Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
CADE
The rain from earlier has left the night air heavy and electric. I pour myself a drink, because it feels like the exact situation that calls for one.
The whiskey burns pleasantly on the way down, a slow heat that I keep feeding as the evening drags on.
I sit at my kitchen table surrounded by student essays, red pen in one hand, glass in the other.
Every few minutes my mind slips back to the rain, to Noah's hand wrapped around my thigh, our chests heaving.
The memory makes my cock twitch against my thigh again.
I shift in the chair and take another sip.
My phone rings. It’s my sister, Kat, and her now-wife, Zennie. I answer on speaker, keeping my voice casual while I pretend to focus on the paper in front of me. “Hey, you two.”
We talk about nothing important—Kat’s latest showing in downtown San Francisco, Zennie’s newest attempt at croissants (which are apparently quite complicated to make).
I laugh in all the right places, but my mind is completely elsewhere.
Noah’s fingertips on my thigh earlier today keep replaying on a loop.
The way he looked at me in the rain, like he wanted to devour me.
The admission—that he likes men, too, and that specifically likes me.
I’m hard again just thinking about it.
By the time we hang up, it’s after nine.
I try to grade more papers, but nothing makes sense.
The words blur. The jeans I put on after my hot shower when I got home feel too tight.
I keep remembering the slick heat of his palm, the low growl in his voice when he admitted his feelings to me.
Fuck. I’m so hard now, aching, my cock pressing into my zipper like it never has before.
At ten o’clock I can’t take it anymore. I grab my keys before I can talk myself out of it and drive across town, heart hammering the whole way. Rain from earlier has left the streets glossy and dark. When I pull up in front of Noah’s house, doubt crashes over me like ice water.
This is a mistake.
I’m not ready for whatever this is, or could be.
I’m still figuring this shit out—what I want, who I am. I shift into reverse, ready to leave, when my phone lights up on the passenger seat.
Noah
Don’t leave. You’ll hate yourself if you do.
Come in.
I stare at the messages until the screen goes dark. My hands are shaking along the wheel. Part of me wants to floor it and never look back. The bigger part—the one that’s been quietly starving for months—kills the engine and steps out.
Noah opens the door before I can knock. He’s shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. The sight hits me like a punch. Broad shoulders, defined chest, the dark trail of hair leading down.
My mouth goes dry.
I step inside. The door closes with a soft click that nearly makes me gasp. Probably not for him, just for me. But there is so much foreboding in that gentle click.
His living room feels strangely like home.
Same worn bookshelves overloaded with poetry and special editions.
I spot my favorite first edition in almost the exact same spot as mine.
A half-drunk glass of bourbon rests on the table, next to the bottle–a good year, too.
The similarities settle something nervous in my chest even as my body winds tighter.
“Want a drink?” he asks, voice low and heavy, reminding me of the thunder outside.
I shake my head. “Already had a few tonight trying not to think about earlier.” I swallow against the heated ball of nerves jumbled up in my throat. “About you.”
In tandem, we both sit. I choose the far end, needing space.
Noah starts out across from me in an armchair, but after a few minutes of quiet conversation—did you get here okay?
Are you still cold from that run?—he moves.
He settles right beside me, close enough that our thighs press together. Heat radiates off his bare skin.
His fingers lift, slowly and cautiously, tracing over my shoulder, then up the side of my neck. We’re nearly face to face. His breath ghosts my lips. My cock strains painfully against my jeans, throbbing as I stare into his beautiful, whiskey eyes.
“Do you like women, romantically?” he asks softly as his thumb strokes the side of my throat. It’s so gentle, but I need it so much, I love it so much, the back of my eyes burn. I focus on his question.
I shake my head. No. My answer to that has been no, ever since Rhiannon.
“Have you ever told that to anyone?”
Another shake, another no. The truth feels terrifying and freeing at the same time.
His fingertips glide along my jaw. “Do you like men, romantically?”
I can’t speak. My throat is too tight.
Noah leans in until his mouth brushes my ear, voice dropping to a rough whisper that sends shivers down my spine. “Do you like me romantically, Cade?”
Everything inside me clenches. I turn my head, and it feels like the boldest thing I’ve ever done. Our noses brush. For one long second I’m suspended between fear and hunger. Then I nod—small, shaky, but honest.
Yes.
Noah’s control snaps.
He cups the back of my neck and kisses me.
The first press of his lips is electric.
Then it deepens, slow and devouring, his tongue sliding against mine in a wet, velvet glide that makes me moan into his mouth.
He pushes me back until I’m pinned beneath him on the couch, his weight perfect and overwhelming.
I open for him completely, kissing him back with months of buried want quickly rising to the surface.
“Fuck, Noah,” I gasp when we finally break for air.
He sits up just long enough to strip my shirt off, eyes darkening as he takes in my chest. Then his mouth is on me—hot, open kisses along my collarbone, sucking a mark that makes my hips jerk. I thread my fingers in his hair and hold on.
Our hands fumble desperately with buttons and zippers. I get my jeans shoved down just enough. His cock springs free first—thick, flushed, already leaking. Mine follows, harder than I’ve ever been, curving up against my bare stomach. The sight of us together makes my head spin.
Noah braces a hand beside my head, breathing ragged. “Cade. Look at me.”
I do, and I find his eyes blazing with desire.
“Can I change your world forever?” he asks, voice utterly raw, stripped of ego and flirtation. He wants me, and I feel it in every syllable.
His question hits deep. I know what he’s really asking.
I nod, desperate, and answer honestly. “Yes.” I nudge my glasses up. “Please.”
He spits into his palm, wraps his big hand around both of us, and strokes.
The first tight slide rips a broken sound from my throat.
Hot, slick friction—his cock pulsing against mine, velvet skin over hardened steel.
He sets a slow, torturous rhythm, twisting around our pinkened heads, thumb spreading our precum until everything is wet and obscene.
We kiss through it, messy and hot. Tongues tangling, teeth nipping, shared moans swallowed between us. Every stroke sends flames through my veins and down my spine. I thrust up into his fist, chasing more, needing more, desperate for it. I grind against him and nothing has ever felt so right.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls against my lips. “So hard for me. Been thinking about this cock all night, haven’t you?”
I whimper, nodding frantically. “Yes—God, Noah, I can’t—fuck—”
He speeds up, fist flying, bodies sliding together with sweat.
He kisses my neck, bites my shoulder, whispers every dirty thing I never knew I needed to hear.
How he wanted to drop to his knees in the rain and take me in his mouth.
How he wants to open me up slowly one day.
How beautiful I look falling apart for him.
The pressure builds fast and overwhelming. My thighs shake. My balls draw tight.
I come first with a strangled groan, cock pulsing hard as thick ropes streak across my stomach and chest, even hitting my chin. The heat and sight of it drags Noah over right after. He groans my name like a prayer and spills across my skin, mixing with mine in hot, messy pulses.
For a long moment we just breathe, foreheads pressed together, hearts hammering.
Noah reaches for a towel and gently wipes us clean, pressing soft kisses to my sternum, my ribs, the inside of my wrist. The tenderness almost undoes me.
Then reality slams back in.
Clarity hits like a freight train. What the fuck am I doing?
I’m with a colleague, whom I share an office space with, and I’m trying to achieve tenure.
Moments ago we were covered in cum, admitting things I’ve barely admitted to myself.
Panic floods my chest. I sit up abruptly and reach for my shirt, yanking it on with shaky hands.
“Hey,” Noah says softly, catching my wrist. “Stay. Talk to me.” He threads our fingers together and squeezes. His eyes are gentle but intense. “Please, Cade.”
I look at him—really look. The man who just shattered my world and my perception of pleasure in the best and scariest ways possible. Part of me wants to crawl into his lap and never leave. The other part is absolutely terrified.
I pull my hand back. “I can’t. Not yet. I’m sorry.” I don’t know what I’m saying, or even doing. But my heart is racing so fast, and I can hardly catch my breath.
I rise on unsteady legs, pull up then button my jeans and head for the door. I don’t want to look back. The night air hits me like a slap when I step outside, sobering and cold. I climb into my car, heart still racing, body still humming with aftershock of being with Noah.
As I drive away, I can still taste his kiss. Still feel his hand on me. Still hear the way he said my name when he came.
I grip the wheel tighter and wonder how long I can keep running from something that already feels inevitable.