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After a moment, he picks his head up and glares at me with a furrowed brow. “No, I do know. I brought you in here because I want to know what that was earlier. Why did you defend me to my brother?”
“Because I wanted to,” I reply plainly.
“And why did you kiss me the other night?”
“Because I wanted to.”
His eyes meet mine, blazing with something desperate and wild. “And what else do you want?”
Setting my glass down on the desk, I take another step toward him until my legs are brushing his.
“I think you know what I want.”
His nostrils flare as he forces in a shaky breath. “Well, too bad. I’m married, so knock it off.”
“That is too bad,” I reply in a low murmur.
“Dean, stop it,” he says with a plea in his tone. His resolve is fading, and it’s not that I want him to do something he doesn’t want to. I do care about his wife, so I’m not forcing him to do anything that would hurt her.
It’s just that Caleb and I have been teetering on the edge of something for a while, and I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t exist. We have chemistry, but he just likes to pretend that that chemistry is hate. At first, I guess I thought it was hate, too. I haven’t forgiven him for what happened with Isaac, but as I get to know him more, there’s a pull between us that has me forgetting about all of that.
“Stop what?” I reply.
He glares up at me as he says, “You know damn well what.” But as the words leave his mouth, his leg brushes mine again. Then he’s leaning into me as if his body is sending a different message than his words.
Leaning down, I rest my hands on the arms of his chair. This brings our faces mere inches apart.
“No, Caleb. I’m afraid I don’t know what you want me to stop because you were the one who brought me in here with you. You were the one who stuffed my underwear in your pocket.”
“I—” he starts, but his words quickly get lost the moment my hands move from the chair to his thighs. Sucking in a gasp, he freezes and waits for me to make the next move.
“I know you’re married,” I whisper. “And I know you don’t want to cheat on your wife, but you’re lying to yourself if you say you don’t want this.”
“My family is right downstairs,” he replies, glancing toward the door.
“Then stay quiet.” Slowly, I move to my knees between his legs, and I feel him tense.
“What—what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take care of you for once,” I reply.
He stares into my eyes with trepidation as I move my hands to the waistband of his pants. I carefully slip the button through the hole, and my cock throbs in my pants when I think about having his hard length in my hand.
I want to be his reckoning. I want to be the one to make him come undone.
His hands grip the chair as he watches me. “I can’t do this,” he whispers. “Fuck.”
“But you want it, don’t you?” I ask.
He lets his head hang back. “God, yes,” he replies, his voice strained.
How long has he held up this lie about himself, probablytohimself? How exhausting that sort of life must be. I wish I could dismantle every single lie he’s told himself.
“I’m married, and I know I shouldn’t, but fuck, Dean. I need your mouth. I need it so fucking bad.”
Hearing him say that is like warm honey dripping down my spine.
“Tell me to suck your cock, then,” I whisper.
