruit down just so I have something to do with my hands. Miguel laughs at one of Dad’s dumb jokes, easy and unbothered, like he didn’t ruin me less than twelve hours ago. Like he doesn’t own every breath I take now.
When I finally excuse myself, my skin is crawling with heat. I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive in this house with him for another few days.
Later that night, I let a few of my old high school friends drag me to a Halloween party down the road. It should be normal—cheap beer, loud music, everyone in half-assed costumes. I even let someone paint fake blood on my neck, like a vampire bit into me. But I can’t relax.
Not when I know he’s here.
Watching me like prey.
I’m still exhausted from last night, so I really hope he isn’t up for a chase. If that’s the case, I’m just going to lie down and take it.
Miguel didn’t bother with a costume. Just a black shirt, jeans, and that smirk that says he’s already thought ten steps ahead of me. He doesn’t dance. Doesn’t drink much. He just stands in the corner, talking to people like nothing’s wrong, but his eyes are always on me.
Every time I glance over, he’s watching.
Every time.
I down half a beer just to keep my hands from shaking, but it does nothing to cut the feeling of his stare crawling down my spine.
Friends pull me into stupid party games—beer pong, flip cup—but I can’t focus, so I end up drinking way more than I planned to.
My head is buzzing, my chest too tight. Every laugh feels fake, every shout muffled under the weight of knowing he’s here.
At one point, a girl in a devil costume leans into me, giggling, pressing a red plastic cup into my hand. “You’re cute. Haven’t seen you around here.”
I force a smile. “Visiting for the weekend, I’m a sophomore at UCSC.” Her hand lingers on my arm. I should like it. I should lean into it. But all I feel is Miguel’s gaze, like a brand from across the room.
When I risk a glance, he’s watching us. His smile is small, sharp, and dangerous.
I look back over at the girl, realizing I don’t feel anything towards her because she isn’t who I want.
I want my six-foot-two, curly-haired stepbrother and his eight-inch pierced cock.
I don’t want her sickly sweet-smelling perfume; I want his earthy, woodsy citrus scent.
I excuse myself fast, muttering something about needing air. My friends don’t notice.
Nobody ever really notices when I slip out.
The night’s cold, the grass wet under my shoes. I lean against the fence, forcing deep breaths. The music thumps through the walls, the laughter spilling out in bursts, but out here it’s just me and the ache crawling under my skin.
And then he’s there.
Miguel slips out of the shadows like he owns them. No warning, no sound, just suddenly pressed against me, body heat pinning me to the wood.
“Boo,” he murmurs against my ear.
I shudder. “Miggy—”
“You thought you could ignore me tonight?” His hand curls around my jaw, tilting my face up. “That you could play normal while I’m right here, watching? Tsk tsk, little brother.”
“Someone will see,” I whisper, panic flaring, my eyes darting to the back door of the house.
His mouth brushes mine in almost a kiss. “That’s the fun part. Almost getting caught.” His lips ghost over mine, and I’m aching for them to press against mine.
Please kiss me.
Please touch me.
My knees nearly give out. His grip tightens, steadying me.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, voice like smoke and fire. “Even here. Especially here. It doesn’t matter who’s around—maybe I should kiss you in front of that girl. That way, she knows who you belong to.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t answer. I don’t have to.
Miguel presses one last kiss to the corner of my mouth, chaste but devastating. His hand lingers on my hip, fingers digging in just enough to remind me I crave him this way.
Possessive.
“Go back inside,” he says, eyes gleaming, pushing back some hair behind my ear. His hand trails down to the fake blood, and he smirks. “Act normal. I’ll find you later.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me shaking against the fence, heart slamming like it’s trying to break free of my ribs.
I’m going to die if he doesn’t kiss me tonight.
The party noise swells from inside, distant and unreal. Laughter, shouting, music.
I’m his now. There’s no running from it.
I stand outside longer than I should, trying to stop shaking, trying to remember how to breathe.
My palms are clammy against the rough wood of the fence.
When I finally force myself back in, the warmth and noise hit me all at once.
People are laughing, shouting, and spilling drinks.
Music thunders, bass rattling through the floorboards and the windows.
I slip into the kitchen and grab another beer just so I’ll look busy. My friends are nowhere in sight, already swallowed by the crowd. For a second, I almost think Miguel’s gone, too. Relief and disappointment twist together in my gut.
But then I feel it. That prickle down my spine, that sense of being hunted.
I glance across the room. He’s there, leaning against the wall, talking to some guy in a pirate costume, his expression easy, casual. But his eyes—on mine, as if he’s undressing me already.
Heat floods my chest. I look away fast, swallow half my drink in one go, and try to lose myself in the crowd.
Someone drags me into the living room for another round of beer pong.
I laugh when I’m supposed to be throwing a ball that bounces hopelessly off the rim and let myself get pulled into the noise and the mess.
But it all feels fake. That’s how it is with me, though.
Fake it till you make it. Every time I risk a glance, he’s closer.
Not obvious, not enough for anyone else to notice, but I can feel him closing the distance like the walls are moving in.
By the time I get a chance to sneak away to the bathroom, my pulse is wild. I lock the door, lean over the sink, and splash cold water on my face. My reflection looks wrecked—flushed, wide-eyed, and drunk.
Everyone will know.
It feels like my skin still carries his fingerprints.
A knock rattles the door. “Hurry up, man!” someone yells.
I mutter something back, unlock it, and slip out before anyone can corner me. The hallway is crowded, people pressed shoulder to shoulder. I push through toward the back, but then—
A hand catches mine.
For a second I think it’s the girl from earlier, but the grip isn’t hard, but enough to make me stumble. Miguel. He doesn’t even look at me. Just tugs, subtle, like he has every right to lead me where he wants. And my body follows before my brain can argue.
We end up in a narrow hallway near the laundry room, quieter than the rest of the house. The door clicks shut behind us, muffling the music. My heart slams so loud I’m sure he can hear it. Miguel crowds me back against the washer, his hands braced on either side of me. His smirk is pure fire.
“Running, pretty boy?” His voice is low and dangerous.
“I—I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie.” He dips his head, lips grazing my jaw, the faintest brush of teeth. “Even under all the alcohol and fake bravado, I can smell it on you. You want me to bend you over and take you right here?”
I grab at his wrist, not to push him off, but because I need to hold on to something before my knees give. “Someone could come in—”
“And?” His mouth ghosts down my throat, lingering where the fake blood is smeared. His tongue flicks out, tasting, and I almost moan. “You like it. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
I do. God help me, I do.
“Say it,” he murmurs, breath hot against my skin.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My voice barely works. “I—want you.”
His laugh is soft and dark. “Good boy. My good boy.”
Miguel’s hand slides under my hoodie, fingers splaying across my stomach. I flinch, not from fear, but from how much I crave it. Every nerve ending sparks under his touch.
Then—footsteps. Voices that are too close. Someone giggling down the hall.
Miguel pulls back just enough to press a finger to his lips. His eyes dare me to make a sound.
I stay silent.
The voices pass, fading toward the kitchen. My whole body sags with relief, but Miguel’s grin says he planned it. That he wanted me on the edge of being caught.
“Say goodbye to your friends, baby,” he whispers, pressing one hard kiss to my mouth, quick and brutal. “I’m taking you home to go to bed.” Then he’s gone, slipping out the door like a shadow.
I’m left slumped against the washer, dizzy, lips burning, body screaming for more.
The music roars on in the distance, the party spinning without me. But I don’t care.
I’m too far gone for him to not listen.