“I need to go to bed!”
He jumps up off my lap, the blanket clutched around his waist, and jogs up the stairs.
I glance at everyone watching me, confusion and amusement on their faces.
“Yeah, I’m going to check on him,” I say as I follow behind him.
I watch as he runs into the bedroom and tries to shut the door, but I stop it, flinging it open. I stand in the doorway, watching him intently.
Did I do something he didn’t like? Did touching him like that send him over the edge?
It almost did for me, so maybe it was too much.
And in front of his family, too. What was I thinking?
“Are you okay?” I ask as Caleb suddenly drops the blanket and stares at me.
“Do I look okay to you?” he hisses, almost in a panic. My eyes slide down, and I immediately see the way his pants are tented, and I feel my body tighten in response.
“Shut the fucking door before they get an eyeful,” he says, waving frantically at the open bedroom door.
I do as he says, stepping inside and locking it behind me.
Then we do nothing but stare at each other. The air is thick, anticipatory.
I don’t know what he wants, but I know what he needs.
“That looks painful, Caleb,” I finally say, making him groan loudly.
“Of course it is! Your fingers are infuriating. You shouldn’t have touched me like that back there,” he says as he adjusts himself. He whines again, and I step toward him.
I should absolutely not offer to help him. I should fucking not.
I clear my throat and gesture toward the bathroom.
“Perhaps you should take care of it.”
“Oh, fuck off. You should be the one taking care of it, asshole. You caused it.”
Oh, hell no. Oh god, don’t say that. Don’t even suggest it. If I do that…if I do that…
I stare at him, shifting on my feet, my jaw clenched and my fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on my thighs.
My gaze tracks down to the outline of his cock beneath his sweats, the way his chest is flushed pink, his nipples pebbled. And then, out of nowhere, something inside me snaps, sharp and unstoppable.
I stalk forward, and Caleb stumbles back.
“Wh-What are you doing?” he asks as my hand reaches out and cups him.
His hard length is in my hand.
He’s big, larger than most, and I feel it twitch beneath my palm.
A wheeze leaves him, and I can’t help but squeeze him.
Oh fuck, he’s so perfect.
“I always take responsibility for the problems I create,” I say, knowing it’s a terrible excuse to be doing this, but I can’t help myself. And then my thumbs hook into the waistband of his sweats, and I tug them down. His cock pops out, hitting his abs as if waiting for this.
