Page 85 of Oleander

Six bloody months. It felt like years. It felt like yesterday. It felt like I was going to—

The doorbell rang.

My blood was popping and bursting like there were fireworks beneath my skin, my heart vibrating wildly behind my ribs. I went to go answer the door.

He stood with his hands in the pockets of his navy chinos. He wore a strange cord jacket in dark grey, a darker grey woollen shirt beneath it, and a deep wine-coloured scarf around his neck, though it wasn’t particularly cold.

His hair was shorter than it had been when I’d last seen him. A messy tangle of blonde that looked like spun silk. I realised I’d been staring too long without saying anything.

“You know I don’t actually need an invite to come in,” he said. “We own this house. It’s just a matter of manners.”

“You sure you’re not a vampire?”

“Why, would you like me to suck you dry?” he said and stepped inside.

He sat on the couch. I offered him a drink (Don’t you have anything stronger than this?). Skittles (They will ruin your teeth, you know?). Food (Elspeth prepared an entire tasting menu for me—I needed to walk it off).

He’d taken off his jacket and scarf and was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa with his legs slightly spread, long fingers settled on his thighs. I wasn’t sure if he was actually watching the rugby. Or just pretending to like I was.

All I could smell was him, fresh air, and something sweet, and there was a battle inside myself not to throw myself on top of him and rut against him until I came.

His eyes were still on the TV when he said, casually, “Did you do it then?”

There was absolutely no emotion in his voice. He might have been asking what I had for dinner (a single roast potato because I couldn’t stomach a thing). But still, I knew what he was asking. I took a long drink of my Coke. Hoped my throat wasn’t dry so that words would sound normal.

“What if I did?”

I saw him shift his body a little, tongue dipping out to trace his lower lip.

“I’d ask you to prove it.”

I made a weird snorting noise. “And how exactly would I be able to do that?”

He turned his head then and looked between my legs. Then he shrugged. “You could show me it.”

“How would that prove anything?” I tried styling it out because the thought of taking out my dick to show him how hard it was, was causing my brain to derail slightly.

“I’ve an aptitude for this sort of thing.” He was smiling now, a pretty sharp thing that felt like a knife at my throat.

I was suddenly afraid. What if this had all been some terrible joke to him? What if the moment I pulled it out, he’d stand up and point and laugh? Despite what we’d done over the phone for the last few weeks, this still seemed like the sort of thing he might do.

So I said, “You first.”

He stared at me a few long moments then rolled his eyes and pulled out his dick. It was half-hard, pretty and pale like the rest of him. It was longer than it had looked in his hand on any of our calls, and the end a deep pink. He pulled at it lazily while he raised an eyebrow at me, expectant.

I unzipped and manoeuvred the stiff aching thing out of my jeans. Even this was torturous; every graze and shift of fabric making it vibrate with shocking sensitivity. Caspien’s eyes on it felt as good as him touching it.

“Christ, it really is quite something,” he said, looking at it.

My chest puffed up. “Thanks,” I smirked.

He met my eye, something wolfish in his gaze. “Does she like it? Your girlfriend? I bet she does.”

I stopped breathing.

“Do you shove it down her throat?”

I wasn’t certain what was happening, only that my mind was recoiling even as my dick throbbed.