We were having so much fun, and what felt so playful and frisky has become tense and frustrating.

When I reached around to play with his ass, I thought he would find that erotic, but instead he totally shut down. The light in his eyes dulled, and he got short with me.

As we dry off, he won’t look at me. He’s lost in a daze, thinking about something.

What did that do to him?

I’m angry with myself for having pushed, but also with Eric, because he was such a jerk about it.

Here I was, so vulnerable and open to him, receptive to whatever he wanted to do, and then he cut me off like that. My pride is wounded. I’m torn between wondering what the fuck I did so wrong to upset him and being mad for how he reacted.

Eric tells me he needs to take some time to work, but I know it’s an excuse to get away from me.

I want to get to the heart of what his issue was, but I feel like I need to clear my head.

I agree to give him space and then head out and take a walk down the beach.

I don’t put on any sunscreen. I head out with nothing more than my cell phone, and my anger and hurt. I kick my bare feet through the sand, feeling that tightness in my chest, that discomfort that feels so foreign compared to the sheer pleasure I was enjoying not half an hour earlier.

It’s such a jumbled mess in my brain. There’s this part of me that is holding on to those moments that felt so amazing. Those delicious, erotic moments where we explored so much together. Where Eric awakened this side of me, where he opened up this new world of experiences.

But that one moment, that shift in his gaze, that tenseness of his jaw that let me know I’d done something wrong threw everything out of whack.

I know there’s much more to what happened than him being some total top, because if it was only something he didn’t like, his behavior wouldn’t have totally transformed before my very eyes. There are plenty of things Whitney or I weren’t into, and when they came up, one of us just said, “No,” or, “I’m not into that,” but Eric didn’t just express that he wasn’t into it, he became another person in that moment.

I want to confront him about it, yet there’s a part of me that realizes I don’t know him well enough for that. That experience is a clear reminder of exactly how little I know about him and that I don’t have a right to pry into what made him so uncomfortable.

He has boundaries: about his issues with Ty and about whatever the fuck happened back there.

Even though I can’t be sure of what exactly stirred that response from him, it doesn’t take a genius to realize it’s something in his past. Something fucked up happened to him—something he’s not okay with sharing.

Someone hurt him. I just know it. There’s this feeling in my gut that lets me know there’s really no other reasonable explanation.

It’s none of my business, considering how little we know each other, but it doesn’t change that I wish it could be my business—that Eric would break down some of these barriers and open up to me.

I want to get to know him better. I like what I’ve seen of him so far.

As I watch some kids playing with a football in the surf, I feel my phone vibrate and pull it out. It’s a text from Ty, complaining about being back home.

A familiar guilt rises within me. It feels like there are so many fucking things to think about when it comes to what we’re doing. Wouldn’t it be easier to stop?

It’s complicated.

There are layers to Eric that are more complicated than I could have considered, but even that doesn’t feel like it’s enough to deter me. It makes me even more curious about him.

There’s something about Eric that fascinates me. Leaves me wanting more. Of course there’s that part of him that just turns me on, but then there’s also something else there.

Ty is my best friend. I love him and care about him, but I can’t turn my back on what’s happening here. If I could have, I would have done that already.

No. I’ve never been the kind of guy to run from things I’m afraid of, and I’m not starting now.

When I return to Eric’s condo, I knock on his door and wait for a response.

Something…anything…

I’m about to knock again when the door opens.

His bangs fall across his forehead and curl to the side in a way that’s so fucking sexy. Those blue eyes sparkle.

I can tell by the way he holds his face, the way he avoids my gaze, that something’s changed. That it’s not the lighthearted Eric I was used to seeing before. The man standing before me is someone else, someone I haven’t encountered before.

“Hey, sorry,” he says. “Just finishing up some work stuff.”

He assesses my face for a moment before tensing up. “Were you out in the sun?” he asks.

“Yeah, I took a walk on the beach,” I reply, surprised by his attitude. He puts his hand to my cheek, caressing his thumb across it in a way that’s familiar. I feel a sting. “Shit,” I say.

“You didn’t put on any sunscreen, did you?” he asks.

“No, like a dummy, I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

Instinctively, it seems, he takes my hand and guides me back into his room, leading me to the bathroom. He releases my hand, bends down, opens a drawer, and pulls out a bottle of lotion. He opens it, puts some in his palm, rubbing his finger in it before he starts applying it to my face. He’s not finished with putting much on before he stops and looks at his hand as if realizing he’s made things that much more complicated. What’s happening?

“Is everything okay, Eric?” I ask.

He manages to look everywhere in the bathroom except at me.

“Everything’s fine.” By the way he says it, it’s clear nothing’s fine. There’s a part of me that feels like I don’t have a right to push further, but after everything we’ve done together, I feel like certainly I must have that right.

“Really?” I say. “Because one minute we were having a good time and everything seemed normal, and then in a second, everything totally changed.”

He nods as he continues applying lotion to my face. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but then stops himself just as quickly before coughing like he has something in his throat. I imagine it’s a mental barrier that has prevented him from saying what really happened.

I can feel I was right about there being much more to this than his total-top explanation. That’s why he’s reacting this way. I just wish he could tell me.

He pulls his hand from my face and dips his fingers into the lotion in his opposite palm, and I reach out to him and grab his wrist gently. I want to let him know I’m here for him, to let him know that whatever the fuck is going on in his brain, he’s not alone, at least in this moment.

“Eric, I’m sorry if I did something wrong,” I say, pushing past my own pride and insecurities, because I know that it—whatever it is—doesn’t have anything to do with me.

Finally, his gaze meets mine. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push me away, just stares into my eyes. Then he looks to where I’m holding him.

A tear shifts in his eye, and I realize I’ve caught him in a very vulnerable moment.

He takes my hand and pulls it off his wrist.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he tells me before collecting some more lotion and rubbing it against my face. It tingles as it makes contact.

I try to find the words to say in a moment like this, something that can soothe away all this discomfort that seems to have built up within him. Just something so that it can go back to the way we were when we were having fun.

“Whatever it is,” I say, “we don’t have to talk about it, Eric. It threw me, but I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I was thinking I was doing something right, but judging by whatever happened, I know I did something wrong, and I really am sorry.”

“Now who’s the one apologizing too much?” he teases. And it’s such a lighthearted joke, I feel some of that tension dissolving in the air. “No,” Eric says, “I’m sorry, because I know you really did want to try that, and it’s not something I can do. Not something I like to do.”

What happened to you, Eric?

Something bad, I figure, but despite all these questions I have, considering we hardly know each other, he sure as fuck doesn’t have a reason to tell me what’s wrong.

“I really did just think it would be fun, and I thought you would enjoy it, which is the only reason I pushed,” I explain. “I mean, it’s hot doing anything with you, so I don’t want you to think you’re depriving me of anything. I can promise you I thoroughly enjoyed what we did back there in the bedroom.”

As Eric rubs the remaining lotion into his own hands, his lips curl upward. The tension that has been in the air, it’s like it’s all being stripped away steadily the more we talk. As though each joke, and each reflection on the good things we’ve shared, is tearing away at the wall Eric put up.

I feel like it’s now or never—that this is my opportunity. I move forward quickly and press my lips against his, feeling that tingle as his scruff rubs against my face, reminding me of what a dumbass I was for not applying sunscreen before heading out. But I dismiss that as I focus on reawakening what’s so right and good between us.

When I feel him kiss back, I know I’m breaking through those barriers.

He puts his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me close to him, me feeling his strength and power once again, like it’s returning to him.

“This is all my fault,” he whispers as he pulls away. “I wanted to make you feel good and sexy and beautiful, and then I made you feel so shitty. You didn’t do anything wrong, Jesse. I want you to know that. That thing that happened was my fault, ’cause I’m an idiot. I’m not used to this dynamic. Usually if I’m with somebody, they’re a power bottom and prefer to be dominated. And they know that’s all they want. But with you, you’re so new and you want to explore, you need to explore, and I’ve realized there’s a part of that I can’t do for you.”

“Like I said, we don’t have to do that. We can enjoy the things we can do. ’Cause I’m having a lot of fun with that.”

“No, you’re right,” Eric says. “It just got into my head, and I started thinking way too much about everything.”

“Well, that makes sense, considering this is a fairly complicated situation.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

I kiss him again, to offer another reminder of this chemistry between us, the chemistry that feels so much more special since we fucked. As I pull away, he looks into my eyes.

“That’s not complicated,” I say.

“No,” he says with a chuckle. “That’s not complicated at all.”

He wraps his arms around me, pressing his lips firmly against my own before pushing me back against the doorframe. I relax and enjoy the diffusion of that barrier between us.

It’s not completely gone, but at least I know that whatever was standing in Eric’s way has let up. My worry and fear that he would shut me out entirely have been replaced with the ease of knowing we can still share this thing that feels so important.

And yet I feel like a bastard because despite saying we don’t have to talk about whatever his issue is, now I’m wildly curious. Now I just want to get inside his head to know more about this obstacle. Why he hurts, who he really is.

Who hurt you, Eric?

I don’t know why I’m so certain that’s what this must be about, but it’s right where my mind goes. Considering how he acted in the shower and his evasiveness after, I can’t help but feel there’s some painful story to go along with his reaction—something that explains how this strong, confident man became so anxious and vulnerable...weak, even. It’s almost like there’s something he’s telling me without even using words, but I can’t quite make sense of it.

I’m developing a serious issue...an Eric Westright issue. And he might be turning into an obsession.