14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Callum

Michael freaking Endicott was in my bed!

It was every adolescent, high school fantasy I had ever conjured, come to life.

Had I really told the man he couldn't kiss me?

I was a freaking idiot!

It was like I opened my mouth, and a complete stranger had taken over. Oh no, Michael, you can't kiss me. I want the setting to be absolutely perfect. And it's way too soon for us to lock lips.

Fucking. Idiot.

Huffing out a puff of air, I flipped from my side to my back and stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. The moon was bright tonight, letting in enough light that I could make out the outline of objects in the room.

Once our bellies had been filled with pizza, the events of the day had us both yawning. We'd shared the bathroom, each of us going about our nightly routine, and deciding we would worry about showering tomorrow.

I had watched Michael strip down to his black boxer briefs, biting my lip as his well defined chest and abs had been on full, delectable display. He had caught me, smirking, but hadn't commented. Instead, he had climbed beneath the sheets of my bed–my bed!–his back against the headboard, arms crossed behind his head, and waited while I had undressed down to my briefs, and gingerly climbed in next to him.

When I had placed my glasses on the nightstand and reached out an arm to turn off the bedside lamp, he had gently caught my chin with his hand and turned me to face him. He had scooted down and lay on his side, propped up by his elbow.

Staring at him with wide eyes, my body had tensed, my breathing speeding up.

"Can you see me?" he indicated my glasses with his head.

Softly smiling, I nodded. "I'm nearsighted, so yeah, I can see you perfectly. Now if you go across the room, I'll know it's you, but you'll be all fuzzy and out of focus."

We were so close like this, barely any space between our faces, and I could feel the ghost of his warm breath whisper across my skin. Seeing me shiver, he frowned, pulling the blankets over my shoulders.

The tiny act had been so sweet, done without thought, that I hadn't had the heart to tell him I wasn't cold. The exact opposite was true, in fact.

"Good night, Callum," Michael had whispered, his eyes lingering on my lips. "Thank you for everything today."

"For binding us together? Not my finest work." I had teased to break up the unresolved sexual tension that hung over us like a cloud.

He had stared at me for a long time, before whispering, "Actually, yes. I think the binding part was my favorite thing that happened today."

And with those cryptic words he had rolled over, presenting me with the long, lean line of his smooth back. Turning out the light, I had plunged the room into darkness and waited for sleep to claim me.

I was still waiting.

My mind was whirling with all the events of today, and what it all meant. Not to mention, I was tense as fuck laying next to Michael in the dark, in my bed, both of us nearly naked. My muscles were tight, nervous energy strumming through my veins.

Michael was not what I had expected. Not that I had expected him. But maybe I should have? My cards had said a new love interest would enter my life, and here he was .

Michael was smart, funny, extremely good looking, sexy as sin, and he actually seemed to like me. That last part was what was tripping me up.

On paper, we had nothing, not one thing, in common. I didn't know all that much about Michael's life, but I knew we ran in completely different circles. Always had. And I knew he'd never be happy settling down in Salem. The man had left faster than a speeding train after graduation, and despite being only forty or so minutes away, rarely came back to visit. From what his mom had said, even then, he didn't stay long.

So why would he ever be interested in me? I was too skinny, and nothing exciting to look at. My family owned an occult shop, and oh yeah, we were witches. The real deal kind of witches, not the wannabe kind. We did witchy things, and owned a witchy store, and our business, which paid our bills, revolved around all things witchy. Michael wasn't a believer, or at least he hadn't been. By his own admission, he barely even knew the town's history, beyond the basic knowledge of the famous witch trials.

Had I somehow fucked up and placed an accidental love spell on him? Was that why he was interested in me? Was it nothing more than my wonky witch magic causing all of this? Would Daphne return next week and unravel all the spells, and this little bubble of love…er, lust…er, attraction…that was better, would vanish. Poof, like a puff of smoke, everything would go back to the way it had been, and Michael would look at me and see what I saw in the mirror each morning.

A geeky guy, with glasses that constantly slid down his nose, wild hair that he could never get to do what he wanted, and not a single muscle with any definition.

I hadn't been to college, happy to spend my days in our shop, reading cards and hoping for a tip, content in my house and hometown with my cat.

In a nutshell, I was boring.

And Michael was the exact opposite.

Huffing for about the twentieth time, I turned onto my side, trying not to jostle the mattress as I did. Hex, who had been perfectly happy to take up the space between Michael and me, had gotten annoyed with my tossing and turning minutes ago and fucked off to who knew where, fluffy tail high in the air.

"Oh my God," Michael groaned, wrapping his arms around me from behind, and stilling my restless movements with a heavy, toned thigh over mine. "It's like being in bed with a fish flopping around on the shore."

"Sorry," I whispered, trying not to notice the soft bulge pushing against the crease of my ass. No guy's bulge should fit so perfectly or feel so good. Holding myself stiffly in his arms, as he made me the little spoon, I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to sleep. Where was the freaking sandman when you needed him ?

"Why are you so tense?" Michael demanded, running a hand down my arm, his touch soothing.

"Because I'm in bed with my high school crush and I'm freaking out!"

Had I just said that out loud? Please tell me I had kept that inside my head, where it safely belonged.

"You had a crush on me?" Michael whispered, answering my silent question.

After about ten seconds of silence, I whispered, "Yeah, I did."

"I…umm," Michael hedged.

"Didn't know I existed?" I helpfully supplied.

"Kind of," he admitted, sounding upset. "I mean, I sorta remembered you."

"I'm not used to sleeping with anyone," I said, to change the topic off of unrequited crushes. Sean had been the first guy that had ever slept in my bed, for sleep. But this, what was happening between Michael and me, plus the circumstances that had brought us here, were not the same as Sean and me being cuddly.

Michael's warm breath ghosted over the shell of my ear, and my entire body shivered. "You think I am? My unwillingness to even let someone sleep in my bed is what got me into this mess in the first place."

Frowning, I turned my head a little, to try to see his face. "Yeah, so what exactly did happen?" Because the events leading up to his arrival were a bit murky .

Michael was quiet for so long, I finally whispered, "You don't have to tell me. It's not my business."

He shook his head, and I felt the movement rather than saw it. Then his quiet voice broke the stillness. "Have you ever had a moment where you realized you might not be the person you thought you were?"

Staring at the outline of my dresser in the dark, I tried to decipher what he was asking. "I don't think so."

His chest rose and fell against my back, his fingers trailing up and down my arm, and in that moment Michael seemed vulnerable. It dawned on me that I had probably seen a side of Michael today that he didn't show to many people.

I had gotten to see the real Michael.

Not the high school hotshot, good at everything he did, the guy everyone wanted to be friends with. Not the rising star of a prosecuting attorney who could do no wrong. Not the man who lived in a penthouse condo, and who was out at clubs every night, picking up some stranger to take home and fuck, before sending him on his way.

No, the Michael I had spent the day with had been a little scared, but also funny and sweet. Unguarded.

"All my life I thought I was this nice guy," his voice was barely above a whisper, "but I don't think I really was. I don't think I was a nice guy at all. And I don't really know what to do with that realization. "

Turning in his arms brought our faces together, but also our cocks. The slight friction of our dicks rubbing against each other had mine semi-hard in an embarrassing amount of time. Ignoring it for the time being, I stared into Michael's eyes, the moonlight cutting a swath across his jawline.

"The guy I spent the day with was pretty nice," I traced a finger over the scrunched up spot furrowed between his brows, trying to smooth it out.

He gave me a shaky half smile that was so not him. Michael was the poster child for swaggering alpha male. He was cool and confident with a James Dean vibe that I had always been envious of. "Where's this coming from?"

He swallowed hard, and when he tilted his head and a moonbeam caught his eyes, they were glistening. "I think I…I really thought I was this good guy, you know? Like I helped people, and I put the bad guys behind bars, and I was fucking untouchable. And unstoppable. But I think maybe I was just a cocky, arrogant prick who was just lucky. Or maybe spoiled? Because when I lost that first case, it was like someone yanked the rug right out from under me. And I'm ashamed to admit I did not handle it well. At all."

Not sure what to say to that–did I agree with him or tell him what he wanted to hear to make him feel better?–I just stayed quiet and listened. If Michael wanted–needed–to talk, and he wanted to talk to me, I was going to hear him.

"Derek found me basically having a temper tantrum in the men's room of the courthouse, and told me that despite what I thought in my own head, I was actually as mortal as everyone else, and sometimes you don't win."

"Ouch." Wincing at his friend's harsh truth, I knew Macy and I talked to each other the same way. Hell, Daphne and I did, too. Friends who could tell you the God's honest truth were hard to come by, and good to have.

"And instead of hearing him tell me that people found me arrogant, and that losing one case wasn't the end of the world as I knew it, I blamed it on a non-existent curse or spell, or whatever. Like I couldn't even accept responsibility for losing."

"I never said it didn't exist," I pointed out. "It's very real. Just not that strong, and unless the witch who cast it was into some black magic, it wouldn't be the cause of all the bad things that had happened to you. I can tell you with certainty that it's not black magic. Not even a born witch. Just a weekend wannabe with access to the internet." Grinning and trying to lighten the mood, I added, "Now this binding spell? That's from a real witch. Top notch spell caster, that guy."

Michael snort laughed, his arms tightening around me, and pulling us even closer. My cock twitched in my briefs, very interested, but I ignored him. This was definitely not the time .

"I don't know, I'm not unhappy with the turn of events. There are worse things I can think of than being bound to you, Callum."

Nodding, I buried my face in the warm skin of his chest, hiding from the emotions his words bubbled up inside me. Taking a deep breath, I basked in the spicy, musky scent that was Michael.

"But even the bad luck spell, or whatever it is, was my own assholey doing. I went to the clubs at least once a week, picked up some faceless, don't-tell-me-your-name-because-I-don't-care twink to take back to my place, fuck, and then would tell them they needed to leave. Because I couldn't deal with sleeping next to any of them. Didn't want to wake up in the morning and have to face them. For no other reason than I was a selfish asshole who didn't want to share the covers or spend a restless night trying to get comfortable with a stranger next to me. I'm probably really lucky the worst thing that has ever happened was some pissed off guy put a spell on me to have a bad day."

"I'm a stranger, and you seem fine sleeping next to me," I felt the need to point out, because at one point Michael had fallen asleep, his soft, quiet snores breaking up the silence of the room. Until all my restless tossing about had disturbed him.

As far as the other stuff Michael had just confessed, I wasn't sure how to respond. I was stuck in that weird limbo place of wondering if I should try to make him feel better or tell him truthfully what I thought about any of it. Since I liked having his arms around me, and I liked the way our cocks felt anytime one of us moved, causing a slide of friction, and we were literally bound together for almost two weeks, I thought it better to say nothing.

He shook his head, the movement causing a soft sandy colored lock to fall over his forehead. "You don't feel like a stranger, Callum."

Fuck, the way the man said my name melted my insides like hot lava. Most people rushed all the syllables together, and it usually sounded like Cal-um. But when Michael said my name, it was always sexy and drawn out, like he didn't want to rush it.

"I feel like I've known you my entire life," he continued softly, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight, filled with a heat that hadn't been there a minute ago. "I feel like when you look at me, you see me. The real me. The man I could be. That you don't see the successful attorney, or the expensive condo, or the old Salem money I come from. You look at me and you just see Michael. And it feels really, really good."

Palming his cheek, I ran my hand down his jaw, feeling his evening stubble scrape lightly against my skin. Need and desire raced through my body with a force so hard my limbs shook .

"Michael?"

"Yes, Callum?" My dick jerked at my name on his lips, soft, drawn out, and oh so sexy.

"I need you to kiss me now."

His brows rose, a smile tugging at his lips. "Right now?"

"Right fucking now."

The first touch of his lips on mine wasn't like I ever imagined a kiss with him would be. In my teenage wet dreams, his lips were strong, a little forceful, demanding.

The reality was a soft brushing of lips over mine, a gentle tease, the barest of caresses that managed to sear my very soul like no kiss had ever done. There was no tongue, no demand for entrance or to be let in. It was just enough for us to each get a taste of what was to come.

He pulled back after a minute, his eyes soft and full of wonder, his smile mischievous.

"I don't put out on the first date, Mr. Turner," Michael told me primly. "Go to sleep."

He turned me in his arms with a quickness and ease that was frankly startling, and once again I found myself the little spoon to his big. Cocooned in the warmth of his arms and legs wrapped tightly around me, his warm breath ghosting the back of my neck as he settled himself, all of our parts fitting perfectly together.

Surprisingly, sleep came quickly, my lips still tingling from the sweetest, yet somehow hottest, first kiss I'd ever had .

The reality of kissing Michael Endicott was so, so much better than anything any of my silly high school fantasies had ever dreamed up.

So. Much. Better.