Cal climbed off of me as soon as my second orgasm finished. He swallowed and licked his lips, but I could still see a streak drying along his jaw. During the slow, exquisite torture of my second blowjob, he had played with me and held my tip against his lips and face so that pre-cum had oozed all over him.
And really, what was that? No woman had ever blown me like that, not ever, and every single woman I had been with had claimed to love doing it. But Cal ...
I rubbed my face and eyes. Cal, Cal ... he was a starved animal, shaking the whole time, deep-throating me and then telling me how he needed it.
“I’m going to take a quick shower.” His voice brought me back to reality.
I sat up too fast and saw spots—spectral white, flying in every direction.
“I can ...” I shimmied up my jeans. “Do you, I mean ...” I tried to get a look at the front of his pants, but he had turned away from the bed.
“I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Well, I could ...” I could join you. I want to join you. I want to make you come, too. Those words belonged to a much more mature lover than I. All I seemed capable of doing was seeing spots and forming half-sentences.
Cal leaned over and kissed my forehead where damp skin met damp hair. Somehow, I was sweating more than he was.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. I would have found that compliment strange coming from anyone else, but coming from him, it made me feel rare and desired. He padded into the master bathroom and pulled the door shut. The lock clicked—I frowned—and I heard the water running a moment later.
He didn’t want company, then. I wondered if he would jerk off. Embarrassment prickled up the back of my neck. Of course he would; he would have to take care of himself. I was probably supposed to touch him, somehow, during our encounter, but I hadn’t even thought of it.
My bliss quickly shredded into anxiety. I hopped off the bed and straightened my clothes. He had a standing mirror in the corner of the room. I checked myself over, fixed my hair, and pulled his comforter into shape.
Then I hovered, my hand on the bedpost, until he emerged from the bathroom. Steam rolled out around him. He had a black towel banded low around his waist. Grooves of muscle scored his abs. I looked away. I looked back. He laughed.
“Go downstairs, Michael,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”
“Are you sure?” I scratched the back of my neck. Making an advance was not going to happen, since I couldn’t even make my eyes move in the appropriate direction. If he asked, though, or showed me or told me what to do ...
“Go on.”
I shuffled out.
The main area of the house seemed to have changed since my trip to the loft. I swept my eyes over the fine furniture, the plush carpeting and pale hardwood floor in the kitchen. Was I one of Cal’s belongings now? Or, having been so close to him, did I own some small part of his life? I touched the violin on the coffee table.
That song he had played, and the way he had looked when he was between my legs, would be forever written in the book of my memory.
He came downstairs a moment later, bringing the smell of soap and clean hair. He must have known how attractive he looked in black. He wore black jeans and a dark cashmere sweater, which was a standard outfit for him.
He saw my fingertips on the violin.
“Liking your chances with that now?”
“Oh, no.” I moved away from the instrument. I wouldn’t honk and squeal on his violin after he had played such transporting music. “What was that song?”
He knew which one I meant, the last one. “Antonin Dvorak. Serenade for Strings, the second movement. Bewitching, right?”
I nodded, watching him stroll into the kitchen.
“I played it to seduce you.” He lifted his dark brows. There was a little glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but he didn’t smile. “Let’s smoke.”
And now I was actually invited to smoke, invited out to the sacred deck, and he didn’t glower and move off when I sat at the table beside him. I wondered if it would always be this way now, or if I was dreaming.
“You looked good playing it.” I stared out at the lake. We sat in such a way that our arms and elbows occasionally brushed and I held my breath every time they did. He had looked angry, playing the song, and passionate.
He smoked in silence.
“Do you mind?” I touched the pack.
He hesitated and then passed me his half-smoked cigarette. “Finish mine.” He lit another for himself. “What are you thinking about?”
I was thinking about him sucking me so hard it had almost hurt. “I don’t know,” I said. “Nothing, really.”
“I know what you’re thinking about. I’m thinking about it, too.” He dragged a hand through his wet hair, which must have felt icy in the October air. He looked pale, his eyes far away. “I made sure it hurt my throat. When you aren’t here tomorrow, I want to feel that and remember where you were.”
I watched his profile, stupefied.
“Next time, I want you on top, thrusting into my mouth.” He laid his forehead in his palm and closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That’ll be good.” His voice had thinned nearly into silence. He seemed paler than he had a moment ago, gray-white.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He laughed listlessly. More silence stretched between us, comfortable silence, and then he said, “What is this for you?”
“What?”
“This, all that.” He gestured back toward the house. “What is it for you? Are you infatuated with me? Curious?”
I blinked a few times. “No, I ...”
“You aren’t infatuated with me?” he pressed. “With my money and my success and my violin playing?”
I couldn’t tell if he was gearing up for anger and I didn’t want our good rapport to break so soon. “That’s not really fair.”
“Curious, then? You’ve obviously never been with a man.”
My face warmed. He ruffled my hair; the gesture only succeeded in making me feel smaller. “What is it to you?” I blurted. “Some sad rehashing of Jamie Foust?”
He stiffened and I instantly wished I could take back the words.
He put out his cigarette and went inside.
I jogged after him. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m exhausted. Coffee, I think.” He gripped the counter. “Would you make it? There ...” He gestured toward the coffeemaker and moved to the couch.
I found ground coffee in the cupboard and started a pot, but by the time enough for a cup was ready, Cal was dead asleep. I frowned down at his sprawled figure.
“Cal?” I whispered. Before, he had never napped in my presence. Then again, it wasn’t an ordinary day for us.
He looked so pale, though, and eerily motionless. I shook his shoulder gently. Nothing. I held my hand in front of his lips and felt a little gust of breath.
I couldn’t help myself—I tucked a stripe of hair behind his ear and ran my fingers over his back. Even in sleep, he seemed invulnerable, silently threatening.
I got my laptop and sat on the floor by the couch, listening to his breaths.
The grandfather clock chimed off three o’clock, then four, then five. I reread all my notes pertaining to the profile. They seemed very silly to me now.
“What are you doing?”
His voice made me jump.
His dark eyes were open, gazing at me intently. I hadn’t realized how worried I had been until that moment. I slumped forward and I exhaled. “Hi.”
“Michael ...” His voice was thick with fatigue. He ran his fingers through my hair and down the back of my neck. I relaxed another degree. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I mumbled again.
He chuckled. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“You ... passed out.” I wanted to burrow into his side. He exerted a powerful, magnetic sort of pull, but anxiety and uncertainty repelled me.
“I fell asleep. Look at you.” He stroked my neck. “Come here.”
He made space on the couch and I flew onto it, curling against his body. I didn’t know where to put my hands. I folded my arms between us and lay there self-consciously, relief coursing through me.
He draped an arm over me, his chin in my hair.
“Were you worried?” Amusement tickled at his voice.
“I’m fine.”
“Did you sit on the floor this whole time?”
“No.” I closed my eyes. “I was just checking on you.”
His soft laughter vibrated against me.
“I’m slightly anemic, Michael.”
“You are?”
“Yes. It makes me dizzy sometimes. Nothing to worry about.” He tucked me closer and kissed the top of my head, and then he sat up and sighed. “I should eat.”
“Can I help?” I clambered off the couch and headed for the kitchen. Pressed that close to him, I was getting aroused, and I didn’t need that right now.
“Yeah, please. There’s spinach ... in the fridge.” He sounded winded and he remained on the couch for a while, hands braced on his knees.
“So this is normal?” I pulled the plastic container out of the fridge.
“Completely. I’ve been to a doctor. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not. Just asking.” I knew I was lying terribly, but my pride could only take so much punishment. Earlier, he had put his mouth on me and I had exploded spontaneously. I winced at the memory. Now, he had caught me sitting on the floor like a dog while he napped, and I was making him food. “What do I do with this?”
“Dressing, put it in a bowl. Get yourself something, too.” He was watching me. “What’s the matter?”
“Feels funny, cooking for you.”
He laughed. “First of all, you’re not cooking. And second, trust me, I would rather be doing it. Dizzy, though.”
“No, I’m happy to help.” I packed a bowl with spinach leaves and sprinkled balsamic dressing over the top. For myself, I found Honey Bunches of Oats.
Cal prayed quickly, head lowered and eyes closed, like he did before every meal.
When I moved to sit at the far end of the table, he smirked and nudged out the chair beside his. I shifted over to it without looking at him.
“Thank you,” he said. Beneath the table, he gripped my thigh for a moment. “If I weren’t so tired ...”
I almost spit out my cereal. “No worries.” I leaned over the bowl. If he wasn’t so tired, what? I imagined him under the table and then I had to stop imagining it.
For a while, the only sounds were our utensils, cereal crunching, and the clock. I watched his forearms. He had pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and I could see the fine dark hairs shading his skin. Blue veins forked over the tops of his hands. He wore a heavy silver watch and a stray hair tie stretched around his wrist.
I could have observed him like that for the rest of the evening.
“About Jamie,” he said quietly.
I would have sworn that the temperature dropped. I shook my head and stabbed at my soggy cereal. “You don’t have to. I’m sorry. That wasn’t appropriate.”
“No, it was. How much do you know?”
“Nothing, really. I saw a tiny picture. I know he ... passed away.”
“Sure.” Cal nodded slowly.
“Your sister—”
“Yes, I know she mentioned him.” He laid down his fork. “She knew him, sort of. We all went to the same camp in the summers.”
“Camp Apache?” I remembered the name from my notes.
“The investigative journalist hard at work.” A trace of cynicism got into his voice.
“I’m sorry. I only Googled him.”
“It does not matter.” The words came out gradually, as if he had to force each one. He took a deep breath and shrugged. “It was a Christian camp. We were campers when we met. We were ten, and we both failed the swimming test and had to take lessons for one of our activities. So we were instant friends. I’ve never had patience for a large social circle. At camp, he and I were ...” He gestured. “You know, two inseparable friends.”
Some color had returned to his face, yet his expression was stricken. He carried our dishes to the sink. I wanted to repeat that he didn’t have to tell the story—it caused him such obvious pain—but I was too curious, and too selfish. Jamie Foust and I looked alike. In Cal’s world, we were linked. I needed to know how.
“We went every summer for two weeks. We exchanged a few letters between summers. We started working on staff when we were old enough. Seventeen. We were both seventeen then. We worked in the kitchen. I’d lifeguard for some retreats. It was a good place, a good atmosphere. We’d work there all summer, basically.”
I tried to picture seventeen-year-old Cal at summer camp. Maybe a happier Cal. Maybe a less intimidating Cal, though I doubted that.
“I need a cigarette,” he said.
I followed him outside and stood at the railing while he paced and smoked.
“We were best friends, like I said. Most of the guys on staff were ... preoccupied with the girls. And the girls were preoccupied with the guys. Everyone sort of paired off. Teens in the summer.” He waved a hand, trailing smoke. “Jamie and I spent all our free time together. We got along, you know? Same humor, I guess. We’d fish and hike in our free time, or play music. The staff kids snuck out at night a lot, pranking or going off to sit by the lake. Jamie and I used to hike out to this place in the woods, Council Rock. We’d steal sodas from the kitchen and go out there, make a fire. I’m sure you can see where this is going.”
“Tell me anyway,” I said. “Please. I don’t want to guess.”
He lit another cigarette and paused at the railing. “Fine.” The way he looked out toward the mountains, I knew he was seeing into the past. “We were walking back from there. It was late. We were being silly, shoving each other. I think I pushed him down. We were wrestling, that’s all. He tried to kiss me.”
He stopped speaking and stayed quiet, as if the rest were self-explanatory.
“What happened?” I edged closer.
“I punched him in the mouth.”
If not for Cal’s pained expression, I would have laughed. I punched him in the mouth. He said it so matter-of-factly.
“He just ... wouldn’t let me go. I split his lip and he was bleeding. But he knew.” He exhaled softly. “He knew what was going on before I did.”
“Did you ... hit him again?”
“No, thank God. We kept fighting, sort of wrestling, only ... well, I see what we were doing now. We were trying to get off. Kids, you know.”
I didn’t know. My first sexual encounter had been a sloppy situation after a college party. I envied Cal his wrestling in the woods. However juvenile it seemed to him, it sounded infinitely purer than my drunken encounter with a drunken girl.
“Did you?” I had to keep urging him on now. He was lost in memory.
“Oh, no. We were close enough to the camp that we got spooked. We did later, though. Another night. No more punching. Some wrestling.”
“The same way?”
He finally glanced at me. A column of ash fell from his cigarette. “You don’t want all the vulgar details, do you?”
I looked away. “Yeah, I do.”
“Hm.” He grazed a knuckle over my hot cheek, and then he resumed his vigil. “Yes, the same way, at first. Rubbing together through our pants. It seems stupid now, but ... we were virgins. Half the time, I was finishing in my boxers, and I know he was, too. We did other things, eventually.”
“Like what?” I struggled for a nonchalant tone.
He thought for a moment. “The same thing, skin to skin.” He was trying to put it delicately. “And what I did to you earlier.”
“You did that to him?”
“We did it to each other.”
“I can do that, you know,” I said in a rush.
I became aware of him watching me again. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” I nodded resolutely. Jamie had done it for him. I could do it, too. I even wanted to, sort of, though I knew I would somehow embarrass myself.
“Doesn’t the idea disgust you?” He gripped my jaw and made me look at him. The pad of his thumb passed over my lips, which parted instinctively. My heart began to gallop. Was he going to make me do it now?
“D-disgust me?”
“It’s one thing to have a man’s mouth on you, Michael, and quite another to have it in your mouth.”
He really knew how to calm a guy down.
“You seem to ... do okay.”
“That’s because I like it. I’m all twisted around inside.” He released my jaw. “Anyway, don’t worry. I don’t want that.”
I swallowed and resisted the urge to rub my mouth. My lips were tingling, over-sensitized by his touch. I looked down at my scuffed Vans. He didn’t want that. He had let Jamie do it, but he didn’t even want me to try. Disappointment and a strong sense of inadequacy swept over me.
“Sure thing,” I said.
Apparently, I had met someone who wanted to blow me and get nothing in return. We should all be so lucky, right? But he was robbing me of the chance to give him pleasure, and I wanted to do that. I wanted to know what that felt like.
“These things are the worst when I’m dizzy.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Such a guilty pleasure, though.”
We went back inside. I felt that I had been distanced from him, pushed away again, on an intimate level. If he noticed my declining mood, he ignored it.