19. Grady

Hotels made the most sense and mitigated the risk of discovery, so we came up with a handful of reasonable options and cycled through them, never the same one twice in a row. We started with once a week and quickly moved to twice a week. We were insatiable, tangling together with hedonistic abandon as soon as one of us entered the room. I'd never experienced that level of desire before and was almost certain Cameron hadn't either, judging by his enthusiasm. Maybe it was the taboo of it all—that was what I told myself, anyway—but it was also because of him. The wild grins he'd give me when we met up, the lazy conversations we'd have after we got off, when we lay panting and exhausted next to each other. Every free second that wasn't spent on my book, Cameron's work shifts, or homework we spent together. I started spending more time working at the cafe during Cameron's shifts instead of in my office. He'd keep my coffee full, always topping it off with a cryptic smile that made me want to take him to a shadowed corner or a back room and taste the secret behind it.

When the expense started racking up, I said fuck it and told Cameron to come to my house, giving him instructions to park in the public spaces on side streets and walk from there. I'd leave my back door unlocked and wait.

The first time he came over, it was nearly midnight, yet before we fell into each other's arms, he'd asked for a tour. He'd poked and prodded through my things, looked at all my photographs, even examined the contents of my closet, flicking through my shirts and telling me which ones I should wear more often, which ones should never see the light of day again. Sometimes I wished I could do the same: walk through his room, examine his closet, peel back the layers of his life and who he was, item by item.

It was easy. So fucking easy that it made me regret the time I'd wasted by pushing him away in the beginning.

"Do you do that often?"I asked, our legs tangled together, both of us boneless with exhaustion after I'd bent him over the dining table I'd never eaten at.

After I'd come, we collapsed onto the couch, where I'd rubbed my fingers over his hole, then slipped them back inside. In his relaxed state, Cameron let me into that slick haven easily. I'd fucked my fingers in and out of him, slow and deep, caressing over his prostate with every thrust, and got the shock of my life when he cinched his thighs against the outside of mine, thrust his semi-hard cock against my stomach, and gasped with similar surprise, "Fuck, I'm coming again."

And he had, inexplicably and wondrously, another orgasm taking him in a smaller burst of warmth over my stomach. I'd kept my fingers buried in him until he settled, then slipped them free to pull him close, kissing his forehead, his brows.

Cameron offered a sleepy chuckle that made me smile. "Come hands-free? No. Come twice almost back-to-back? Also no. That was?—"

"Exceptional." That was the only word for it.

"I was gonna say crazy, but I like exceptional better." He tipped his head up to me.

"Good." I kissed the shy smile on his lips. "You didn't tell me you had a Daddy kink." We'd started out in my living room drinking coffee and had somehow landed in a Daddy role-play. It happened on occasion; we'd sort of half-jokingly stumble into various shades of kink and then end up running with it. The sexual liberties we took with each other had become one of my favorite things about our arrangement.

"I'm starting to get the idea I have more kinks than I thought. I didn't really know until now. Do you? Was that weird?"

"I think I might have unexplored or unknown kinks, too." I considered for a moment. "I loved it, Cameron. I didn't think it was weird at all," I quickly added on when his brows flickered together in a frown.

"Sometimes I'm worried I'm too weird. The stuff I like and want, it's…" He ducked his head and turned his gaze away from me, though I could still see the color that rose to his cheeks. "It's not really how I was raised. Sex is very…formal and not kinky and definitely wouldn't involve glory holes or anal beads or calling another man Daddy. In fact, it wouldn't involve a man at all."

I cupped his chin in my hand and directed his face toward me, his eyes lifting reticently to mine after a beat. The hint of a shadow I detected in them made me want to hurt whoever taught him about sex growing up.

"Listen to me, baby," I said, surprised that the endearment fell so easily from my lips, though it felt right somehow. "There's nothing to be ashamed of where sex is concerned. If it's consensual between two adults, there are no limits, no parameters, no fantasies or desires too perverted. Sex should be anything you want it to be. Fun, intense, fantastical. Dirty, sweet, loving. Any combination or adjective in between. There should be no gatekeeping on how someone chooses to express their sexuality or get off, aside from a consenting partner—which, I think we've determined, I very much am." I realized as I spoke those were the things I wish someone had told me, but I'd had to figure it out on my own, albeit, it sounded like, with much less difficulty than Cameron. "Religious family?" I guessed, and he nodded.

"Very. They're not down with the LGBTQIA at all. Or didn't used to be. They think sex should be between a man and woman and, even then, mostly to procreate. Not to, like, enjoy a lot." He exhaled a bitter chuckle. "I guess you would say we're sort of on shaky footing."

I wrapped my arms tighter around him. "I hope you realize that's their loss, then. None of that's on you."

Cameron nodded mutely, then sighed. "I guess you grew up with accepting parents and stuff. You've probably had all kinds of cool experiences that you never even considered feeling guilty about."

"I was raised by a single mom. She worked her ass off to give me and my sister the best she could. It didn't leave a lot of time for nurturing. But experience-wise, aside from a fumbling hand job and a kiss or two with men in college, I spent nine years married to a woman. I'm a late bloomer, I suppose. I didn't truly explore sex with another man until after my divorce."

"You're shitting me."

The surprise in his voice made me laugh again. "True story."

"Did you go buck wild and have sex with every dude you could?"

"Nope. I had a few encounters, enough to affirm those college handjobs, then ended up in a relationship that didn't work out very well."

"What happened? Is that rude to ask?"

"Nah. I think in my eagerness to be with another man, I took the first one that showed an interest and stuck around. I'm pretty sure he was more interested in a sugar daddy, and if you know a college professor's salary, they're not good sugar daddy material."

"Oh." Cameron gave me an understanding nod and then fidgeted with a curl near his temple. "There's something else about me. Fuck, I don't want to tell you, because I'm afraid you'll judge me, but I feel like I should since it hasn't really come up."

"As long as you're not underage and didn't fudge your STI test results, you shouldn't feel compelled to tell me anything you're reluctant to."

"No," he decided. "I want to. Being direct is sort of my thing now." He sketched a quick glance my way. "It didn't used to be. I'm—" He clamped his mouth shut with a pause, then continued resolutely. "My sophomore year, I kinda lost control. Coming to the U was the first time I had ever been away from my parents, the lifestyle I grew up in. I no longer had to go to church every Sunday and Wednesday, even though I told my folks I still did. I mean, I did do that, but only for the first few months of freshman year. Mark was my roommate in the dorms. He was super cool, the kind of guy I'd always wanted to be. Popular, and all that. We hit it off. He even helped me get into the fraternity he was rushing, and yeah, I definitely had a crush on him.

"So, sophomore year rolled around, and we were living in the frat house, partying all the time. I was in hog heaven, you know? I'd only had a single beer in my life my senior year of high school, and I felt guilty for a week afterward, like I'd personally offended God and betrayed my parents. But I guess something about being around other guys who were comfortable with themselves, and partying, and being away from my parents' influence, I was able to let my guard down. Maybe too much because…"

He fidgeted with that curl again. "One party I went to sophomore year, some people were taking pills, and this guy offered me one. I figured, why not? There were plenty of guys who did it here and there recreationally. But I liked it so much. Even better than booze. The fuzzy feeling I got in my head and body, no shame, no worry about what anyone else thought of me or if me liking guys was wrong. No worries about whether I was pissing God or my parents off. I got hooked on that feeling and the pills that gave it to me. I started hiding it after Mark got onto me. He was concerned, I could tell.

"We kinda messed around, too. Not penetration, but handies and stuff. He was one among many, though. I'd never done more than kiss a girl before that. Same thing. I'd sometimes feel guilty after, though, so I'd pop a pill, and it would go away. I got stuck in that cycle, I guess, needing more and more. Until I overdosed one night. Ugh."

He ducked his head away, and this time, I could tell he needed that moment of separation, so I let him have it. "Talk about shame and embarrassment and guilt and just…fuck. Mark found me and thought I was dead. It really fucked with him. He called the ambulance, took me to the hospital, stayed until my parents got there, then they kicked him out. They thought it was all his fault, that he and the school were a bad influence, causing me to stray from the path. That kind of thing. As soon as I was well enough to leave the hospital, they withdrew me from school and sent me to rehab. Rehab helped for sure with the pills, and I owe them huge for that. But it didn't tackle the guilt. It was church-based, and…well, once my head was on straight and I got out, I started going to NA meetings, which were less judgmental. My parents made me see a church counselor and wanted to send me to seminary and…I dunno.

"At some point, I figured out if I kept going that way, I'd die. Of shame, of pills, whatever. I'd relapse. So I left and found an alternative program online. No higher-power talk, just self-reflection, self-focus, and group support, which was way more up my alley. My parents cut me off financially, though. They're still not happy about me leaving but they also haven't given up trying to get me to come back, I guess."

Cameron rubbed his hands over his face with a sigh. "I know that's a lot. Fuck, I'm probably pretty broken. That's why I figured something like this—" He gestured between us. "—would be ideal. No strings, you know? I thought you should know that about my past, though."

I took my time digesting the story. Anyone would've said that everything Cameron had shared was a compounded risk factor on top of the massive risk we were already running. I knew plenty of statistics about addiction. I knew I should be worried about a relapse, or that if things soured between us, it could send him into a spiral, and that perhaps all addicts were unreliable.

"I'm not supposed to make promises about certain things," he said quietly. "But if I could, I would. Because I believe in myself. I'm never going back to that life." His solemn expression had me reaching for his hand, twining it with mine before I kissed the back of it.

"I believe in you, too." I tipped his chin up and brushed my lips over his. I'd made a career studying why people made the decisions they did. I knew every formula, every statistic, every pattern. And despite all of that, I was here, against all odds, with my own student. And I believed him. "Everyone's a little fucked-up. Personally, I've always thought there were two nonnegotiable truths in life: no one gets out alive, and no one comes into adulthood without a few broken parts."

"I like that."

His smile was timid and irresistible. I had to kiss him again. "I like you." The admission slipped out of me as effortlessly as the endearment earlier, even if unintentionally. "I wouldn't judge you based on that."

"I've been clean for two years. I keep up with my program and stay accountable to it." His eyes burned fiercely into mine. "I don't want you to think I'm some kind of risk, but I understand if you do."

"I think—" I considered my words carefully. "—that we're both a risk. I also think you're overthinking this right now."

He nodded fervently. "Oh, I know. I know, we're just messing around and stuff, not talking about long-term relationships or anything. So good, okay. Now I've said it."

We're just messing around… I considered for a moment if I wanted to say more and then decided maybe I shouldn't. The kinds of things I wanted to say were well beyond what we'd agreed on in the terms of our arrangement.