Chapter Eleven

Mitch

T yler ended up collapsing on the couch last night at a little after 9 pm, his breath warm and spicy against my chin as I tucked him in under a fluffy blanket. After a shower that left him looking flushed and sated, he managed to scarf down five hot dogs with what I estimated to be a gallon of root beer. Bree stayed glued to his thigh the entire time, looking at him like he was the best thing to drop into her life. Like he was the puzzle piece that had been missing all along. I don’t know if dogs can look happy, but at that moment, I swear to God that Bree looked damn happy, her snout carefully snatching the little pieces of hot dog Tyler snuck her when he thought we weren’t watching.

When Cal and I went upstairs for an early night, too, Bree just turned around in circles a few times before she laid down on the floor with a contented sigh, right next to the couch. Looking up at Ty adoringly, she stole a few licks against his left hand hanging over the edge of the couch before she, too, crashed.

In the darkness, Cal and I made love under the moonlit sky, stars exploding above our naked bodies. Cal’s skin was glowing as he laid under me, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, his blue veins like a thousand illuminated rivers. As my fingers dug into his solid pecs, he fucked into me as I rode him toward that place that is ours and ours alone. His and mine. I’ve lost count of the number of times Cal and I have fucked in the small loft since the very first time he brought me here. Hundreds, probably. But last night was different. Or rather, Cal was different. He was quiet, a focused frown between his dark blond brows, his lips strained between his soft beard.

Cal’s never quiet when we fuck. He’s mouthy. Loud. Sometimes he’s ‘soft-loud,’ calling me his love , his heart , his everything , moaning endearments into my mouth, against my neck, between my thighs, inside my hole. Other times he’s nasty and rough, calling me his fuckhole, his cum dump, his hungry, insatiable slut. But he’s never quiet. Even when he came inside me, he was quiet, his face distorted from his orgasm, his hot cum setting me aflame from the inside as I came all over his stomach and chest. He was quiet when his spent cock slipped from my tender hole, and he was quiet when his feet padded across the hardwood to the drawers to get some wipes. He was quiet when he cleaned me ever so gently and when he then pulled me against his chest, pressing featherlight kisses into my hair, murmuring a raspy ‘ Night, babe’ against my temple.

Cal’s not quiet now though, his deep baritone reassuring someone—Tyler—that he’s doing great.

“You’re doing great, kid.” Cal’s words drift toward me where I’m standing just inside the door, panting and sweating. It was still near dark when I woke, Cal lying comatose next to me, hugging the comforter, his thick limbs splayed all over the place. Sneaking quietly from the bed—because I knew he would pull me right back if he woke up—I quickly put on my running gear and went for a run in the woods, along the stream. I only ever run when we’re at the cabin, the quiet birdsong surrounding me and cheering me on. I don’t like running in the city. There’s no peace. No space.

“I can’t fucking do it,” Ty counters. He’s standing between the island and Cal, sticky dough hanging from his fingers. His cheeks are flushed and his bottom lip is shaking slightly. Cal’s large frame hovers over him, taking in the gooey mess. “See?” Ty groans. “It’s not working.” He tries to wipe the dough from his fingers but he only makes it worse, getting some on his shirt, too. It’s pink today. Popsicle pink. There’s no text on the front, though, just a rainbow. A rainbow that matches his headband that’s sitting slightly askew. “I fucking hate this. Dumb fucking traitor dough.” He turns his head toward Cal, who just looks at him, amusement playing along his lips.

“You like that word a lot, huh?” Cal smiles a smile that I haven’t seen before. A dull sting moves through my chest because I was sure that I’d seen them all since most of them were mine. “Traitor,” Cal hums.

“So what?” Ty snaps. “It’s your fault, Cal. You made this fucking dough all wrong just to mess with me, didn’t you?” He looks back down at the dough like he wants to kill it or cry, or maybe even both.

“There’s nothing wrong with the dough, brat,” Cal says, a warning edge to his voice, his face serious. “You’ve got this.”

“I can’t,” Ty nearly whispers, an edge of defeat to his voice that makes me want to run to him and squeeze him against my chest.

“You can and you will,” Cal instructs, his voice low and husky, going straight to my gut. “It’s just like at the bakery. Nothing more, nothing less. You’ve got this, Ty.” Ty. Fuck. The base of my spine is burning, sweat from the morning run trailing down my back, my T-shirt sticking to my skin, all clammy now.

Tyler shakes his head, his cinnamon eyes glistening. Pushing away from the island, his back now flush against Cal’s front, he looks like he’s ready to run all the way back to LA, dough on his hands, flour in his hair. As he’s about to turn, Cal boxes him in, his big hands moving to Ty’s, placing them on top of his more slender ones, pinning them against the flour-dusted island. Ty sucks in a breath, looking down at their hands, or rather Cal’s hands, because Ty’s have completely disappeared beneath them.

At that very moment, the air changes. It becomes electric, pungent, laden with a tension that’s new, but also with undertones of something that’s the sum of everything happening all at once. Because, as Cal’s large hands start moving on top of Ty’s, kneading the dough together, my chest tightens, and it’s like I have no air. I suddenly have no damn air.

While tense at first, Ty slowly relaxes as they work the dough together like one person, almost. Leaning his head back against Cal’s chest, Ty’s eyelids flutter closed, and a small sigh leaves his lips. My husband smiles knowingly, his eyes glowing as his gaze moves between Ty’s face and the island. Their fingers aren’t intertwined, just hands moving on top of hands, bringing the dough together.

“See,” Cal hums. “See how it all comes together?” Tyler nods against his chest. “All it needed was a little TLC, Ty.” Tyler sucks in another breath and a low whimper breaks through the monotone humming of the dishwasher. At first, I can’t place it, but when I understand the origin of that whimper, my cheeks flush with shame while my body burns with arousal. That whimper was mine. Mine . “You can’t force it,” Cal continues, his voice a low purr. “Patience is a baker’s best friend, kid. Patience and respect for the dough. And tenderness,” he adds, as he looks up from the island, his gaze connecting with mine across the room.

Cal doesn’t leave me time to feel the embarrassment of being caught ogling them, invading this private moment between them. Smiling at me, he winks, his hands not leaving Ty’s. Pride blazes in his eyes and I know that it’s directed at Ty. He’s proud of him. And, for some reason, I don’t know what to do with that insight. Because it turns me on beyond words, this nurturing, confident side of Cal. Not a parent and not a boss. More like a mentor. The way he guides and reassures Ty so calmly and gently, with an authoritative edge to his voice. It’s the hottest goddamn thing ever.

“There you go,” Cal coaxes, his fiery gaze locked on mine. My dick thickens in my running shorts and I just manage to swallow down a groan before it slips from my lips.

“Look!” Tyler beams, his voice suddenly spilling over with confidence. “It’s working, Cal-Bear.” He smiles. “It’s fucking working.”

“Of course it is.” Cal chuckles, the sound doing all sorts of weird stuff to my chest, my loins, my balls. At this moment, Cal is the sexiest I’ve ever seen him. He’s the sum of every wet dream I’ve ever had. As his beefy arms box Ty’s slight frame against the island, I’m seconds away from just pulling out my throbbing cock and frantically beating it off to this wondrous spectacle in front of me. I’m so turned on that I have to steady myself against the back wall, afraid my legs are going to betray me.

Come, baby, Cal mouths at me, his now soft gaze pulling me in. The ambiguity isn’t lost on me, or maybe I’m just delusional. Yet I move. Mesmerized, like a snake moving to some obscure, unknown tune, I move across the floor, my body almost floating on its own. And it’s not like I’m just physically moving from one place to another. No, it’s like I’m also moving from one version of reality to another. A reality I always assumed was fixed and secure since meeting Cal. A reality that’s now morphing into something else before my very eyes. Something I have no name for, but has left me feeling every single feeling in the universe all at once.

“Mitch!” Tyler calls out as he notices me. “Look,” he beams, nodding at the smooth dough. And I look. But not at the dough. I look at Ty, taking him in, really taking him in, for perhaps the first time since he came back into my life. The flour caught in his dark hair like snow clinging to branches on the first day of winter. The dried, crusty dough smeared across his chin, next to his dimple, resembling something else that I shouldn’t be thinking about right now. His dimple. Shit, how could I forget that Ty has a dimple? Not two. Just one when he throws me that crooked smile of his. A smile that’ll make you do just about anything.

“I’m baking banana buns,” Tyler grins, his pearly white teeth glistening as he looks between Cal and me. “Right, Cal-Bear?”

“Sure are, kid,” Cal grits. Looking between two pools of hazel and two pools of cinnamon, I manage to choke out, “Looks yummy, Ty.” What the hell? Looks yummy?

“ You look fucking yummy, babe.” Cal winks at me, licking his lips suggestively. My mind zones out all the way to La-La Land while my cock is trying to drill a tunnel through my shorts—that are leaving nothing to the imagination. “Unlike this brat,” Cal reaches out and ruffles a hand through Ty’s hair, small clouds of flour flowing from his locks. “You’re a goddamn mess, kid,” he chuckles fondly, a tenderness in his eyes that speaks volumes. He cares about him. Cal cares about Ty. And it’s the sexiest damn thing ever.

“I am not ,” Ty protests, rubbing at his cheek, smearing more flour on his face. “I’m a pro,” he bites out, puffing out his slim chest.

“You sure are, kid,” Cal smiles, his fingers sweeping along Ty’s chin, rubbing at the smooth skin, wiping away the dried dough. My mouth goes dry, and I want to replace Cal’s fingers with my own. Or better yet, with my tongue. I want to know what Ty feels like, tastes like, and what sounds he’ll make when I touch him. When Cal touches him. When Cal and I touch him together. Shame battles with lust inside me, leaving me confused and horny as hell.

“You look flushed, Mitch,” Tyler breathes, his eyes wide, sucking me in. “You okay, old man?” he teases, pulling a low growl from Cal’s chest, which he either doesn’t notice or decides to ignore. “You need me to give you a little TLC, Mitch?” he purrs, wiggling his fingers in front of him. “I’ll give you a good rubdown while the buns are in the oven, loosen up those tight muscles,” he smiles, the little brat. “I’m really good with my hands, Daddy, ” he half-moans, as Cal coughs next to him, his elbow sending the bag of flour flying to the floor with a thump, clouds of white rising behind them.

“Ty,” I say warningly, my fingers threatening to leave imprints on the kitchen island. “Behave yourself.” But of course, the little fucker reads my mind because the last thing I want is for him to behave. I like this version of Ty. Bratty and… and carefree. Smirking at me, Ty looks over his shoulder at Cal, who’s bending to clean up the flour, his burning gaze clearly trailing along Cal’s backside while he tortures his bottom lip.

“Of course,” he says, his eyes finding mine again while he smiles endearingly, mouthing Daddy . “But the offer still stands. Anytime.”

I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to rile me up, trying to get me to explode, but as wrong and surreal as this conversation is, I can’t help but wonder how his hands would feel on my skin if I were to take him up on his offer. And a little later, as I leave Tyler and Cal to finish up the banana buns and frantically abuse my cock under the cool spray of the outside shower, it’s still all I can think about. Ty’s hands on me. His mouth on me. His sounds. His whimpers and his moans intermingled with much deeper ones. Because Cal is there too, doing things to Ty who’s doing things to me. Unspeakable things that—although they should feel wrong—just make me come harder than I’ve ever come before.