Page 114 of Faithful

When we get to my place, my mind is still racing with possible outcomes, all the scenarios that may develop due to the incident, but a quick Google and social media search during the drive revealed no updates on Iodine’s front man. TMZ’s last post describes another Kardashian drama. Maybe catching Kai Delisa with a male passenger in his car in the wee hours of the night near a random 7-Eleven isn’t newsworthy. Or maybe it will hit the net tomorrow morning.

Think positive thoughts, I tell myself as we climb out of Kai’s Dodge Caravan and rush inside before one of the neighbors sees us. Although I doubt people are out and about at this hour. It’s well past midnight and tomorrow’s still a workday.

Leigh is spending the entire week with her family, and we have the apartment to ourselves.

Kai wrestles off his boots and his coat and then walks straight into my room. He’s weird. Well, weirder than earlier. There’s clearly something bothering him, and I don’t know how to ask about it without fucking everything up between us again. Like I’m legit terrified. Last time when I poured out my soul to him, he freaked and disappeared.

I should be used to these occasional bursts of temper, but it still irks me that he’s hesitant to talk, to open up. The scars and the secrets–they’re like a knife hanging by a thread above our heads.

After kicking off my own footwear and double-checking the locks on the door (because hello paranoia) I follow him into my room.

The lamp on my desk has been turned on and the soft light pouring through the space colors the walls and the furniture in muted shades of amber.

He’s standing in front of my shelf, studying all my little paper creations. His fingers touch some of them lightly.

“My father thought it was a girly hobby,” I tell him, an old memory punching its way to the forefront of my mind. “He kept on pushing for basketball.” 'Cause basketball wasn’t gay.

Kai turns to face me and steps forward, closing the distance separating us until our bodies are just a couple of inches apart. He rests his hands on my hips and yanks me to him, his growing erection pressing against my own cock. “Your father is a fool. It’s a gorgeous form of art. Besides, I don’t want to talk about him when I’m trying to get you to fuck me.”

His eyes, lust-filled and beautiful like a summer rain, hold my gaze and I feel an urgent wave of desire rolling through me and lighting every part of me on fire. I have no explanation as to why after so much sex with him (and we tried almost everything we’re both comfortable with), the physical intimacy is still as thrilling as during that first time at the abandoned construction lot when he gifted me the best blow job of my life. Not that the ones that came after were worse. Not in the slightest. It’s this notion of it being the first one, of him choosing to give it to me.

“Valid point,” I whisper at him, reaching for the hem of his sweater.

“You know better than to argue with me, baby.” The corners of his lips tip up a little. The smile is subtle. A hint. He raises his arms to let me pull the garment over his head. Underneath, he’s wearing a plain black T-shirt and I’m granted the opportunity to rid him of it as well after he takes off my shirt.

We undress slowly, unwrapping each other, a single piece of clothing at a time—alternating, revealing, touching. Until we’re completely bare and breathing heavily.

He tilts his head forward, his lips meeting my shoulder and traveling up the column of my throat, finding the shell of my ear.

“My tests are all clear,” he rasps out, running his palms up and down my flanks.

My cock jerks at that, excited. “Yeah?” The idea of fucking him without a condom, the idea of not having any kind of barrier between us anymore has me high and quivering from anticipation.

“Would you like to really own me, Dylan?” he asks, licking up a wet trail over the side of my face and kissing my temple.

I swallow and reach up to cradle his face and force him to look at me. “Are you sure?”

“If your tests are good, then I’m sure.”

“Yes. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you. I had them done when we were”–I stammer through the last part because I’m suddenly nervous–“in disagreement… about each other’s feelings.”

He slips one hand down to my thigh, gently caressing my skin. “Well, we’re not in disagreement now.”

“So, you’re for real?” My heart begins to race because we both kinda half-assed through our proclamations of mutual love instead of doing it like normal people do and it sometimes feels like a dream. “This is for real? We’re for real?”

Kai remains silent for the longest time, the intensity of his gaze speaking volumes. “Yes. It’s for real. I do love you. I have no clue why.” He chuckles and brings his hand up and brushes his fingers over my mouth, then my nose, then my eyebrows. “You’re everything I fucking despise and you’re everything I never got to have and perhaps being with you lets me experience some of these things I never had to experience when I was younger.”

“You sound like you’re twice my age. You’re two years older.”

He inhales deeply and it’s a tremulous inhale as if he’s fighting some invisible force. “You grow up very fast when your family falls apart before you even start middle school.”

I sense that if we continue this conversation, the moment will be ruined, and we’ll end up forgetting about sex altogether. And call me selfish, but I need, almost desperately, for it to happen today after the proper replay of his confession and after we established a new level of trust. This seems like a crucial step we’re about to take and ruining it with talk about something that can’t be changed is a waste.

“I’m here now,” I say, slipping my fingers into his hair. “I could try and make it better.”

Kai tilts his head back a little, exposing his neck to me, his eyes closed for a second. “You already did.”

I brush my mouth over his jaw, soaking up the sting of his stubble on my lips.

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