Heartstrings (9 page)

T
he kiss was a there
-and-gone-again affair, over in less than a second. But time seemed to pass in a strange way whenever Cal was kissing Blake, as if seconds counted as whole minutes.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, what propelled him to do that. The stomach-tightening cocktail of fear and anger and protectiveness he’d felt when Rhett had attacked Blake had pushed him past some previously unknown breaking point. Shoved him right off the edge. Now he was tumbling and didn’t know how to arrest his fall.

Blake put up an arm, shoving Cal back. He let Blake push him, eyes snapping open, the spell broken.

He could still taste the faint coppery flavor of blood, just a hint of it.

Panic jolted through him as he looked down into Blake’s eyes, questioning. Had he fucked up?

Blake’s pupils were blown, crowding against the light hazel of his irises. Cal had seen that look before, that flush of arousal that spread over Blake too obvious for him to hide it.

So why did he look so angry?

“Cal,” Blake finally said. “You. I know we’re on the road. But I’m not going to—I liked Yanmei. I’m not going to—if there’s even a change you two are—”

Blake was fumbling all over himself trying to form a coherent sentence. But Cal just laughed, relief unspooling the tension in his stomach.

Cal closed the gap between him and Blake once more, looming in. He gave his head the tiniest possible shake and looked Blake directly in the eye.

“She’s my friend. And my employee. And that is it.”

Not to mention it would be weirdly exploitative, the type of personal relationship Cal would never approve of, but he didn’t bother saying all that. He just cleared up the misconception and reached out, grabbing Blake by the hips. He pulled on Blake’s belt until their chests were flush together.

“If you don’t want this, you’ve got to have a better reason than that.”

Cal lifted his gaze, subtly studying the man before him. The man he’d known since they were both boys. He could still see that younger, scragglier version of Blake beneath the muscle he’d put on and the expensive clothes he’d acquired. That fire that burned in him, the spark that drew others to him like magnetism, there was no way Blake could ever conceal it. He was born for the stage. He was fulfilling his birthright, his destiny.

When Blake let his eyes flutter shut, his body leaning into Cal’s, when they kissed for the second time, Cal let himself wonder if maybe—just maybe—that was destiny too. Because kissing Blake felt like completing a circle he’d been trying to draw his whole life.

Groaning thickly into Blake’s mouth, Cal took the lead. Klaxons were ringing in the back of his brain, saying things like
don’t get hurt again
and
this is a terrible idea
, but the warnings came too late for his heart. His cock didn’t heed them either, already swelling in his pants. Cal’s body was intensely aware of Blake’s presence, every single point of contact between them, even if it was through fabric.

Despite the intensity, the kiss itself was almost chaste. Blake’s mouth felt timid, his lips not immediately parting, so Cal took it slow. He was all careful warm pressure and held breath, the faintest gentle skim of his tongue along the seam of Blake’s lips. When he brushed the cut on Blake’s mouth, Blake actually whimpered.

“Does it hurt?” Cal whispered against Blake’s mouth.

“The only thing you could ever do to hurt me is leave again,” Blake murmured.

Cal wanted to protest. He started to, even. His mouth started forming the words. Then Blake was kissing him back with a fervor, a fiercely instilled passion that Cal wasn’t ready for. His protests died in his throat. There would be time to talk later. Right now his mouth had better things to do.

When Blake parted his lips, Cal took it for the invitation it was. He kissed Blake deeper, simultaneously walking him back until he was against the counter. He marveled at the differences in how it felt, the newly solid nature of both their bodies, the stubble on Blake’s cheeks where his skin was once bare. How could something feel so much like coming home, but so deliciously different?

Utilizing his full strength, Cal grabbed Blake by the thighs and helped ease him up so he was sitting on the countertop. He parted Blake’s legs and stepped invasively between them, now able to enjoy the full, unfettered press of him, body to body. Blake’s erection jutted hard against his stomach, tenting his trousers, evidence of his need.

Blake tasted like mint with a hint of blood. He felt firmer now, muscle and sinew present where it didn’t used to be, and Cal delighted in skimming his fingertips over the shirt he wore, tracing the lines of his abs.

Meanwhile, Blake’s hands ghosted over Cal’s skin, pulling and stretching needily at his worn-thin shirt. Blake was notoriously vocal when he was aroused. Every tiny kiss and lick and nibble from Cal sent sounds twisting out of his throat, little gasps and moans that shot through Cal’s body and straight to his dick.

There were things he wanted to say to Blake, but he said them with his body, not his voice. But there was one thing he had to get out.

He stared down at Blake, cheeks flushed, mouth agape, lips shiny with the wet aftermath of their kissing. Earlier, he’d seen the trepidation in Blake’s eyes, that unsafe and tense wideness to them whenever Rhett was around, that walking-on-eggshells quality that reminded Cal far too much of the worst days at the end of his parents’ marriage. As long as he was around, he never wanted Blake to look that way again.

But he couldn’t put all that into words. Instead, he let out a breathy whisper as he reached for the solid nickel belt buckle at Blake’s waist.

“Let me.”

Blake looked just as wrecked with arousal as Cal felt. He nodded in silence over and over, pleading without words.

Cal had never loved a body like he’d loved Blake’s. Blake was the standard he compared every other man to. Not because he was the most fit or the best looking, but because the combination of things that he
was
combined to a whole that was nearly perfect. It had only taken days before Cal was completely punch-drunk again.

He slid the belt free of Blake’s pants and unzipped his fly with alacrity, bending down. The trail of brown hair that led beneath the waistband of Blake’s boxers was thicker than Cal remembered. He followed it eagerly, pushing up the hem of Blake’s shirt to kiss his stomach.

As Cal slipped his hand into Blake’s boxers, fingers brushing the hard flesh of his cock, he felt fingers gliding through his hair. Blake gasped, digits curling against Cal’s head, and the sensation of nails on his scalp sent a ripple of heat through his entire body. His own dick was painfully hard in his sweats, his balls tight, his clothes uncomfortably warm.

Cal freed Blake’s cock from his boxers and didn’t waste any time. He took it into his mouth immediately, lathing at the head, paying generous attention to it. He wanted Blake to feel loved, secure,
worshiped.

Mindful of his teeth, he slid his lips along Blake’s length, taking in as much as he could, at first. It had been a while. And he’d never call himself an expert in the first place. Their previous couplings had been so rushed and hormonal and so very teenage, even when they were twenty.

At the moment though, Blake wasn’t complaining. He arched up eagerly into Cal’s mouth, the motion careful. Cal pressed one hot palm to the fabric of Blake’s pants, kneading gently as he began to bob his head up and down in a slow, easy rhythm.

Blake’s legs stiffened, his heels kicking back against the cabinet. He grabbed Cal’s hair by the palmful, his hair-pulling growing more needy, more desperate. Cal realized he wasn’t far away. This time, he wasn’t going to draw things out. He wasn’t going to tease Blake or make him beg to come. That could come later, he hoped, because they’d have so many more opportunities to do this...

He had to believe that. He had to believe this wasn’t his only chance.

Cal remembered the old trick Blake had taught him in school: folding his thumb into his palm to lessen his gag reflex. He wasn’t sure if it was a real thing or just placebo, but it worked. He folded his thumb into his fist and leaned down, easing the wet heat of his mouth along Blake’s entire cock.

When Cal’s face was nestled in close against Blake’s pelvis, he let out a soft hum, deliberately vibrating his throat. Then he pulled back and dove forward again, repeating the motion.

On the fourth slide of his mouth over Blake’s length, Blake cried out. He clawed at Cal’s back, pushing him down, hips thrusting arrhythmically, his whole body bucking against Cal’s mouth. Cal kept his fingers pressed against Blake’s thighs, holding him down as Blake came, hot seed spilling down his throat.

Cal gagged a little, but swallowed readily. He only realized in that moment, numbly, that he was an idiot for not insisting Blake use a condom. But this wasn’t some anonymous man in a backroom. This was Blake. Being with Blake at all felt so familiar and safe and normal that it had never occurred to him.

Breathing hard, still painfully erect in his pants, Cal let himself fall to his knees. His thighs burned form the position he’d been standing in. He peered up at Blake above him, hair tousled to one side, his mouth kissed raw, his cock dangling heavy between his legs, the head shiny and wet.

He’d never stopped loving Blake. He wasn’t sure he ever could. He was an idiot for ever thinking otherwise.

R
eeling
with the force of his orgasm, Blake sagged back against the kitchen wall, resting his head against a cabinet. He needed a second to collect himself. His vision had whited out. If it were anyone but Cal, he’d be embarrassed he came that quick, but it was so overwhelming, so powerful...

How was he ever supposed to move?

Cal must have sensed how thoroughly spent Blake was, because he rose up from his crouch, cuddling Blake immediately to his chest. He tucked Blake’s cock back into his boxers—a motion Blake found absurdly, hilariously nurturing, so much so that he laughed, arms winding sluggishly around Cal’s shoulders.

Even though Blake wasn’t that much shorter or lighter, Cal all but carried him into the bedroom. Blake let it happen, tired of fighting, tired of trying to take charge. Things with Cal were always so good because when they were together, he didn’t have to. He surrendered to Cal in a way that was just as therapeutic as it was staggeringly sexy.

Cal eased out from under Blake’s arm and he toppled forward, landing on his back on the sprawling hotel bed. He never wanted to move again. Again, Cal somehow sensed this, because Cal bent over him again, reaching for his boots, sliding them off. Then Cal was reaching for the belt loops of his pants, and wiggling them down Blake’s legs. Blake worked the buttons on his shirt until it was hanging open, then rolled out of it.

Good enough.

“Cal,” Blake said before the man undressing him could even think to change his mind. “Stay.”

Cal paused, gave Blake’s pants a final tug. Blake heard the sound of cloth hitting the floor. Then not long after, the sound repeated. Cal undressing, he hoped.

Residual arousal blended smoothly with Blake’s exhaustion, leaving him warm and lazy with afterglow. Despite that, he knew he wanted Cal beside him. And he wanted it sooner rather than later. He got his wish a few seconds later when Cal slid into the bed, drawing the covers back for both of them. Blake wiggled inside, nestling himself among the many layers of hotel pillows.

The heat of Cal against him was immediate. Cal curled in closer, drawing Blake against his chest, a motion Blake was too tired to fight. The blowjob was over too quickly, before Blake got a chance to sort his feelings out. He reached down to Cal’s boxers, dragging a finger along the hem. He so desperately wanted to repay Cal for everything.

But Cal just pressed a hand against his, then twisted their fingers together.

“Don’t worry about it,” Cal said. “You look beat.” Then more quietly, he added: “This was about you. Don’t worry about me.”

In the morning, they needed to talk. Blake felt somewhat abashed for letting this happen without discussing it first, without clearing the air between them once and for all. They were supposed to be adults now, weren’t they?

But trying to keep his cool around Cal was like trying to fight gravity. It was tiring. And it felt like swimming upstream, like struggling against the inevitable.

So for the moment, Blake just curled himself against Cal’s broad chest, warm skin against his cheek, and slept. They had all morning to sort out the rest.

* * *

B
lake jolted awake
, the sound of his phone ringtone jarring him out of sleep. He fumbled around the nightstand, tangled in the slick cotton of the hotel’s sheets, but his phone wasn’t there. The ringing was coming from further away, all the way back in the lounge.

Or rather the kitchen. Because he’d last seen his phone back there, before Cal had...

Blake turned his head to the left, then the right. He felt around the mattress, which was cold save for where he’d been sleeping. His heart sank. Cal wasn’t there.

Stumbling from the bed and into the lounge, Blake found his phone eventually, but not before it stopped ringing. Someone had plugged a charger into the kitchen island’s outlet and plugged it in, which was real sweet of them, because Blake had entirely forgotten. He had three missed calls.

Relievingly, there was also a text from Cal.

It took Blake a moment to parse through what all that meant, until he realized Cal didn’t know if he was out to the band or not. Sighing heavily with relief, Blake couldn’t help but laugh to himself. Conscientious Cal.

Blake sent the reply, then headed straight for the shower. His jaw and eye socket throbbed. He avoided looking at them in the bathroom mirror. Hot water and painkillers were at the top of his agenda. Then he and Cal really needed to talk.