Page 29

CHAPTER 29

CASPIAN

I drift into consciousness, first aware of the warmth and then the weight of lips moving slowly up my shoulder blade toward my neck. Soft. Insistent. Real? My brain struggles to separate dream from reality, but the coffee-scented air and the scratch of morning stubble against my chin tell me this is definitely happening.

“Nate,” I whisper against those lips as I open my eyes, “was that in my dream?”

He pulls back just enough for me to see his face, his smile curving up at one corner in that way that makes my stomach do somersaults. “You were dreaming of me?” The words are barely more than a breath, warm against my mouth. “What kind of dream?”

I trace my finger along his jawline, feeling the rough texture of his morning stubble. The early Vermont winter sunlight filters through the half-drawn linen curtains. “Hmm, a very, very nice dream.”

His hand slides up my bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Tell me everything, Cas.”

The way he says my name makes me shiver. I stretch beneath him, feeling the pleasant weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. “Well, there might have been kissing involved.” I demonstrate with a quick peck to his lips. “And maybe some of this.” My fingers thread through his hair, drawing him down for a deeper kiss.

The room around us is a comfortable mess. My clothes from yesterday draped over a chair, a half-empty coffee mug on the nightstand next to a dog-eared paperback, and somewhere in the mess are notes and to-do lists for the coffee shop scribbled on a napkin. But right now, all I can focus on is the way Nate’s body feels against mine, the way his hands slide down my sides, the way his tongue traces the seam of my lips.

“You’re beautiful in the morning,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at me. I know what he sees. My hair is probably sticking up in every direction and my skin is warm from sleep and desire. His eyes travel over my face like he’s memorizing every detail, and I blush under the attention.

“I’ll argue you look way better,” I reply, but my attempt at casual falls flat when my voice comes out breathless. He grins, knowing exactly what he does to me.

The distant sounds of the small town waking up drift through the window. An occasional car passing by on the quiet street outside, birds welcoming the morning from the nearby trees. But here, in this cocoon of warmth and tangled sheets, time feels suspended.

I run my hands down his back, feeling the play of muscles under smooth skin. “You know,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as his lips find that sensitive spot below my ear, “I thought I was dreaming because this feels too good to be real.”

Last night, we crashed at my place, but we could have equally crashed at his, and my romantic, dreamy heart is already wondering if we should break down the wall between our two places so we can bypass the front door.

He lifts his head and something in his eyes makes my heart stutter. “Better than a dream,” he says, and then his mouth is on mine again, hungry and demanding.

The kiss deepens, and I lose myself in the taste of him, in the way our bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle. My hands roam over his shoulders, down his arms, mapping the territory that’s becoming as familiar as my own skin.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.

“So,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow beside me, “was that better than your dream?”

I pretend to think about it, tapping my finger against my chin. “I don’t know. The dream was pretty good. Maybe we need more data points for comparison?”

His laugh is low and rich, sending shivers down my spine. “I think that can be arranged.” His hand slides lower, and suddenly, I’m very, very awake.

“More data points sounds very scientific,” I manage to say, even as his touch makes it hard to form coherent thoughts. “Very professional. Very—” I lose my train of thought as his mouth finds mine again, and this time, there’s nothing gentle about it.

The heat between us builds like a slow-burning fuse, and I find myself arching into his touch, wanting more, needing more. The words tumble from my lips before I can second-guess them. “Fuck me, Nate.”

He reaches toward the nightstand where I keep the condoms. The movement creates a slight distance between us, and I feel the loss of his warmth immediately. Something inside me shifts, a decision crystallizing in my mind.

“Wait,” I say, catching his wrist. He freezes, looking back at me with a question in his eyes. My heart is pounding, but not just from arousal. “Are you negative?”

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I watch as understanding dawns on his face, followed by a softening in his expression that makes my chest tight.

“I am,” he says, settling back beside me. His hand cups my face, thumb stroking along my cheekbone. “Got tested three months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone else since you’re also my New Year’s Eve hookup, and we wore protection. I can show you the results if you want.”

I turn my face to kiss his palm. “I believe you. I got tested last month, and I’m negative too.” I take a deep breath, feeling vulnerable but safe in the cocoon of his attention. “I want to feel you. Just you.”

He studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him processing what I’m really asking for. Not just the physical act but the trust it represents. The commitment. “Are you sure?” he asks again, but this time, the question carries a different weight.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I tell him, and it’s true. The morning light plays across his features, highlighting the curve of his cheek, the line of his jaw, and the warmth in his eyes.

His kiss, when it comes, is different from the ones before—deeper, more deliberate, like he’s trying to pour all his feelings into it. I respond in kind, opening to him, letting him feel how much I want this, want him.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs against my lips. “Do you know that?” His hands start moving again, trailing fire across my skin. “The way you trust me… The way you make me feel…”

I arch into his touch, gasping as his fingers find sensitive spots. “Show me,” I whisper. “Show me how I make you feel.”

He groans, the sound vibrating through both our bodies. “God, Caspian…” His mouth travels down my neck, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “I want to make this so good for you.”

The sheets rustle as we move together, and outside, the occasional car passing and the birds chirping are just background noise to our breathing, our whispered words, our skin sliding against skin.

“I know you will,” I say, running my fingers through his hair, down his back, anywhere I can reach. “I trust you. I want you.” Each word feels like a promise, like I’m giving him pieces of myself I didn’t even know I had to give.

He lifts his head to look at me again, and the intensity in his gaze makes me shiver. “Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Tell me exactly what you need.”

The request sends heat flooding through me.

“I want to feel your weight on top of me. I want to see you as you fill me up.”

He reaches for the lube on the nightstand, and the familiar click of the cap makes my breath catch. His movements are deliberate, careful, but there’s an urgency in the way his hands shake slightly. “Ready?” he asks, and I nod, spreading my legs wider in invitation.

His preparation is thorough, gentle but insistent, and I lose myself in the sensation. I reach up to trace the planes of his chest, the light-brown hairs, those two pink buds I want to suck into peaks.

“Please,” I whisper, and he understands exactly what I’m asking for. He positions himself, and then finally, finally he’s pushing inside me, slow and steady. The stretch and burn is exactly what I want, what I need, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me.

“God, Caspian.” He groans, his forehead pressed against mine. “You feel amazing. So perfect.” His words send shivers down my spine, and I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.

The first thrust is gentle, testing, but when I arch up to meet him, he takes it as the encouragement it is. Each movement builds on the last, creating a rhythm that has us both gasping. The bed creaks beneath us.

“Right there,” I gasp as he hits the perfect spot, and he angles his hips to hit it again and again and again. My fingers dig into his shoulders, probably leaving marks, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his movements become more determined, more focused.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and I force my eyes open to meet his gaze. The intensity I find there nearly undoes me.

His hand slides between us, wrapping around my cock with just the right pressure, and I cry out his name. “That’s it,” he encourages, his voice rough with exertion and emotion. “Let me hear you. Let me feel you.”

The dual sensation of his hand and his thrusts builds quickly, too quickly, but I can’t help it. Everything feels too good, too perfect, too much. “Nate,” I warn, “I’m close…”

“Me too.” He gasps, his rhythm faltering slightly. “Come for me, baby. Let me see you come undone.”

I nod, unable to form words as the pressure builds. Nate’s movements become more urgent, more desperate, and I match him thrust for thrust.

My orgasm hits me like a wave, intense and overwhelming. I cry out his name as my body tightens around him, and he follows me moments later, his hips stuttering as he comes deep inside me. The feeling is incredible, intimate in a way I’ve never experienced.

We collapse together, both breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. Nate’s careful not to crush me as he settles half on top of me, his face buried in my neck. I can feel his heart racing against my chest, matching the rapid beat of my own.

“You are so fucking amazing, Caspian,” he says.

We lie there for a moment, catching our breath, letting our heart rates slow.

Finally, he lifts his head to look at me, and the softness in his expression makes my chest tight. “I don’t think I can ever go back to anything that isn’t this.”

I pull him down for a gentle kiss. “I like that arrangement.”

He smiles against my lips, then shifts slightly, causing us to gasp at the oversensitivity. “Shower?” he suggests, and I nod, though neither of us makes any immediate moves to get up.

When we finally get to the shower, my belly announces its current state of neediness, which puts an end to any further play.

Cockblocker.

“Don’t you need to be at work?” I ask as we finally make our way to the kitchen, which is when I look at the time.

Nate moves around my kitchen with practiced ease, cracking eggs into a bowl. “Took the day off, actually. I want to take you somewhere.”

“Oh?” I hop onto the counter, watching him whisk the eggs. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Something in his voice, a slight tension, makes me curious. He seems focused on making breakfast, but his movements are a bit too deliberate, like he’s trying to appear casual.

After breakfast, we bundle up against the cold and head into town. When we turn onto Maple Street, I realize we’re heading toward The Striped Maple, the Irish pub.

I heard from Olivia that it’s run by three men in a relationship together, which I think is incredibly cool. She said the pub is known for its warm atmosphere, live music on Friday nights, and has a fireplace that makes it the perfect cozy spot during Vermont winters.

Even now, in the cold morning light, the brick exterior and the emerald green sign above the door exude a welcoming charm that makes me understand why it’s such a beloved local hangout.

As we get closer, I notice familiar faces through the window. Ben, Indy, and the twins. I can’t see the kids, but maybe there’s a play area in the pub.

“Nate?” I slow my steps, confusion creeping in. “What’s going on?”

He takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “These guys are in Maplewood for a particular reason.” His voice is soft, careful. “They need to talk to you.”

My stomach does an uneasy flip as Nate guides me toward their table. Ben and Indy smile warmly at me, but it’s the twins who catch and hold my attention. There’s something about them that’s been nagging at me since they first came into Special Blend and asked about my mom.

“Hi, Caspian,” one of the twins—Tristan, I think—says. “Thanks for coming. Would you sit with us for a bit?”

I slide into the booth next to Nate, who holds my hand under the table. “What’s this about?”

The twins exchange a look before Tate leans forward slightly. “We recently found something out, and we think you have a right to know.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “We’re your brothers, Caspian. Half-brothers.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. “What?”

“Our father,” Tristan continues gently, “had a relationship with your mom. We only found out recently, and… We knew we needed to meet you.”