Page 33 of Caged By the Stranger (Bad Decisions #1)

His hips start moving, rocking up into mine.

His chest undulates against my own as though he wants more skin-to-skin contact.

He’s going positively rabid beneath me, his head thrashing from side to side.

When I feel his legs rise and his feet lock around the back of my waist, I have to bite my lip to keep from cursing.

“Rory… Uhn, s-so good.”

Hearing him moan my name when he’s all but wrapped around me is the last straw. I find his mouth and silence his praises with my lips. He goes rigid beneath me, but I need a taste before he decides to stop.

“God damn it, Charlie,” I pant, staring down into his big blue eyes. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried so fucking hard. I’m sorry.”

Licking the seam of his lips, they open to me. I groan the second I feel the silk of his mouth and his tongue against mine. He whimpers, and it’s like a rubber band gave way, with all the tension draining from his body. Someone, please save me—Charlie has become a puddle beneath me.

His hands slip from mine and grip the back of my shoulders. The paralysis in his mouth subsides, and he starts kissing me back. I dig my fingers into his hair and grip a handful of it.

Yes... He’s everywhere, cocooning me in my favorite thing— him . I feast on his mouth and pound into him, ravenous. Not a single one of his noises reaches the air. I swallow them all as I fuck them out of him, like I’m racking up points in a video game.

Like all good things, though, it ends too soon.

I have to tear my mouth away to breathe as I come.

Staring down at him while I groan, I watch the wonder in his expression as he watches me.

I want to kiss that look right off his face and tell him he can watch this any time he wants to.

He’s just like Jeremy, so much that it breaks my heart.

Collapsing on top of him, I lie in the silence, trying to catch my breath.

As I rest here against Charlie’s warm body, I wonder if I have a thing for sheltered cases.

Maybe I have for years. Even before Jeremy took his life when we were teens, I always looked out for guys who were ashamed of their sexuality.

I was never ashamed, and I wanted them to know the freedom I felt.

I wanted my friend to know he didn’t have to pretend to be straight just because society wasn’t as accepting back then.

Look at me—I did all right, being who I am.

Jeremy never got to know that. I just hope to hell Charlie figures it out too, even if it’s not with me.

Rolling to my side to take my weight off him, I know the second I glance over at him that it’s a lie.

I really want it to be with me. He’s not some charity case, or some closeted gay man I feel I have to save.

He’s just…who I want. I’ve seen glimpses of his humor.

I’ve seen the way he carries himself around his peers.

I’m in awe of his work ethic and his mind.

I love his grit, even if I do like that it crumbles when he’s around me.

Being in awe of the rest of him, though, was just a pleasant surprise.

I stare, waiting for him to open his eyes, but he doesn’t.

Not that I’m looking forward to finding out if he’ll up and leave like his ass is on fire as usual, but I expect it.

Except this time, his breathing evens out.

One arm at his side, the other lounging near his head on the pillow, his lips part with a stream of breath. He’s…sleeping.

I smile with a puff of laughter. Now that’s a delightful sight. Brushing my thumb along his jaw, I whisper, “Charlie…you’re not going to run out on me tonight?”

He grunts an annoyed sound as though he’s perturbed I’ve interrupted his sleep, and yet, he turns his head toward my touch like he wants me to stay close.

He’s going to be the death of me, I swear.

Leaning over, I place a soft kiss on his lips.

If anything can get him to reconnect with his fight-or-flight response, it will surely be a kiss, judging by the way he looked when I first tasted his mouth a little while ago.

I don’t want him to regret anything or think I tricked him into staying.

As my lips dust his, however, he lets out a sleepy little moan.

Charlie in my bed for the night it is, then. I’m certainly not going to complain.

I go to the bathroom and wet a cloth, returning to find him on his side, hugging my pillow underneath his head. “Settled right in, didn’t you?” I murmur.

I do my best to gently clean him up. When I get to his cage, though, I cringe. How long is he going to think he needs it?

I have yet to see him come to me without it once. I suspect for him it’s like a child’s teddy bear, bringing him a false sense of comfort for the things he fears. Charlie is, without a doubt, a man who needs an excuse to experience intimacy—something he can blame for letting his hair down.

As I turn out the lights and slide into bed behind him, I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. Is it the letting go he fears, or is it me?