Chapter 11 #2
He faces me again, then peers around, adjusting his glasses ever so slightly.
“They’re running late?” he questions, coming to a stop a few feet away from me, and I wonder what he’d do if I yanked the hem of his shirt.
If I dragged his body flush to mine, if I pressed my mouth to his for God and every student around to see.
I shrug. “They cancelled.”
Cade looks around like a detective about to make me privy to case details. He leans in, and when his eyes come to mine, I have to ball my fists at my sides to prevent myself from reaching for him.
It’s getting harder and harder.
“Did you even ask them to join?”
I’m surprised. Not by the fact that he’s onto me but by the fact that he’s asking.
The grass crunches beneath me as I edge nearer, so near that I can smell he had that late afternoon coffee he’s always debating about.
I don’t hide it when I look directly at his mouth for a moment before responding to his question with one of my own.
“Are you insinuating that I created a ruse for us to be alone together?”
Cade blinks, his lips part, and for a moment, I think he’s going to call me on it all, one more time.
I think he’s gonna press me, based on the little wrinkle that forms between his eyebrows, the same wrinkle that appears when a student questions him a little more than he’s prepared for, the same bunch of lines that pops up when Dr. Pratt stops by and Cade isn’t expecting it.
What I wouldn’t give to smooth my thumb over those wrinkles and ease his distress.
To press my lips to that spot, and tell him to stop worrying, to make him see that he has nothing to worry about.
But he recesses into himself in a split second, nodding his head, nudging his glasses up to the place where they already were. “I don’t think—” He pauses as I lean in, enunciating each whispered word when I say, “I’m not gay.”
The callback to his own words echoes between us as we stare at one another.
He said those words to me about Ethan, and while I do not know Cade’s orientation, I know he wants me.
He may not want me as intensely as I want him, but he wouldn’t be here with rain on the forecast in running shoes if some part of him wasn’t just a little curious.
That tiny little iota of curiosity in him keeps me going, I fucking swear.
I bump my shoulder into his and wink, which seems to snap him out of the haze he’d been lost in. “C’mon, they’re not coming. Let’s go before it starts raining.”
The rain begins as a whisper against my skin, soft pinpricks that cool the flush rising from my chest. I glance sideways at Cade, his stride matching mine along the empty campus path, and my breath catches, and it’s got nothing to do with the run.
We left the magnolia tree about an hour ago and since, the sky has opened just enough to make the run feel intimate.
His blonde hair is damp, curling around his temples, droplets clinging to his lashes.
“Faster?” he asks, voice low, the depth cutting through the patter of rain. “You’re not slowing down on me, are you?”
I am. Not from fatigue—my legs know this route and these miles, the long loop past the library is second nature to me.
It’s him, the pull of wanting him so much, that’s slowing me down.
I increase my pace, sneakers splashing lightly in shallow puddles.
The rain is still gentle, a mist that beads on my forearms and slowly soaks into the thin fabric of my shirt, outlining the shift of muscle beneath. I feel exposed, and alive.
Cade runs just ahead, shoulders broad under his soaked t-shirt, the material clinging to the dip of his spine.
Water traces the curve of his neck, sliding down into the collar, and I imagine following it with my tongue.
The thought flares hot in my gut, unexpected in its intensity, and I push it down as the drizzle thickens.
We crest the hill, the path winding into the trees near the edge of campus.
Thunder rumbles faraway, a low promise of more storm coming.
My pulse syncs with our footfalls—steady and rhythmic—building to something.
Cade glances back, blue eyes flashing brightly amidst the gray light of the rain, and something in me tightens.
Desire.
I want the easy brush of his arm against mine, sure. But I want more.
The sky darkens. Drops grow heavier, fattening, striking my shoulders with audible taps.
We don’t stop. Cade turns breathless as the downpour accelerates, sheets of water cascading over us.
My shirt is plastered to my chest, translucent now, every ridge of rib and plane of muscle revealed.
I can see the same on him: the way his fabric molds to his pecs, the flat plane of his stomach, the sharp cut of his hips where his shorts ride low.
Heat blooms in my belly, spreading despite the chill.
“Shit, it’s really coming down,” I call to him, though neither of us veer from the path to take cover, despite the awnings all around us.
The rain pounds harder, drumming against leaves, against us, filling the air with its roar.
My heart hammers. We both seem to come to a stop as it intensifies, and I watch a single rivulet race down Cade’s throat, over the bob of his Adam’s apple, and my mouth goes dry, even as I’m drenched.
“My car is just right here,” I call out amidst the rain, and through water-slick glasses, he nods.
I jog toward my car, the sound of his footfalls behind me making my heart race.
I reach into my zippered pocket and find my key, using it first on the passenger door.
I open it for him, and he ducks inside as I run around the front.
He reaches across, unlocking my door for me.
I jump inside, the small car filled with exhausted breaths and the smell of rain.
We take a moment of silence to catch our breaths.
I imagine pinning him against the seat, my mouth on his, tasting rain and salt and the heat I know simmers beneath his skin.
My hands would slide under that soaked shirt, mapping the slick contours of his chest, thumbs circling nipples hardened by cold and want.
The fantasy intensifies with the rain, which lashes against the car sideways now, so heavy it could be hail.
Cade’s chest is still heaving, though his breathing has evened out. So has mine. We look at one another across the cab, the storm clouding our vision beyond a few feet outside the car. That means if we can’t see out, no one can see in.
My eyes hold his, and something crackles between us.
I reach out, thumb brushing a strand of wet hair from his cheek. His skin is fevered, though we’re both drenched. He leans into the touch, eyes half-lidded, and the air between us thickens, the intense silence louder than the thunder outside. My gaze drops to his mouth, parted and glistening.
“Noah.” He says my name. At least I think he does. My thoughts are so loud, my desires are blaring and I can’t be sure of up or down anymore. “I was being an asshole earlier but I wasn’t lying,” I tell him, adding, “I’m not gay.”
The hesitancy that sweeps his face, the confusion that is left between his eyebrows—I want to take it away.
More than anything, I want to make Cade Mercer feel good, I want to be the one that unravels him and pieces him back together, makes him happy, makes him hot, sees him in every way there is to be seen.
“I know,” he says quietly, his tender tone almost getting lost in the storm. “I’ve seen you with women.”
I swallow against the unexpected nerves in my throat. Maybe I like him more than I think. I lick my lips and force my eyes to stay on his. “I’m bisexual, Cade. I like men and women.” I swallow, and lay it all on the line in the privacy of my tiny car amidst a random spring storm. “I like you.”
Cade stares at me as if I’ve just announced I have three heads. But I don’t flinch. I was prepared for the worst of reactions, and this only falls somewhere in the middle. Silence I can handle. And Cade does stay silent.
The downpour reaches its peak, further isolating us. No one else exists right now, it’s just Cade and me in this car, with all of the feelings we’ve never shared. “Tell me you feel it too,” I whisper, though the whisper isn’t intentional, my voice comes out husky and hushed all on its own.
Cade says nothing, but turns his face away, tugging his glasses off to stare out the window. Reaching out, I place my palm against this thigh, watching his face as I do. His eyes snap shut, his head thunks against the headrest, and a choked noise rattles around his chest.
I smooth my palm down his inner thigh and stop. He tips his head forward, and my eyes follow his until we’re both staring at the impressive erection tenting his soaked running shorts. Those little running shorts that had me hard not more than an hour ago.
He doesn’t try to hide it. He doesn’t do anything but slowly turn and face me, sliding his glasses back on, still spotted with rain.
I take my hand away and start the car. “I’ll drive you home, so you don’t have to walk in this.”
He nods, and we stare at one another, and I don’t hide it when I cut my eyes away a few times to check the status of his cock.
Still hard, still tenting his shorts. My own cock gets hard, and I don’t know if he looks, because I focus on the road, and getting him home.
Just a few minutes from the campus, I pull up to his house and throw my car in park.
Cade opens the door, but doesn’t move.
“If you want to come by tonight, I’ll be home. All night.”
Still, he doesn’t look at me, he just stares at my dashboard, a drop of water slipping off his elbow onto the center console. “I hope to see you tonight.”
He doesn’t even give me a second look when he gets out, closes the door, and wanders to his house.
I drive home soaked with a raging hard-on, wondering if I’ve gone too far this time, or gone just far enough.
Only time will tell.