“No.”
He thinks about that and then says, “You sounded angry.”
“I am.”
My fingers aren’t though. They spread across his stomach and touch him as much as they can.
“You going to be okay?” he asks, and the laugh I give is bitter. He has no idea how okay I have to be. All the fucking time.
“I always am.”
He glances up at me, at my cold tone, and does something that nearly makes me melt.
He rubs his nose against my jaw.
“Hey,” he says as he does it. “Snap out of it, man.”
The way he feels rubbing against me. Always fucking on top of me. My tongue peeks out, wetting my lips, and then I can’t helpmyself. I thread my fingers into his hair, fisting it, tugging it roughly. Caleb lets out a soft, surprised groan, and I feel my cock thicken in my pants.
At how pliant he is. How eager.
He can’t be straight. Can he?
He has to at least be bisexual.
“Snap out of it?” I ask, my lips hovering over his, the hand on his abdomen flexing to keep him in place.
“Do you know how I snap out of it, Caleb?” I ask, losing control completely. He’s brought me to the brink. He can’t blame me when we tumble over the edge.
“Nah,” he says on a rush of air.
I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t do something I can’t take back. My hands flex against him, and he groans once more. And then I blink, coming back to myself, the moment suddenly gone. I can’t be doing this with him.
“I need to go study,” I say quickly, pushing against him, needing him to move.
He separates himself from me slowly, languidly. Like he has no idea how close I am to coming undone.
“So, studying is how you snap out of it?” he calls to my retreating back. I’m moving quickly to the room. To get away from him.
I need space.
I can’t keep letting him touch me like that.
He can’t fucking do that to me.
I grab my messenger bag, tucking my cock under the waistband of my pants. And when I swipe my phone off the couch, Caleb is staring at me longingly, a pillow indiscreetly over his crotch.
I stare at it, knowing what that means. Fuck. I know what that means.
Maybe I should stay. I could see where this takes us. But then I remember how terrible this will end up and shake my head.
“Yes” is all I can say in answer.
Because if I tell him the truth, if I stay, who knows what I’ll do to him.
And there’s just no coming back from that.
I rush out to my car, knowing that if I move any slower, I may find my legs carrying me back to the apartment, pulling that pillow off his lap, and seeing if I’m right about all of it.
