17. Caleb
SEVENTEEN
Caleb
I took Novak’s hand. He was tense, but when I laced my fingers through his, he didn’t resist as I tugged him up two flights of wooden stairs to his room.
The stairs creaked under our weight—his boots heavy, my bare feet silent on the wood.
His room was at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar, and I pushed it open the rest of the way.
The bed was immaculate as if no one had slept in it, and knowing Novak as I did, it wouldn’t surprise me if he slept on the floor instead or didn’t sleep at all.
Two bottles of water sat on the nightstand, alongside a towel, and a pile of different lubes—small bottles, travel-sized, as if he’d brought a fucking sampler pack —and a strip of condoms.
Novak stepped in behind me. I turned, and for the first time since I’d known him, his expression wasn’t locked down. There was something raw in the way his silver eyes tracked the pulse in my throat. His chest rose and fell once, but his fingers flexed at his sides.
I reached for him and pointed to his holster, which he unfastened, then tugged his T-shirt over his head.
I followed suit, then placed my palm against his sternum, over the cross tattooed there.
His skin was hot, the muscle beneath unyielding.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe harder. He was waiting to see what I’d do next.
“Novak, is this?—”
“Leon,” he corrected.
“Leon. Is this what you want?” I asked him because he was unmoving right now, and as much as I wanted to bury myself into this intriguing, frustrating serial killer, I needed consent.
He nodded, and I exhaled, then pushed.
He hit the bed with a quiet grunt, the mattress dipping under his weight.
I followed, kneeling between his spread thighs, my hands already going to his belt.
The leather hissed as I pulled it free, the buckle clinking against the floor.
His cock was hard under the fatigues, the outline thick and obvious when I palmed him through the fabric.
He made a sound—low, rough, almost a growl—and his hips lifted enough to press into my touch.
“Caleb,” he said, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it.
I ignored him.
His briefs were black, stretched tight over the heavy ridge of his cock, the head already damp at the tip. I stripped them off slowly, letting the fabric drag over his skin, watching the way his tattooed abs clenched when the cool air hit him.
He had the kind of cock that would stretch a man open, whether he was ready or not, and I wanted that inside me next.
Pre-come beaded at the slit, and when I leaned in, the scent of him filled my lungs, and my mouth watered.
It had been way too long since I’d tasted a man, since I’d done anything with a man, and I didn’t tease.
Didn’t lick the tip or trace the vein with my tongue.
I took him in one go, hollowing my cheeks, letting the weight of him press my throat open.
His breath hissed out, sharp, and his hands flew to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands. Not to guide me, but to hold on .
“Fuck—” His voice broke. His hips jerked once, shallow, as if he was trying to stop himself from fucking my face. “You need to breathe!” he added with a hint of panic.
I stopped sucking for a moment. “I can breathe, and you wanted this,” I reminded him, my thumb smearing the pre-come over his crown. “So shut up and let me work.”
His answer was a deep, guttural groan when I took him back in.
I worked him slowly, tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep again, my free hand gripping the base.
His thighs tensed under my palms, the muscles jumping every time I swallowed around him.
I could feel his pulse in the thick root of his cock, the way his breath came faster, rougher, every time I licked the underside.
His tattoos were a landscape. I traced them with my fingers when I needed to breathe—tribal patterns around his biceps, various scripts over his ribs, a stylized cross over his heart. My lips brushed the ink when I leaned in, tasting salt and sweat.
“This one’s new,” I murmured against his skin, thumbing fresh black lines near his collarbone. I bit him there. Not hard, but enough to make him hiss, his fingers twisting in my hair. His cock twitched against my stomach, leaking more pre-come, the wet heat smearing between us.
I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. His cock stood thick and flushed, the head dark with blood, a string of saliva connecting it to my bottom lip. His chest heaved, his tattoos shifting with every breath.
“Condom,” he ground out, scrabbling for the supply.
I reached for the nightstand, tearing one free. “Not yet.”
His eyes snapped to mine, dark and furious. “It’s taking too long. I don’t need this?—”
“I said not yet .” I tossed the condom aside and grabbed the lube. His thighs were spread wide, his balls heavy and drawn up tight. I slicked my fingers, the cool gel warming fast between my palms.
He watched me, his breath coming in sharp bursts, his cock jerking every time I touched him. I didn’t rush. I traced the pucker of his hole first with the pad of my finger, circling slowly, pressing in knuckle-deep, then crooking my fingers until his back arched off the bed.
“Fuck— fuck —” His voice was a wreck, his hands fisting in the sheets.
I added a second finger, scissoring them, watching his face. His lips were parted, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip hard enough to leave marks. Sweat beaded at his temples, his tattoos glistening under the dim light.
“You’re so hard ,” I murmured, pressing deeper. His hole clenched around my fingers, hot and slick. “Look at you. All that control you’ve got, and two fingers in your ass, and you’re a fucking mess .”
His eyes burned. “Caleb, now ?—”
“No.”
I leaned in, my mouth close to his. His breath was ragged, his lips parted, but when I tried to kiss him, he turned his head, his cheek brushed mine, his stubble rough against my skin.
Fine. I’d tried again, and kissing, I could work up to next time.
Next time?
I didn’t push. Just exhaled against his mouth, our breaths mingling, his panting and mine steady. His cock twitched between us, trapped against my stomach, leaking onto my skin.
“Please,” he rasped.
I pulled my fingers free, slicked my cock, and rolled the condom on. I lined up, my cock pressing against him, and gestured for him to turn onto his belly?—
His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. “Face-to-face.”
I stilled.
His dark eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. “I want to see you.”
Something twisted in my chest. I didn’t argue.
I braced my hands on either side of his head, my cock nudging him, and pushed in slowly. The head breached him first, the resistance giving way with a wet heat that made my vision blur. His breath hitched, his fingers digging into my hips, nails biting into skin.
“Caleb—” The word tore out of him, his back arching, his cock jerking against my stomach.
I bottomed out with a groan, my hips flush to his ass, my balls tight. He was tight , even stretched, clamping around me like a fist. I stayed there, buried deep, our chests heaving.
His face was the most expressive thing I’d ever seen, and I was so used to his impassive mask.
Every inch I gave him, his lips parted. Every slow drag out, his eyelids fluttered. When I thrust back in, his breath stuttered, his fingers flexing on my skin. I could see it—see the way his body took me, the way it registered in the clench of his jaw, the tremor in his thighs.
I fucked him like that. Slow. Deep. My cock dragging over his prostate every time, his cock leaking between us, his nails scoring my back. His mouth was open, silent now, his breath coming in sharp little gasps every time I hit that spot inside him.
“Caleb—” My name was a prayer and a curse. His hips lifted, trying to take me deeper, his heels digging into the mattress.
I gripped his thigh, hauling it up, changing the angle. His eyes rolled back, his head tipping into the pillows.
“ There —” His voice cracked. His cock pulsed, a thick bead of pre-come spilling over my stomach.
I snapped my hips, grinding in deep, and his entire body bowed off the bed. His come painted stripes up his chest, his abs, his tattoos glistening with it. His hole clenched around me, milking my cock, and I groaned, my orgasm tearing through me.
My hips stuttered, my cock pulsing inside him. His name tore out of me, raw and broken, and he answered with a groan, gripping my shoulders. I collapsed against him, my face buried in his neck, his come sticky between us. His heart hammered against my chest, his breath hot against my ear.
For the first time since I’d met him, I’d seen something in Novak that was real.
I’d seen Leon.
I cleared my throat, breath still uneven, and rolled onto my side.
The sheets stuck to my skin where sweat had dried, the room heavy with heat and sex.
Beside me, Novak didn’t move. He lay flat on his back, one arm loose at his side, the other bent slightly, his expression already settling back into something unreadable as he stared up at the ceiling.
As if nothing had happened.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” I said. The words were out before I could stop them.
He didn’t look at me. “No.”
I huffed out a breath and pushed up onto one elbow, studying him. Up close, the marks were impossible to ignore—ink layered over old scars, some deliberate, some not. The cross on his sternum. The scripts over his ribs. The fresh black lines on his biceps were slightly raised.
“Don’t shut down now,” I said, quieter. “That’s not how this works.”
“I don’t care how it works.”
“I get that. But you got off, you’re all growly and shit over some owning me crap, and you owe me some answers in the after-fucking glow.”
A pause. Then his jaw flexed.
“They’re not decoration,” he said finally. His voice had gone flat again, stripped of everything. “They’re records.”
“Of what?”
He turned his head then and his eyes were clear. Cold. Back to baseline.
“Survival,” he said.
I held his gaze. “Even that one?” I reached out, not quite touching the newer ink on his right arm.
His eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face. “Look closer,” he said.
I leaned in, narrowing my focus, tracking the ink instead of the shape of him. It wasn’t just lines. Not just design. Tiny letters were worked into the curve, almost lost in the sweep of black and shadow.
My name.
My breath caught. “You—” I stopped, recalibrating, because this wasn’t something Novak did by accident. Nothing about him was accidental. “What the hell?”
A beat.
“You’re it for me,” he said, growly and possessive, then he glanced at me. “I would have put your name on my chest for symbolism, but there’s too much darkness in my heart.”
I went still. I had no idea how to even start unpicking that.
He stared back at the ceiling. Conversation over, as far as he was concerned. His body had already locked down again.
My cell vibrated, a sharp, intrusive buzz breaking the moment—an alarm telling me the download was done.
He didn’t answer straight away. “I can’t breathe,” he said finally, low, as if it cost him something to admit it.
I went still. “What?”
“I can’t control the kiss,” he added, his gaze focused somewhere above us, not on me. “Your mouth on mine—too close. Too much. I lose… the control I need. I can’t lose control with you because I could hurt you.”
Well fuck. Novak didn’t lose control. Not ever.
I moved fast, straddling him and pinning him to the bed, my half-hard cock already pushing back to life, and traced my name on his arm. “I don’t understand you—or this, or us, or hell, me—but my name there says you won’t hurt me.”
He went very still under me, gaze tracking my face.
“I hope not,” he admitted. “You’ve been part of my pattern since the first time I saw you. I don’t know why.”
I frowned. “Your ‘pattern’?”
“Instinct. Recognition.” His fingers flexed against the sheets, then stilled again. “You entered my life, and I felt things I’d never felt before. I account for you. I adjust for you. I protect you.”
“Protect me?”
“Yes.” His gaze sharpened, and my chest hurt. “It’s how I am.” He lifted a hand, then stopped short of touching me, as if even that needed control. “You’re everything.” His jaw flexed. “I don’t understand it, but I don’t need to. It’s there.”
“And who else do you do this with? Doc?”
“No one,” he said. “Just you.”
My alarm sounded again, and with a sigh, I rolled off Novak and headed into the bathroom, not at all surprised when he followed me and climbed into the shower alongside me as soon as the water was warm enough.
With any other lover, I’d have joked about saving water, and there’d be blowjobs, but Novak washed me from head to toe and then waited as I did the same to him.
After all, I owed him that. Then, dressed, we met back downstairs, and it was all business from then on.
Novak begging and writhing under me, losing control at my touch, had completely blown my mind.
No kissing.
The silent shower afterward.
Strangest hookup of my life.