“I shot a gun today,” I murmur, moving my free hand to undo his pants.
“No one forced you. That was all you,” he replies as I tug his pants and boxers down. He kicks them off, leaving him completely naked except for the backward hat, completely exposed.
So fucking hot.
“There are many things I’m doing with you I’ve never done before,” I add as I wrap my hand around his straining, bare cock one finger at a time, savoring it. Memorizing it.
He arches up into my fist, and I squeeze him roughly once more.
Then I start to move, twisting my wrist slightly, feeling the pull of his skin against my palm. He lets out a garbled groan.
“That so?” he asks, his voice strained. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, his chest heaving, his nipples pebbled.
“Yes, Caleb. That’s so.”
His hands find my shoulders, fingers digging into me as I work him toward the edge. His sweet mewls, his neediness wrapping around us.
The way he moans my name and begs.
It’s my undoing.
“Whit. Please.”
Reaching down, I cradle his balls, and Caleb explodes, his release spilling across my fingers and palm.
Always so easy, so responsive.
It’s never felt like this with anyone.
And then, just like that, it all falls apart, collapsing around me like aburning building. My phone blares, the volume still cranked up from when I was shooting outside.
I instantly regret doing that. Nothing could drag me down from this high faster than seeing my father’s name flashing on the screen.
“Ignore it,” Caleb says as I wipe my hands as quickly as I can.
“I can’t,” I reply, dread washing through me. I wish I could exist in this bubble with Caleb, but I can’t. Reality always calls. With lungs full of air, I pull out my phone and answer in Romanian.
Truth be told, I’m surprised he hasn’t called earlier. I’ve been ignoring this for too long, doing the bare minimum to appease him.
He’s come to collect on my neglect.
“Your mother has begun the planning,” he says without greeting me.
I swallow, feeling my throat click. “Fine.”
“She has sent you several messages. You need to respond.”
Panic wells up inside of me. I’ve seen those messages and ignored them. They didn’t seem urgent. And none of this is what I want anyway. None of it. Why should I answer questions about a future I despise?
“I will.”
His voice lowers. “You will, or you know what will happen.”
My stomach twists, my lungs constricting.
And then I feel arms wrap around me, comforting, reassuring. I let out a long breath and lean back against him, his chin resting on my shoulder, his hands splayed across my abdomen.
He’s grounding me, pulling me back from the edge of my despair.
