“I know,” I reply, still speaking in Romanian, not wanting Caleb to hear any of this. It will only lead to more questions I cannot answer. “I’ll make sure to respond. No need for threats.”
“I always ask nicely the first time,” he says, and I bite back a huff of disbelief. “But you only respond to threats.”
That’s not true,I think, but I once again say nothing. He takes this as an agreement. As a child, I was always supposed to be seen, not heard. I didn’t find my voice until high school, and maybe that’s why I fell in love with debate. Suddenly, I could give shape to my thoughts,put words to my feelings. In those moments, up on stage, they were clear, confident, impossible to ignore.
Iwas impossible to ignore.
But with my father, I realize that I’m small once again, just a thing to be used. My words have fled.
I’m nothing more than a vessel.
When we hang up several minutes later, my ears ringing from his stern lecture, Caleb is still there.
Holding on to me.
He hasn’t left.
“I hate him,” I finally admit.
“I hate him, too. He sounds like a dick,” Caleb says roughly, his face tucked into my neck.
The way he says it, with conviction, without knowing any of the backstory, makes me laugh.
“He’s not the best father.”
“I’ve never had a dad, but even I know yours can do better.”
“You have your uncle. He loves you. That’s more than I have.”
“Yeah,” he replies and presses his lips to my skin, making goosebumps erupt across my body. I may arch my neck slightly to give him more room to explore.
And he does, his breath warming me from the inside. I want to stay like this forever, to sit in his embrace, but I know that it’s impossible. To do so would only make things harder in the end.
And there has to be an end.
“We should go downstairs,” I say, and he squeezes me tight.
“Why? We could just stay up here for a while.”
“Your aunt has missed you. She wants to spend time with you. I’m sure your uncle does, too.”
“You guilting me into this, Whit? You think you can tell me what to do just because I let you jack me off?”
I pivot toward him, and the moment our eyes meet, the air shifts between us.
“Yes.”
He rolls those blue eyes and sighs. “Alright, fine. Let’s go.”
Our fingers link. Impossible and yet so easy.
We make our way downstairs, finding everyone lingering in the den watching TV, and when I suggest a round of cards, they jump up and grab a worn deck from a cabinet, settling around the kitchen table to play.
I proceed to kick their asses, Caleb’s eyes heating with every point I take.
I may rub against his hard cock beneath the table when no one is looking, forcing him to stifle a groan.
And when the game is over, Caleb and I move outside, the stars sprawled above us like a swirl of diamonds.
