Chapter 9
It’s official.
I’ve lost my damn mind.
Things have taken a turn for the devastating, and I can’t get my brain to comprehend how or why this is happening.
I fucking kissed him. I kissed my fucking son.
Stop. He’s not really your son.
If the only comfort I can take in the matter is that he’s not a blood relative, then I’ll squeeze onto that with white knuckles. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I need something to justify it… To rationalize.
Because right now, I’m spinning the fuck out.
When I glance at the clock, I find that I’ve been up here for over an hour, though it feels like it’s been seconds.
Guilt is whirring around inside me like a blender, crushing and whipping up everything I’ve ever known about myself and my relationship with my kid, leaving me with something new.
Something unexpected and dangerous… Exciting in how goddamn terrible it is.
My heart is fucked, and my mind? Forget about it. It’s destroyed.
I ruined us. How did everything get so fucked up in twenty-four hours?
But the main thing that has me seething at myself is the stuff surrounding the kiss. I pushed him… I’ve never laid hands on Jesse before, and tonight I did that. In such an angry, perverse and dominating way. I’m a sick fuck.
Not to mention, I gave him a ton of shit for wanting to go out, and then I ran away, leaving him alone on Christmas.
He doesn’t deserve this. Whether he was aware of what he was doing last night is irrelevant. I took it a step further down there. One hell of a fucking step…
He made us dinner, as he always does. In his own caring and selfless way, he was trying to make this day special for us, and I abandoned him.
I have to go try to fix this. And as twisted as it is, I’m reminding myself not to touch him as I hesitantly open my bedroom door and peek out into the hall.
Since when do I have to give myself a pep-talk about not kissing my fucking son??
I’m going to Hell. Or I’m already there.
Jesse is obviously still downstairs, and the thought of him eating the elaborately wonderful Christmas dinner I’m sure he prepared, alone, has me stomping down the steps, on a mission I’m horrified of failing miserably.
Downstairs, I don’t see him in the living room, so I make my way into the kitchen, skittishly.
I’ve always been a confident guy. Not boastful or anything, but I just know who I am and I’m good with that.
But right now, I’m questioning everything. I’m… scared. And it’s so foreign it reminds me of when I was nineteen, and my best friends died, leaving me a permanent piece of them I was meant to protect over everything else.
The boy with the silvery-blonde hair, who’s sitting at the kitchen island, staring somberly into a plate of food.
“Hey,” I mumble, and he peers up over his shoulder, his golden eyes wide and shining.
He looks tormented, and it’s all my fault. I hate that I’m responsible for that look.
“Jess… I’m so fucking sorry.” I force myself to remain firm and sincere in my words. In my much-needed apology. “That was completely… fucked. I’m not sure who that guy was, but it’s not me, and I can never apologize to you enough.”
“You don’t need to be sorry…” he mutters, confusion and duress lining his face.
“Yes, I do,” I jump to say. “I laid hands on you… My God, that was so wrong. Please don’t hate me.”
He shifts in his seat to face me fully. “I don’t. I could never hate you…”
“You should.” I rub my eyes. “That was… it was wrong of me. So fucking wrong, all of it.”
His head shakes. “But it wasn’t—”
“No. It was,” I cut him off. “You made this delicious meal for us, and I just ruined everything. I’m sorry…” My fingers rake through my hair. “I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I’m more fucked up over losing Leslie than I thought…”
His face is ashen, eyes wide and unblinking as he just stares at me where I’m trembling with remorse at the entrance to the room.
I take in a deep breath. “If you want to go hang out with your friend, who am I to stop you? You’re an adult, after all. I shouldn’t have reacted that way… I don’t know why—”
“You don’t?” He hums. I can see his chest moving with unsteady breaths. It trips me up.
“No… I…” My chin dips, and I swallow hard. “You should go… see…” I was about to utter the kid’s name, but it catches in my throat, and I clear it roughly. “Your friend. Go have fun. And we’ll just put this whole bullshit day behind us.”
I catch a look of anguish on his face, but I ignore it and stomp across the room, going for a plate. I busy myself with scooping food, all the while feeling his gaze on me, like spatters of liquid heat.
Pushing it all away, I take a seat across from him and immediately dig into the food. It’s…
“Delicious,” I tell him, glancing up for just a moment.
His lips part, but nothing comes out for many heavy moments, before he finally mutters, “Thanks.”
“I’m just gonna eat and hit the sack,” I go on, gaze set on my food. “It’s been… a long day.”
The silence stretches over the room like a giant tarp, covering us and holding in all the tension. It’s just shy of unbearable, but I fight it as best I can, because what else can I do?
Nothing. We have to just… move on. It’s the only option.
When I’m done eating, and Jesse’s plate is still full, untouched, I bring mine to the sink. “Don’t worry about cleaning up. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Glancing at all the containers of cookies and cupcakes everywhere, I sigh, wandering away. But his voice catches me once more before I can flee.
“James…”
Pausing with my back to him, I wait for him to say whatever it is he’s been simmering with this whole time. But nothing comes out.
His silence speaks volumes.
I fucked up royally. I broke us.
He’s never called me Dad before. And I always respected that decision. He knows I’m not his real father, despite the fact that I raised him, and paperwork would tell a different story. I’m his guardian, meant to do just that… Guard him from the pain of the world, not create it.
And yet right now, when he says my name, it sits differently in my chest.
I have no idea what changed between us, how or why I’m now hearing my name from his lips as some sort of plea…
But I can’t keep harping on it, and as much as I want to, I can’t force the normal back. I have to accept that I might have destroyed it forever.
So I leave the room and head back upstairs. To my dungeon.
I’ve been lying in bed for hours, tossing and turning.
Sleep evades me, as it tends to. Though this is different. I even considered smoking, which I’ll only ever do when I really need to get some rest. But I decided against it.
Torturing myself with my thoughts seems like what I deserve.
The television is on, volume so low it’s almost muted. I was hoping the white noise would help distract me, and maybe lull me into some form of slumber. But it’s not working. My mind is racing, flashing over the memories of the last twenty-four hours. The things I did… the things I let happen.
How it felt…
Despite how wrong I know it was, on every level, I can’t stop remembering the feel of his lips. Soft and unsure, but packed with so much undiscovered lust, it’s been bringing a steady throb to my balls for hours.
Even pushing aside the wrongness of what happened, I’m confounded at how good it felt. It makes no sense… Because I’m straight. And I always have been. I’ve never looked at any man in a sexual way before. It’s a part of myself I was always fully secure with before today.
Okay… There was that one time I accidentally stumbled upon a video. And it may have captivated my attention for more minutes than I’d ever admit out loud before I ultimately clicked back onto something more along the lines of my typical repertoire.
But that hardly makes me interested in guys. It was just a very brief, sort of fascinating accident. Which is a great way of describing what happened with Jesse, too.
I’m amazed at how intense it was… The head, and the kiss. Both illustrious in their own ways, rocking me down to my core. I can’t stop thinking about it.
My mind is twirling and whirling like a cyclone, my body itching in some need I can’t for the life of me figure out, when I hear a noise.
Footsteps, out in the hall.
My heart immediately lodges in my throat when I recognize the familiar shuffling. It sounds like Jesse sleepwalking.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I listen to him fumbling outside my bedroom door, which is unlocked and open a crack, as usual. Because despite how much I know I should be putting distance between us, I can’t shut him out. I’m incapable of doing so.
So he didn’t go to Tanner’s house…?
Or maybe he did and came back. Maybe they hooked up, and Jesse came home, like I’m sure he’s done before, which I never would have noticed before tonight.
I scoff to myself in the dark. What kind of name is Tanner anyway? He sounds like a douche.
What the fuck is this icky, suffocating nausea creeping up my esophagus like bile? And since when do I feel this while thinking about my adoptive son dating some asshole with a stupid name?
My bedroom door pushes open, and he staggers inside. I refuse to open my eyes, but I can hear him as he stumbles up to my bed and crashes down onto it, as he does.
He nestles up into the mattress, breathing softly by my side. My muscles are bunched up tight while I lie still, subtly cracking my eyes open. His back is to me, but I’m immediately on edge at what he’s wearing… Or what he isn’t.
He’s in only boxer briefs. The ones he wears, like mine, fitted and hugging the slim curves of his hips. Except that where mine are usually plain black or gray, his are bright green and decorated with candy canes.
Swallowing becomes difficult as I stare at his back and shoulders, the lines of pale skin glowing in the dimmed light. He’s curled up into a ball, and even though the room is barely lit, I can see goosebumps sheeting his flesh.
Without thinking, I lift the comforter I’m under and drape it over him, covering his body and shielding him from the cold. But now we’re only inches apart, and I can feel his closeness; smell his scent, like sweet baked goods and the Dove for Men soap he uses.
My mouth is watering, and it’s so fucking confusing I feel sick. He’s my kid… Not some toy delivered to me as a secret, torrid little Christmas gift.
Confusing… This is so confusing.
Why am I thinking about how his soft skin would feel beneath my fingers? Why am I remembering how it stole every ounce of breath from my body when I pressed my erection into his earlier?
Why why why…
Why do I reach out and touch him… just a little. Just the slope of his plump bicep… down the line of his long arm and onto his waist.
Inching closer, I rest my head on the pillow behind his, inhaling the scent of his silky hair. He always smells like vanilla frosting.
But I’ve never wanted a taste before today.
This is so wrong. So so fucking wrong…
My chest brushes his back, and my nipples harden beneath my t-shirt. I have an overwhelming urge to rip it off and feel more… flesh to flesh.
I’m unleashed… I’ve fallen off the goddamn deep end as my fingers graze his hip, the dip right before an ass so firm and round, there’s no way it belongs to a guy, let alone my…
No. I’m not even gonna think it.
But I know it. Regardless of whether I want to admit it, I know who he is to me. Yet my dick is filling rapidly, stiffening in my sweatpants and begging to get a little closer. A deep breath would urge it up to the crack of his ass beneath those boxers.
I shiver, disgusted with myself. But I can’t stop.
I can’t move away, like I know I should. My fingers slide down onto a slim yet muscular thigh, dusted in light hair. My balls draw up tight at the feel of a man… His shape so obviously not female in this moment, it should turn me off, not more on.
Fuck me, what am I doing??
I need to stop this.
But before I can, Jesse’s ass shifts, his back arching as he bumps his butt into my crotch. The curve drags the length of my erection, and I whimper, biting my lip to quiet myself.
He’s… moving. Writhing into me, slowly. So slowly, it’s like a sensual dance.
I’m crumbling where I lie in a bed of stifling heat.
“Jess…” I breathe, my voice barely existent. Nothing but a hoarse rumble of vibration from my chest into his back. “Are you awake?”
He nestles deeper into the bed, further into my front. And he nods.
Fuck.
I don’t know what to do. I can barely move.
I should be leaping out of this bed and running as far away from what’s happening as possible. But my body won’t react to what my brain is telling me to do.
It’s acting on its own.
He urges his hips back into me again, my cock weeping in my pants as he grinds on me in leisurely strokes, quivering as he goes.
My shaky fingers grip his hip, as if to stop him.
But I end up cupping the side of his ass, squeezing and caressing, greedy for more of this delicious friction; this forbidden sensation that’s weighting my chest and melting me to him.
I can’t stop touching. I can’t stop… wanting more.
More more more.
My lips ease up to the nape of his neck, and he quakes, an audibly sharp hiss of breath escaping him.
Resting my forehead on his shoulder, I mumble, “This is so wrong… You’re practically my—”
“But I’m not,” he finally speaks, his smooth, raspy voice gracing my ears like a sweet melody. “I’m just a man you’ve known since he was a boy.” My breath flutters on his flesh, and he hums. “But I’m not a boy anymore, James. I’m a man. A man who wants… more.”
More.
My fingertips trace the waistband of his boxers. “I’ve never been interested in men…”
“Why not?” His ass rubs my erection again.
I chomp down on my lower lip.
Good question.