Bonus Scene
CALEB
The thing about missing someone is—it sneaks up on you.
One minute I’m sprawled on my dorm bed, staring at the crack in the ceiling and trying to remember if I already turned in my history paper, and the next—Miguel is the only thing I can think about. His voice in my head. His hands on my skin. His fucking smirk burned into the inside of my eyelids.
It’s been two weeks since I left home. Two weeks since Halloween. Two weeks since the last time he touched me, stretched me open, and held me like I mattered.
I told myself I’d adjust. That the distance would make it easier. But it’s the opposite.
Every night I lie here, restless, my body aching for something I can’t have.
For him.
Fuck it.
I roll over, grab my phone off the nightstand, and stare at our last thread of texts. Nothing but check-ins. How’s class? How’s work? Tell Mom I said hi. Boring, safe. Not what I want.
My fingers hover over the screen, pulse jumping.
Finally, I get the courage to type.
Caleb
You busy?
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
The three dots appear almost instantly.
Miguel
No. What’s up?
God, he’s quick. Like he’s been waiting for me.
I chew my lip, hesitating for a moment. Jesus nut up, Caleb.
Caleb
Do you… miss me?
His reply is fast.
Miguel
That’s a stupid question. You know I do.
What’s really up?
The breath whooshes out of me. I don’t realize how tight my chest was until it eases. He misses me. But it’s not enough. Not nearly.
I press my forehead to my pillow, thumbs moving before I can stop myself.
Caleb
I need you.
Like *need you* need you.
The three dots blink. Pause. Blink again.
Miguel
How bad?
Heat rushes through me. My ears burn, my skin prickling all over. I swallow hard, type back with shaking hands.
Caleb
Bad enough I can’t stop thinking about you. Bad enough that I can’t breathe.
His reply comes sharp and commanding, like he’s in the room with me.
Miguel
FaceTime me. Now.
My heart slams against my ribs. I fumble to hit the video icon, and then he’s there—Miguel filling the screen, dark hair mussed, a lazy grin on his lips.
“Hey there, little brother.” His voice is low, thick, and warm enough to wrap around me. “Show me your face.”
I shift the phone so he gets all of me—flushed cheeks, messy hair, and the hunger I can’t hide.
“Shit, you look wrecked already,” he drawls. “All because you missed me?”
My throat bobs as I swallow. “Yeah.”
His grin sharpens. “Good boy.”
The words send heat rushing straight to my cock. I bite my lip, pulling my hoodie up over my mouth.
“Don’t you dare hide from me,” he says, leaning closer to his camera. “Put the phone where I can see you. All of you, and lie back. Hands off for now.”
I scramble to obey, propping my phone against my laptop so he has the full view of me stretched out on my bed. Hoodie and sweatpants hanging low on my hips with no underwear. Vulnerable. Exposed.
Miguel’s gaze drags over me even through the screen, and I swear I can feel it like a touch. “Goddamn, look at you. You’ve been starving for me, huh?”
I nod, too wrecked to pretend otherwise.
“Say it.”
“I’ve been starving for you.”
“Louder.”
“I’ve been starving for you, Miguel.”
“Better,” he says, satisfied. He leans back, phone in one hand, and I catch a glimpse of his bare chest, the ink curling over his shoulder, and the ridges of muscle I ache to kiss. My stomach flips.
“Take your clothes off,” he orders. “Slow. I want to watch.”
My fingers shake as I peel my hoodie off and tug my t-shirt over my head, putting it next to me on the bed. My skin prickles under his gaze. Then I stop at my sweats, I’m already half-hard, straining against the fabric.
Miguel whistles low. “Fuck, you’re pretty. Pull those down. Show me what’s mine.”
What’s his.
Heat surges up my neck. Still, I hook my thumbs under the waistband and push them down, freeing my cock. My face flames, but Miguel groans, and the sound alone nearly undoes me.
“That’s it,” he says, voice rough now. “Touch yourself for me.”
I wrap a shaky hand around myself, stroking slowly. The relief is immediate, my hips jerking up into my fist. If only it was his hand or his mouth.
Miguel’s eyes are dark, his voice low and filthy. “Look at you, already leaking for me. My needy little slut. You been jerking off thinking about me every night?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Tell me how.”
“I—I picture you on top of me. Holding me down. Filling me up.” My words tumble out, desperate. “I can’t—” And I let out a moan.
Miguel groans again, shifting his phone, and suddenly I see more of him—his hand wrapped around his cock, thick and pierced, stroking at a slow leisurely pace. My mouth goes dry.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“Eyes on me,” he growls. “Don’t you dare look away.”
I nod frantically, watching as he works himself, his chest rising and falling, lips curling when he sees how hard I am.
“Faster,” he orders. “I want you messy. I want you ruined for anyone else.”
There isn’t anyone else. I don’t even see other people now.
My hand speeds up, slick with pre-cum. My body arches, a whine escaping before I can stop it.
“That’s it, baby. That’s my good boy. God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this.”
The praise hits harder than the filth. My throat tightens, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
“Miguel—”
“I’ve got you,” he says quickly, steadying. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”
“Please—fuck—I need you—”
“You’ve got me,” he says again, voice soft and rough all at once. “Even if it’s like this, over a screen—you’re mine, Caleb. I’m yours and you’re mine.”
I sob, the sound strangled, and my hips buck into my hand.
Miguel’s voice sharpens again. “Stroke harder. Show me how desperate you are. Beg for it.”
“Please—please, Miguel, I need to come—”
“Beg prettier for me, hermoso.”
“I’m yours,” I choke out. “Always yours. Please let me come—”
His jaw tightens, eyes blazing. “Do it. Come for me. Right now.”
The command shatters me. My back bows off the mattress as I spill over my stomach, crying out his name, body shaking.
Through the haze, I hear his groan, rough and guttural, and I force my eyes open just in time to see him finish too, chest heaving, cock jerking in his hand, cum trickling down over the silver barbells.
For a moment, all I can do is breathe. My body is exhausted, trembling, and sticky with sweat and cum. I reach for my shirt and clean myself up as best I can, then chuck it at the hamper near the door.
Fuck, I’m gonna need to shower… but I’m too tired.
Later. I know I’ll be up at some point, not able to sleep.
Miguel wipes his hand on a towel out of frame, then leans closer to the screen. His eyes soften. “Hey. Breathe for me. You good?”
I nod, though my throat is raw. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—fuck.”
He chuckles, low and warm. “That’s what I thought. You need me to do some breathing exercises with you?”
“No, I’m—fine.”
Miguel doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push me. Silence stretches between us and it’s not uncomfortable, just heavy. I curl onto my side, still naked, clutching the pillow to my chest.
He studies me like he can see every mark he’s ever left on me, even through the screen. Then, softly, “Go to sleep, Caleb. I’ll stay on till you do.”
Something inside me eases. My chest loosens, and my body sinks into the mattress. I reach for my comforter and drape it over my waist. For once, my brain doesn’t spiral. Doesn’t tear me apart with what-ifs and should-nots.
All I hear is his voice.
All I see is his face.
All I feel is his presence holding me steady, even through glass and distance. He’s keeping me whole.
My eyes drift shut and the last thing I hear before sleep takes me is Miguel whispering in Spanish, voice low and rough with a tenderness he doesn’t dare show in daylight. “Nunca sabrás cuánto te amo. Y sé que la idea del amor te asusta… así que solo te lo diré mientras duermes.”
But I do hear him. And yeah, the idea of love is terrifying—except not so much when it’s him loving me.