Page 80 of Disarm
I rest my hands lightly at his hips, torn between dragging him closer and stopping this before it becomes a way for him to disappear into me.
“Caleb,” I say again, softer this time. “Listen to me for a second.”
He stills, breath warm against my neck. “Okay.”
Tipping his chin up so he’s looking at me, really looking. “If this is just you trying to get out of your head, we don’t have to do this,” I tell him. “If you’re using sex like a fire alarm, I’d rather we sit on the couch and breathe. I don’t want to be a fucking escape hatch, baby. I want you with me.”
His eyes flicker, hurt and something like frustration flashing through them. “I know the difference,” he whispers. “I know when I’m trying to numb out. This isn’t that.”
“Tell me what this is for you, then,” I say. “Use your words.”
He swallows hard. “It’s… wanting you.” His fingers tighten on my shoulders. “It’s feeling like everything else is loud and sharp and wrong, and you’re the only thing that feels like home. It’s… wanting to make you feel good because all you ever do is hold me together.” He hesitates, then adds, “You’re not a distraction for me, Miguel. You’re the only thing that makes anything make sense.”
Yeah. That’s gonna linger longer than it should.
I search his face for any sign of distance. All I see is raw, open need. Him. Here.
“Okay,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip. “Okay, baby. Just checking. I’ll always check first.”
A little relief flashes in his eyes, chased by heat. “I know,” he whispers. “I love that you do.”
Caleb kisses me then, slow and deep, and this time I let myself sink into it. The spray hammers around us, his handsroam my chest and my stomach, mapping me like he needs to relearn every inch.
When he pulls back, he’s breathing harder. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his expression, like he’s standing on the edge of something big and shaky.
“Can I…?” he starts, eyes dropping, cheeks flushing.
“Whatever you’re asking, the answer is yes,” I say, trying to lighten it and it works, pulling the sexiest little side smirk from him.
He takes a breath like he’s steadying himself, then sinks to his knees, water cascading over his shoulders, his hands sliding down my sides.
My throat goes tight.
Not because I’m worried. Because I know what this costs him. Caleb doesn’t kneel casually. Not with what kneeling used to mean in his life.
“Hey,” I say softly, one hand automatically going to his hair, thumb stroking his temple. “Look at me.”
He tilts his head back, water dripping off his lashes, gaze locked on mine.
“You’re sure?” I ask. “You can stop anytime. You hear me? You owe me nothing.”
A small, crooked smile curves his mouth. “Shut up and let me suck your dick,” he says.
And then he leans in.
The first touch is cataclysmic, it’s a soft, uncertain brush of his lips against the head of my cock. The water beats down on my chest, a steady rhythm that does nothing to quiet my heart. I watch him, his eyelids fluttering, his brow furrowed in concentration. Careful.
Feeling his way through it. On his knees in the steam with me.
My hand stays in his hair, a grounding weight, while my thumb strokes the damp curl at his temple. “Fuck,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intended. “Eyes on me, pretty boy.”
He does, and my lungs stall. The way he’s looking at me leaves nowhere for him to hide. Whatever fear used to live there is gone. What’s left is trust, laid bare between us. Caleb parts his lips, and this time he takes me in, slowly and down to the third barbell. The heat of his mouth contrasts sharply with the cool tile at my back and the hot water running down my front.
A groan rips up from my chest, my head falling back against the tile with a soft thud. “Fuck, Caleb.”
Responding only with a low hum, a vibration that travels straight up my spine and detonates behind my eyes. His hands, which were resting lightly on my thighs, tighten, gripping me like I’m the only solid thing in a world that’s been spinning off its axis. Suctioning his mouth around me, he starts to move, finding a rhythm that’s less about technique and more about intent. Each slide of his mouth feels less like a technique and more like a reassurance—he’s here, he sees me, and he wants to take care of me for once.
I can’t stop watching him. Nothing else exists. He’s the only thing that feels real.
