His other hand is gripping my hip as I slam down on him again and again.
“Fuck, Cameron,” he moans, and even the way he says my name turns me on. His mouth finds my nipple and his teeth bite before his tongue soothes away the sting.
And all of the sensations have me barrelling over the edge, my pussy squeezing his cock harder as I come.
“Caleb,” I groan as he roars his release, both of his hands now on my hips, moving me faster. I don’t know how much more I can take—everything feels like too much and not enough all at once. But then he starts to slow and captures my mouth with his in a gentle kiss, which is a complete contrast to how we just fucked.
He stands and I wrap my legs around his waist, his cock still in me, my hands linking around his neck as he starts to move. I don’t care where we’re going, and I’m too preoccupied with his mouth to even break the kiss and take a look.
But then I’m being laid on my back on a soft surface, with Caleb’s body on top of mine. His bed. At least, I presume it’s his bed.
And there, we engage in round two, and three.
And that was the start of our four-week fling. A fling that would stay with me for a long time and ended up being so much more.
We both knew that it was the beginning of the end…
“Caleb, what are you doing?” I ask in horror.
“It has to be this way,” he says, and I jump up from my seat and move over to him, placing both of my hands on his cheeks.
“No, it doesn’t,” I say firmly, my heart on the verge of actually breaking.
“Yes, Cameron, it does. We can’t do this anymore,” he says as he shrugs my hands off of him and walks around me, putting distance between us physically.
“Why the hell not? Because you’ve suddenly had an epiphany about my age?” I say, my voice raised and my anger rising to the surface.
“You’re the same age as my son, Cam,” he says, but I am ready with my response.
“And you knew that I was younger than you when you fucked me the first time and when you asked me for coffee,” I fire back, because what the hell has changed since then?
I glare at him, and I can see that he’s struggling with doing this. He doesn’t want this to stop, and neither do I.
“Come on, Caleb, we’re good together, you know we are,” I tell him, feeling despair wash through me.
He stares at me, minutes tick by, and then I see the shutters coming down, closing me out. His eyes have always been so expressive with me, and now they’re shutting me out.
I shake my head and drop my eyes to the floor, closing them for a second.
I’ve already fallen for him. This can’t be it. It just can’t be…
But it was.
The whirlwind four weeks we had together was over.
And considering we hadn’t known each other for long, it fucking hurt.
I’ve felt pain in my life—the passing of my parents being the worst. But losing Caleb showed me a new pain. I didn’t lose him because he was taken from me. I didn’t lose him because of an act of God where I couldn’t do anything to save him. No. I lost him because he made a choice.
He chose to leave me.
He gave up what was between us to save face—at least, that’s how I see it.
His pathetic excuse of age did nothing to quell the anger that festered inside of me for weeks. It did nothing to stop me from crying into my pillow night after night as I tried to get over him. The nights when my grandmother would hear me and come into my room and embrace me until I had cried myself to sleep. I told her about him, she didn’t judge, and she just did as much as she could to help me get past this life experience.
Needless to say, I recovered, I stopped crying, and I moved on with my life, but I never forgot.
It’s been three years since the best month of life. I can’t even pretend that it wasn’t, because nothing has ever come close. Maybe it was the excitement? Maybe it was the thrill of an older man being into me? Or maybe it was because I let him into my heart, and in a short time, he became my all.