Page 68 of Catching Kyle
His hands relax, and he melts into me.
And both of us eventually fall back asleep.
* * *
When I wake up, I groggily stretch my arm over Michael’s body. But I just meet empty sheets.
He’s gone.
My eyes shoot open and I look around the room, the spring sun shining through my curtains. And that’s when I see him, naked, standing in front of one my bookshelves looking at a book in his hand, his beefy silhouette making me desperate for him in my arms. God, he’s such a specimen. I came in that man. Twice.
“What are you doing?” I ask, almost hurt. “Get back in bed.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, grabbing another book off the shelf and coming back to me. “Just wanted to see what you’ve been reading.” He slides back under the covers, his back to me, and I wrap my arm around him and pull him snug to me.
He sets down the two books in front of him:You Should Be So Luckyby Cat Sebastian, the book club book that changed my life, andThe Love Hypothesisby Ali Hazelwood.
“You’re reading romance books that I didn’t even recommend,” he says. “Ali Hazelwood’s the GOAT.”
I chuckle and kiss his neck. “I’ve just read that one. It was good.”
“I don’t even think I’ve read this one yet,” he says. “Unbelievable.”
“Sounds like I’m a bigger romance fan than you.”
He scoffs. “I will die before that happens.”
I grin and wrap both my arms around him this time. Birds chirp outside my window, and I glance over Michael as he opens up my copy of the gay baseball romance.
“You’ve really shown this thing love,” he says, thumbing through the roughed up pages.
“It means a lot to me,” I say. “It was saying things that I had only thought up to this point. About me. My sexuality.”
My stomach sinks when I say that word.
Sexuality.
Here I am, waking up with a gorgeous man in my bed. A gay one. If I was able to deny it before, I sure as hell can’t now. I am a gay man. After what I felt last night, I can’t go back into the closet. But I can’t just give up on football either.It’s not just the promise I made to my dad, but it’s also for myself. Winning the Championship Game is a big deal. How can I just give it up? Especially when I might have another chance?
Overwhelmed, I bury myself in the crook of Michael’s back. I take a breath of his unwashed body, and I can see what he’s saying about stink. There’s a sweet and earthy, almost intimate smell to it. Like that’s what he’s like all raw. I like it.
I harden against him.
“Woah there, big guy,” he says, stroking my thigh. “Gimme a second to prepare. I woke up sore from last night.”
“Was I too rough?” I ask.
He turns his head over and kisses me, my Ali Hazelwood book open in his hands. “You could actually stand to rough me up more.”
“Don’t challenge me,” I say. “You might just get what you’re asking for.”
“I’m so terrified,” he moans. “We’ll see if you can be as rough as you say you are.”
I insert myself between his cheeks, the head pushing against the hole just enough to push through, but not. “Says the guy who needs a break.”
“Bottoming is a skill,” he says. “It requires patience and practice. Maybe you should try it some time.”
Imagining Michael inside me gives me butterflies. I can still taste his load, and I feel crazy to say I want more.
