“Of course,” I say softly, running my hand along the nape of his neck, squeezing it softly.
We stand like that for what feels like hours while I hold him, letting him experience the sorrow of loss, before we head back. The sun is setting in the distance, casting a glow of warm reds and purples across the sky.
He holds my hand the entire way home.
And even though I feel closer to him than ever before, it still feels like the beginning of the end.
When we arrive back at his aunt and uncle’s, Caleb is quiet, his chest drawn inward, his eyes hooded and sad.
I make sure to eat dinner quickly, refusing the offer to head outside and drink by the fire. I know what he needs to get through today.
I know what I can offer him.
“Come,” I say, standing up and leading him to our bedroom. He follows behind me glumly, his movements sluggish.
I lock the door behind us and then step into him, my hands dragging across his chest. I feel him slowly come alive at my touch, see his pupils slowly dilate, his breathing growing shallower.
My fingers curl into the flannel shirt, and I push it down his shoulders and onto the floor before pulling his t-shirt over his head, taking a minute to admire his abdomen.
“So, I take it you’re no longer punishing me for earlier,” he says as I unbutton his pants and shuck them off.
“I’ll fuck you tonight because you need it, Caleb. But you’re going to earn it.”
His sadness is quickly replaced with eagerness as I shove him onto the bed. He falls against it, completely naked, his body trembling with need.
I stand before him, feeling brave, feeling like I’d own the world if I owned his heart. And then I start stripping. Slowly, making him wait.
Making him writhe with each bit of skin I reveal.
“Come on, Whit,” he pleads as I step to the edge of the bed and drag a finger down his sternum. His heart is pounding so hard.
So hungry for more, always so perfect for me.
“There will be no rushing tonight,” I murmur, knowing that he needs this as much as I do.
He groans as I drag my finger over to his pec and tug on his nipple ring. “You know I have excellent control. I can fuck for hours.”
“You’re full of shit,” he breathes shakily.
“You have very little control.”
“Not my fault,” he moans as I slide my fingers through his happy trail.
“You’re too eager. You have no patience. Have you ever been edged?”
He shakes his head frantically as I wrap my fingers around his cock and slowly stroke it.
“I’m going to bring you to the edge so many times, you will cry, and I’m going to enjoy doing it.”
He’s sweating, his eyes wild as I watch him fall apart piece by piece.
Just like he’s done with me over the past several weeks. He’s wrecked me.
My gaze settles on his throbbing pulse, the way his veins are popping out of his skin from the strain of it all. From trying to hold back.
I feel the same.
It’s been hours. I’ve fucked him in every position, not letting him find any kind of release. I’ve made him wait.
