Chapter 20 - Stone

We won both our games the weekend after Callum and I shared our secrets with each other. We shared a lot more than that, but I think it was the secrets that had us playing better than ever.

And this past weekend, we won two more.

The team’s spirits are high, but I doubt they’re as high as mine and Callum’s.

He’s stayed with me a few nights over the past couple weeks when one of us isn’t completely drowning in coursework. Those are my favorite nights. When he’s tucked into my bed, curled into my side.

It takes a hell of a lot of self-control not to call him mine when he’s awake.

When he’s sleeping is a different story.

He’s woken me up a couple of times by muttering in his sleep or squirming beneath the sheets. I wasn’t surprised to discover he has nightmares. I’d simply pull him closer to me and whisper in his ear that he was safe, and that seemed to calm him. I haven’t brought it up to him during the day.

I also still haven’t told him that I killed his stepdad.

I’m fucking terrified, alright?

I finally have him all to myself, and I’m not willing to risk losing him. My mind has convinced me there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance of that. Sure, Lewis Gibson was an awful excuse for a human being, but after I killed him, Callum was forced to leave his home and his friends and move to a completely different state. Maybe he won’t be as grateful as I hope.

I know I have to tell him one day, but it can wait.

Maybe when he’s finally ready to admit he’s mine.

With every orgasm I wrench out of him, I swear it brings him closer.

He decided to stay at his apartment last night because he had a paper to finish. We’ve attempted to do schoolwork at my place together, but we quickly learned that’s not going to work. His body is too damn distracting. And he’s no better. He’ll half-heartedly try to fight me off, but if he doesn’t use his safe word, I don’t stop. Because he doesn’t really want me to.

I still go slow with him. I’m still more gentle than what I know he could handle. He’s lashed out about it, but I’ve told him he has to let me learn his body and his limits.

Besides, he wasn’t complaining the night I mapped his entire body with my tongue.

I haven’t seen him today yet, and it’s making me a little antsy that I made it to our lab before him considering he’s typically the first to arrive to class. I’m just about to text him when he finally shows up. I hate that my instinct was right.

There are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair’s a little messier than usual. He yawns as he sits on the stool next to mine.

“Did you not sleep last night?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the concern out of my voice. I know he doesn’t like it, but I’m too fucking protective to be able to help it.

“I did. Just stayed up late to finish my paper.”

I can tell he’s not giving me the whole truth by the way he avoids my gaze as he takes his lab manual out of his bag.

“Callum.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t sleep well, okay? That’s all.”

I wonder if it was because of his nightmares. But I’m not going to do what he hates and treat him as though he’s fragile.

Instead, I lean over and lower my voice. “Probably would’ve slept better in my bed.”

He looks at me now, and a tired smile slowly forms on his face. “Probably.”

See… learning .

Before the professor starts class, she walks around the room, depositing stethoscopes on each table along with our lab assignments. The first part of the lab is to listen to our partner’s breathing and record our observations.

I pick up the stethoscope first and clean the earpieces with an alcohol wipe. Spinning around to face Callum, I wait for him to do the same before grabbing the bar of the stool and dragging it closer until his legs end up between mine. He jerks and grabs onto the table. Like I would’ve actually let him fall.

Inserting the earpieces in my ears, I grab the stem of the stethoscope. With my other hand, I lightly brush my fingertips down the column of his throat.

His breath hitches. “What are you doing?”

“Locating your larynx like the instructions say,” I tell him while attempting to keep a grin off my face and my tone full of innocence.

Judging by his weak glare, he doesn’t buy it.

Placing the diaphragm of the stethoscope against his chest, over his shirt and just beneath his larynx, I listen to his tracheal and bronchial sounds. While our gazes are locked, I move the diaphragm a little lower.

“Breathe deep.”

He does, and I listen to the smooth flow of air into his lungs.

“Exhale.”

He does that too.

“Did you know…” I raise a finger and trail it down over his right pec before stopping and pressing firmly. Holding Callum’s gaze hostage, I keep my voice low. “When someone’s stabbed in the lung, you can hear a sucking sound? Sometimes there’s a little bubbling when air enters the chest cavity.”

The noise in the stethoscope grows a bit louder, still smooth but a little more erratic. His eyelids flutter, and he shifts on his stool.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You can’t do that right now.”

“What am I doing?” This time, I don’t even try to disguise my smirk. “I’m just educating.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should try hands-on experience.”

Sighing, I drop the stethoscope and turn back to the table to jot down some bogus notes inside the blank box on our lab assignment.

It’s not the first time he’s brought it up. I know he’s itching to watch me kill again, probably because he knows that now he’ll be able to get up close and personal with death. I haven’t felt the urge to do it these last two weeks because I’ve actually been happy . But if I’m bringing him along for my next kill, then I have to be prepared. Much more than I’ve ever been before. It’ll take time to plan and arrange things. I won’t just be jumping into it like I’ve often done.

We move onto the rest of the lab that includes labeling parts of the respiratory system and answering a few questions. When we’re the first ones to finish, we hand in our assignments and leave together. We don’t get far down the hallway before Callum is pulling me into the same classroom I took him to when he was having his panic attack.

He closes the door and then shoves me against the wall beside it. Before I can even blink, he smashes his mouth against mine.

He’s attacking me with his tongue and teeth until I attack back.

It’s a fucking battle for dominance I didn’t realize I craved with him.

When he grinds against me, I feel the evidence of his mutual desire.

Going on the offensive, I grab the front of his shirt and spin us around until it’s his back pressed to the wall. I thrust against him and bring my other hand up into his hair, gripping it tight. Tugging his head back, I move my mouth to his throat, kissing and licking my way down. Over his pulse point that I’m quickly becoming obsessed with.

“Fuck, Stone,” he moans as we continue rutting against each other. “When do I get to watch you again?”

I pull back, narrowing my eyes at him as I move my hips away from him as well, denying him friction. My next words come bursting out of me. “Are you using me?”

“What? No.”

“So if I told you I didn’t want to kill in front of you?”

He frowns, but he doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I’d still want you.”

Relief has my shoulders slumping as a weight lifts off of them. I didn’t realize how much that thought was killing me.

“I’m sorry,” he says like he realizes it too. “I can wait until you’re ready. I’ll drop it. I swear.”

I nod as I press myself against him again. “Just be patient, baby. I’ll make it worth the wait. I promise.”

Our mouths come together again in another war of tongues. I feel him push against me, but I refuse to budge, instead grinding against him harder than before. Again and again and again.

His head hits the wall when he throws it back, panting as I kiss and bite along his jaw.

“Fuck. Stone, you’re gonna make me—”

His body shudders against me before he can get the rest of his words out. A mere few seconds later, I’m right there with him, my boxers flooding with cum.

The room is quiet save for the sounds of our breathing returning to normal and the footsteps that echo out in the hall.

Callum squirms and groans, grimacing uncomfortably. “Dick.”

I chuckle and pat him on the cheek. “You started it. Looks like we’re going commando the rest of the day.”

A few days later, I show up to practice about half an hour early to get some solitude on the ice. Callum’s joined me a couple of times, which I haven’t minded one bit. But I think he respects my ritual more than he needs to—he’s the only person alive I don’t mind spending that time with—because he’s refused the majority of my invitations.

After changing into my gear and grabbing my stick on the way out of the locker room, I’m passing by Coach’s office when heated whispers reach my ears.

I hobble closer on my skates and lean my ear toward the door. The words I manage to catch are broken and few.

“I’ve tried to…again…”

“You’re not…need to prove…”

“…with Callum…same line…trust me…”

“…staying on the first line…keep him happy…”

There’s movement inside, maybe a shuffling of furniture. Before anyone can come out of the office, I turn and head back to the locker room. Once inside, I close the door behind me and press my ear against the wood. A few seconds later, I hear the door to the office open and footsteps march past.

When I crack the door open and peer out, I see the back of Eric’s head just before he turns the corner.

What the fuck was that all about?

Leaving the locker room for a second time, I head down the tunnel with my mind reeling.

As I get out on the ice, I try to piece together the few words I caught from Eric and Coach’s conversation. Skating circles around the rink, I replay them over and over in my head.

They were talking about Callum and the first line. Those are the only real bits of information I was able to glean. Since it was Eric, of course my mind wants to assume he’s trying to weasel his way onto the first line with Callum for reasons .

I don’t give a fuck what line he or I are on.

He’s not getting any closer to Callum than he already is.