Page 66 of The Way Home

Sometimes it played out like that first night, with Caleb straddling his legs, hands wrapped around Jamie’s waist from behind as he jerked him off. Other times, he’d throw Jamie on his back and go down on him while working his fingers in and out, relishing in every gasp of pleasure he made.

Just last night, when Jamie had gotten out of bed, determined to return the favor, Caleb had turned him around, pushed him up against the wall, and kicked his muscular legs apart. He’d fingered him open and jerked him off, leaving his come splattered on the wall.

It was addicting,intoxicating,to know exactly how to touch Jamie. How to draw sounds from him that no one else had ever heard.

And Jamie always looked so innocently stunned. Completely awed that Caleb knew his body this well. It was like a drug, gettingto show him what they’d had before the accident. The work Caleb had done to map every ridge of muscle, every sensitive bit of skin, and memorize the way Jamie’s body reacted under his hands.

It had become a game. One that wasn’t particularly fun for Caleb, and often ended with an unsatisfying jerk-off in the shower, but one he deemed necessary. Jamie was still recovering, going through something incredibly intense, and the last thing Caleb wanted was for his partner to feel obligated to return any favors.

As if worshipping Jamie’s body could ever be seen as a favor. It was clear Jamie wanted to reciprocate. After Caleb had wrung orgasm after orgasm from him, he would always turn—eyes glossed over and hazy—and reach for Caleb’s cock. Maybe Jamie didn’t remember, but Calebknewwhat Jamie’s ‘fuck me’ eyes looked like and he just… couldn’t.

Because what if Caleb fucked him and then he decided he didn’t want him anymore? To Jamie, Caleb was still… new. A recent partner. Not alifepartner. Not a fiancé.

“I... I want—” Jamie’s voice shook as he leaned closer, arching into Caleb’s touch. He lay on his back, Caleb beside him, propped up on one elbow, lazily sliding his hand up and down his hard cock. Jamie was close, and Caleb couldn’t wait to see him splatter his smooth stomach with come.

“What do you want, J?” Caleb’s voice was husky, even to his own ears. He slid his palm up to the tip and twisted, gathering precum and earning a little whine from Jamie, and then smoothed it back down. “You like this?”

“God,yes.”A voice in Caleb’s head told him he shouldn’t be doing this. But what was one more night of making Jamie feel good?

“That’s it, J…”

Within minutes, Jamie writhed as he came. Caleb leaned in and whispered in his ear a cacophony ofyes,that’s it,come for me…

Coming down from his high, Jamie’s head turned toward Caleb. “Are you—?” A moment of pause before Jamie mustered up the courage. “Are you going to let me take care of you tonight, too? I... I really want to.”

Caleb pulled back, gazing into those soft, earnest eyes. They held a single word in them:Please.

That same, stupid voice in his head screamed that it was too soon. He’d wait until Jamie was better—until he remembered that he loved Caleb.

Apparently, he took too long to answer, because Jamie’s face fell. He cleared his throat and sat up, hair rumpled, and shot out of bed.

“J…”

“Forget it,” Jamie muttered as he padded into the bathroom and shut the door.

Come on, J. Don’t take this away from me.

Caleb lay on the bed, staring at the bathroom door, until he heard Jamie finish his routine. He still had his clothes on, so he slipped from the bedroom onto the couch where he slept. When he heard Jamie climb into bed and turn off the lamp, he muttered into the dark apartment, “Shit.”

Nothing made Jamiemore calm than being surrounded by books. Which made working at The British Library an absolute dream.

His office wasn’t fancy by any means; it was basically a closet that they’d shoved a desk and a lamp into, though he’d managed to squeeze a chair in the corner so that Jean-Baptiste had somewhere to sit when he came by to bother him.

Most people probably would have taken more time off after a traumatic brain injury, but Jamie wanted to be back as soon as humanly possible. And it was working. Whether it was a routine, the therapy, or sex with Caleb, he didn’t know. But he was finally,finallystarting to feel more like himself.

Pippa had mocked him mercilessly for it when he was a kid—begging their mum to bring him here so he could be around old books.

Smiling to himself, Jamie nudged his notepad aside and pulled out his mobile.

Hey Pip. Remember when mum used to bring us to the British Library when we were kids?

A little bubble appeared.

Pippa

Yeah… it was stupid.

Jamie snorted, picturing her younger self throwing a fit about being dragged to look at books when they could’ve gone to the adventure playground instead. He typed back.