Page 67 of The Caretaker
From the width of the landing and the size of the door, I’d expected the space to be small. It expanded the entire length of the second floor. “The view must be beautiful in the daytime,” I mused, transfixed by the deluge of rain hitting the double-pitched skylight.
“I like to sleep up here when it rains,” he said. “On nights like tonight. It’s comforting.”
In one corner stood a bed with matching nightstands and lampshade-covered wall sconces. Off to the side, Solace watched me with his hands pushed into his pockets. The action tugged the waistband of his thin sweats lower, exposing the tapering V between his hips. With some effort, I tore my gaze away from him and noticed an abundance of picture frames hung on theopposite side of the loft. He’d been waiting for me to notice them, I assumed.
I crept over there, Solace not far behind. “What’s all this?” I breathed, my heart fluttering. “I thought you said Gavin’s things were up here.”
“I’ve donated most of his things. What’s left fits into a drawer in our closet. A few keepsakes. His photos are in an album, and a few are sprinkled around the house,” he explained. I hadn’t missed that he’d called the closetours.
“You forgot your camera,” he whispered. “The morning you left for the airport. That should’ve been my first clue that things weren’t going to go as planned. You never forget your camera.” He pointed to the wall… To thewallscovered in framed photographs. Some were of us. Most were photos of him. “I printed everything out.”
None of the images struck a chord, but the pictures of Solace stole my breath away just the same. “Where were we here?” I pointed to a profile shot of him. Tears streaked his cheek, and tendrils of his hair billowed away from him as if carried by the wind.
“That was before we came to Haley Cove. You’d only recently developed a love for photography. I was standing outside in the snow, thinking, I guess. I don’t remember you taking it.”
“And this one?” I asked. Solace wore a gray t-shirt at least four sizes too big. The collar hung off one shoulder, and the hem reached mid-thigh. All his sacred parts were covered, but with his damp hair framing his face, and his mouth slightly parted as if surprised, he appeared indecent, erotic.
“We’d taken a shower together,” he said. “I’d scooped your discarded t-shirt off the bedroom floor and had just slipped it on when you sneak-attacked me. Typical of you to do so.”
“What were we doing before showering? Or during it?” I didn’t know why I had the urge to ask. Likely because he’dbecome bashful while explaining, and bashful looked good on him.
“I’m sure you can imagine,” he said, gaze falling to his bare feet.
I moved on, my steps faltering on a photo one row below. There were no overhead lights in the attic, only the motion-sensor sconces positioned around. They provided a dim, sultry ambience to our surroundings. This shot I needed to see clearly, so I removed it from the wall, bringing it close. Solace lay sprawled in the center of a ruffled bed, looking completely spent and defiled. His lips were swollen, and a deeper shade of pink than they normally were.
Color sat high on his cheeks, hickeys spanned the expanse of his neck, and his eyes were glassy. His hair was also a mangled mess. The best way to describe him would’ve been the aftermath of a sensual storm. An aftermath that had been documented.
“I did this to you?” I asked, knowing I had and hating that I couldn’t recall it.
“It’s what you always did to me,” he replied in a demure tone, and although I didn’t remember taking the picture, I regretted not removing the sheet from around his hips first.
I placed the frame back on its hook, making a mental note to come back to it.
The next photo held me as equally enthralled as the last. Solace perched at the edge of a couch, his hands draped casually over his knees, legs spread wide. He wore a cropped football jersey and eye-black strips on his face. His hair fell in waves, like maybe he’d loosened it from a tight braid. The highlight of the photo, though, was the white lace jockstrap he wore. I could see the outline of his cock in the lace.
“You love football,” he said. “Your team had made it to the Super Bowl, and so we threw a two-man party.” He cleared his throat. “I might have had a little too much wine that night. Foronce I didn’t give you a hard time for wanting to take excessive photos of me.”
I peered around, and he was right. There was a whole series of shots from that day. Different poses and locations. Standing, sitting, hands and knees… The couch, the floor, the bed…
“Do you still have this outfit?” I asked, still scanning as he watched me.
“I’m sure I can dig it up from somewhere.” His voice had deepened, and I turned to see him flush, his cock swelling behind his sweats.
My own pants grew tight around the crotch. I ignored it for the moment and went back to perusing the photos.
I’d been with men before. I remembered that much. But, for me at least, this would be my first time with Solace. I’d have to live up to what he remembered. I’d need to relearn what he wanted and needed from me. What he could handle, and what went beyond his limits. He’d have to teach me, and I’d have to get it right. What if I didn’t? What if in this I was no longer the same either? The thought of not pleasing him, of not being worth the trouble he’d gone through to get here, terrified me. I worried about all of that as I scanned the photographs.
“Peppermint,” I said, pointing to one where he laughed while holding up a handful of red and white striped candy. I thought back to our kiss in his bedroom. To the scent that hadn’t been there, yet had consumed me anyway. “Mint is connected to our past.”
“You hated it, I loved it,” Solace said. “It doesn’t agree with my stomach anymore. Had I known it would trigger your memories I would have risked the reflux.”
I turned to the wall again. The pictures of me were the hardest to look at. Hard to see and not remember the look of total adoration and love in my eyes as I smiled into the camera, knowing the person I smiled for was him.
We were together in one photo. We’d likely set a timer on the camera before hurrying to get into place. We were mid-laugh, hugging while nude on the couch from downstairs. We couldn’t appear more opposite of each other lying amongst the heap of throw pillows. My bare chest was broad, darkened by hair. My arms were packed with muscle, and I was in need of a shave.
Solace nearly vanished beneath my mass, his body smooth and pale. We were darkness and light, gruff and refined, uninhibited and reserved.
“You look so young and carefree,” I said.
