Chapter 19 - Callum

There are no nightmares. It’s just a peaceful, warm darkness in which I wake from, greeted by another lack of light in consciousness.

There’s only a dim glow pouring in from the hallway but none coming through the one window in Stone’s bedroom. It could be because of the blackout curtains or because it’s not yet morning. Considering I’m at Stone’s apartment instead of my own, I hope it’s the latter.

And then it hits me.

I’m in Stone’s apartment. I let him fuck me. Hell, I all but begged him to.

I wait for it. For the panic. For the freak out. For the fight or flight response to kick in.

It doesn’t come.

My ass is sore, but it’s a good kind of sore.

Stone’s chest steadily rises and falls beneath my head where it rests. The heat from our bodies has built us a warm cocoon beneath the dark blue sheets. I want nothing more than to stay put, but I really need to piss.

Moving carefully so I don’t wake him, I slide off the bed. It’s easy to find the bathroom in his one-bedroom apartment. After I take care of business, I head back to his room to see him stirring. The moment his eyes open, they’re on me.

“Are you okay?” Worry laces his voice as he raises himself up on his elbows.

Rolling my eyes, I climb back into the bed beside him. “I’m fine. You really need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Worrying about me. I’m not as fragile as you might think.”

“I’m sorry,” he says on a sigh. “I don’t think you’re fragile. And I don’t mean to treat you like that. It’s just a habit I guess. I’m kind of…”

Settling onto my side next to him, I prop my head in my hand. “Protective?”

He rolls over to face me, and a low growl rumbles in his chest. “Very.”

I grin as I stare into his face that’s mostly covered in shadow. “You know you’re going to have to keep that in check on the ice, right? I’m pretty good at avoiding the boards and the other guys’ sticks, but we’ve only played two games. We have a whole season ahead of us, and none of us are going to skate away unscathed.”

“You better learn to skate even faster than you already do then.”

I laugh, but I don’t think he’s joking. “Seriously, Stone. We can’t afford for you to spend the entire season in the sin bin or on the bench. Or, you know, in jail.”

“I won’t make any promises.”

Opening my mouth to argue more, I’m interrupted before I can get a word out.

“I need to ask you a question.”

My body tenses but only briefly before I remember I’m safe .

“That day in the locker room a couple weeks ago, when you told me to stop…”

He trails off, so I nod to let him know I remember.

“Was your mind…back there ? I only ask because I feel like you should know that’s normal.”

My mouth is suddenly dry. “Normal?”

“Don’t get me wrong. Very little about you is normal.”

I let out a quiet laugh. I can’t exactly argue with that.

“There are some sexual assault survivors who feel guilty, like it was their fault.” His face hardens when he adds, “Which is the most untrue thing in the world, by the way. But it’s normal for them to think that. When they think they deserved it, they tend to not draw boundaries for themselves and end up in situations that may be similar because they think they still deserve it. You don’t have to answer my question, if that’s what it was. I just need you to know that’s not what it was for me. I fucked up that day, but I’ll never fuck up again.”

I reach for his hand that’s lying on the sheets between us and link our fingers together. I can tell it’s eating at him, and I don’t want it to. Maybe he’s right on some level, but rationally, I know he wasn’t forcing himself on me.

“You have to stop beating yourself up over every little thing.”

“It’s not little.” There’s a hard determination in his voice and the way he squeezes my hand. “There will always be a boundary between us no matter how many times we fuck. That boundary is your safe word. I’ll always respect it, Callum. I just need to make sure you know that your trust in me when it comes to that isn’t misplaced.”

So not only did the boy obsessed with death find himself a serial killer, but that same boy who carries around trauma found himself a consent king.

Murder good, rape bad.

“You’re perfect,” I whisper.

He lifts both our hands and presses his lips to the back of mine. “So are you.”

“My turn to ask a question that you also don’t have to answer. How do you know all that?”

Earlier, I caught what he said about understanding more than I might think. I didn’t question it at the time, but after all of that, I can’t help but be curious.

He hesitates, then takes a breath as he brings my hand to hold it against his chest. “Someone I’m close to was attacked. It was bad. I wanted to know everything I could so I could be there for them. So I wouldn’t fuck up or say or do the wrong thing. Of course, I still did plenty of times.” He scoffs like he’s remembering one of those times. “But I researched as much as I could. I probably couldn’t be anybody’s therapist, but I know at least most of what I need to.”

“What about this obsession with death I have? Anything about that in your research?”

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “But the fact that it doesn’t bothers me a little.”

He nods like he understands. He probably does.

“Those thoughts I’ve had about trying to recreate that feeling myself do too sometimes. That’s, um…that’s why I had that panic attack that day in our lab.”

A look of realization crosses his face along with a faint smile. “Well, no. Nothing about that, unfortunately. I guess you’re just a freak. But it’s okay because I’m kind of obsessed with you.”

Leaning closer, he brings his mouth to mine. It’s another soft kiss like our first, a gentle press, a shifting of lips. I’m the one to deepen it, parting his lips with my tongue, seeking entrance. He grants it, and our tongues meet in a sensual dance that has heat flooding my belly.

I pull back. There’s no way I can survive another round right now.

“Fuck, I love kissing,” I murmur.

Because now that I’ve had my first one, a part of me never wants to stop.

“You better end that sentence with you .” His words come out in a growl that attempt to reignite that heat.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe I need to see if I’d like it just as much with other people.”

That growl turns into a literal fucking snarl as he shoves me down onto the bed on my back and straddles my waist.

Then his hand wraps around my throat.

It’s not squeezing. It’s…possessive.

It surprises me enough to have a gasp leaving my lips.

“Fuck.” Stone yanks his hand back just as fast as he put it on me.

I don’t know if it’s because he’s worried about hurting me, which he shouldn’t be. I’m pretty sure not hurting me is ingrained into his muscle memory at this point. However, if that’s what it is, it kind of pisses me off. I can handle his protective urges, but I don’t want him to hold back, even if I’m not quite sure just how much yet.

But maybe it’s the other thing. The thing about me not letting him call me his. Because that’s what it felt like without him using words.

His beautiful face is marred by another frown, and I hate the conflict in his eyes.

Reaching for his hand, I take hold of it and place it back around my throat.

That seems to add more conflict, but the tension in his body eases.

“I’m not made of glass, Stone.” One way or another, I’ll convince him. “I won’t break.”

He leans forward slightly, keeping his hand where it’s at. “How rough do you want me to be with you?”

“I don’t know yet.” I swallow, feeling his palm against my Adam’s apple. “I like this though.”

A smirk dances across his lips, making me want to kiss them again. “I can tell.”

He rolls his hips on top of me, grinding his bare cock against mine that’s currently thickening from the rush of blood. My hand is still on top of his, and I give it a gentle squeeze, moaning as the pressure grows just a little around my throat.

“I told you I’m not fucking fragile.”

“I know you’re not.” He presses his lips against mine in a quick kiss. “You handled being stuffed in the trunk of my car really well.”

I pull his hand off from around my neck and glare up at him. “You did not.”

He chuckles. “I did.”

It’s a good thing I woke up in the middle of the night because Stone had to drive us back out of town so I could pick up Jesse’s car. He had pulled the keys out of my pocket and parked it a couple streets over just in case.

And then apparently shoved me in his fucking trunk .

He’s lucky I understand his reasoning.

After we got a shower together—best fucking shower of my life—he put some makeup over the cut on my neck. He also apparently has experience with covering suspicious wounds.

By the time I make the drive home, I’m walking inside my apartment just after six in the morning. I come to a halt in the open doorway when I see Jesse standing behind the kitchen counter with a mug of coffee in his hands. He must’ve just woken up because his hair is in disarray, and he’s wearing nothing but pajama pants.

“You motherfucker.”

“I’m sorry.” I hang his keys on the hook and shut the door. “I didn’t mean to be out all night with your car.”

“I’m not worried about the fucking car, dude.” He places the mug down and walks into the living room, stopping in front of me with a crease between his brows. “I woke up and freaked out when you weren’t here. I tried to call, but you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

I’m close to losing my mind at everyone worrying about me. But, fuck…I feel bad for making Jesse worry in the first place.

“I’m fine. My phone died.”

“Do you want to tell me why you were out all night?”

I guess if I want to make it up to him, I could give him the truth. Or, at least, a version of it.

“I, um…I kind of had a date.”

His eyes go comically wide just before a grin stretches across half his face. “ You? A date?”

I shrug, but his grin is infectious.

He crosses the room and grabs my arm to pull me to the couch, making us both sit like he’s expecting to hear all the gossip he’s dreamed so long about. “Please tell me it was your dreamy teammate from that party.”

I don’t know if Stone would want me telling anyone or if he’s even out. But I could use someone to talk about this with myself. I’m definitely not having any kind of crisis about it, which he’d probably be proud of me for. And if I was going to talk to anyone, it’d be Jesse.

“I can tell you it was a guy.”

His grin widens, and he’s practically bouncing on the seat cushion. “So what is this? A gay awakening? Bi? Pan?”

I consider it, but none of them feel right. Stone might not be the first person I’ve felt at least a semblance of attraction to, but…I don’t know.

Is it possible to be Stone-sexual?

“Do I have to put a label on it?”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

It hits me all of a sudden why Jesse is my best friend. We’ve talked about all this before, and he’s voiced his theories. But he’s never pushed me.

“You could just use queer,” he continues. “Or no label at all. It’s completely your choice.”

Again, I contemplate it. That one feels right.

“Sure. If it’ll make you happy, we’ll go with queer.”

“It’s not about me,” he says, speaking with a little more gravity. “But I’m happy for you , Cal.”

It feels a little strange to be able to say that I’m happy too.

“Thanks, man.”

That mischievous twinkle returns to his eyes, and he waggles his eyebrows. “Wanna share anything else with me?”

Laughing, I shove him in the shoulder. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, fine.” He laughs too as he stands, going back for his coffee. “Don’t you have a game tonight?”

“Yeah. I should get ready for morning practice.”

I groan as I get off the couch, feeling a little sore everywhere. Whether it’s from getting fucked or stuffed into a trunk last night, I’m not sure.

At least that should make the game tonight interesting.