Out of Nowhere (17 page)

“Um… I… I don’t know.”

He leans back down so our hips are pressed together and murmurs in my ear, “Colin, I’m going to slide my hand down your pants and jerk you off until you scream my name.”

“Oh fuck!” My hips jerk up, desire sharp in the pit of my stomach.

Rafe half smiles at me. “See?”

“God damn it.” Why does that turn me on so much? Great, one more way I’m totally fucked up.

“Come on, doll,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth and sliding a hand down to my hip. “You’re so hot for this.” He grinds our hips together and a sweet pulse of pleasure spreads through me. I thrust my hips up again, chasing the sensation.

“Rafe, fucking come on,” I moan. I’m trembling, like my skin can hardly contain my reaction to him.

He slides a hand around to my ass and I jerk into the couch cushions, startled.

“What is it?” he asks.

I shake my head, trying to focus on Rafe rather than on shit from the past. “Nothing. Feels good.”

Rafe sighs. “Colin.” He’s searching my face. “I need you to be honest with yourself. It’s really important to me, okay? I can’t—
can’t
do something you’re not okay with. Please don’t put me in that position.” His touch on my stomach is soothing. “We have plenty of time. Okay?”

I nod. “I swear, I’m fine.” Lie. Total lie. But I don’t know what else to do. I want this. “I just don’t really know what the fuck I’m doing, okay?” Hopefully that will be enough of the truth to satisfy Rafe.

“Okay.” His voice is calm. “Can you tell me what you want right now?” He runs a hand over my hair.

I squeeze my eyes shut so I can pretend he’s not looking at me. I want to stop thinking about it. I want to stop talking about it. I just want to be caught up in it. “I… I want you to do… whatever.”

That didn’t really come out how I wanted, but Rafe shudders like it totally does it for him and lets out a breath, running fingers over my lips.

“You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

I nod and grip his shoulders as he slides a hand inside my pants. He palms my erection, and I cry out and grab for him.

“One thing,” he says, pulling back, and I groan. “You want me to be in control of this, you have to do something for me.” He looks serious as he takes my hand. “Words are hard for you. So, if there’s ever anything I’m doing that you don’t like and you want me to stop, and you can’t tell me, then you tap me three times. Like this. And I’ll stop.”

I nod and clear my throat, but my voice sounds all messed up. “Okay.”

“I’ll stop. Whatever I’m doing, I’ll stop. It doesn’t matter if it’s a kiss or a touch or I’m five seconds from coming. I will always stop. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” I choke out.

“And if you just need me to slow down so we can talk about it?”

“Rafe, please. Come on.” I’m burning up, straining beneath him to get some contact. Every word he says is turning me on more and more.

“What do you do if you need to slow down and talk about whatever is happening?” Rafe asks again. His voice is calm, but he slides his hand under my back and pulls me to him, grinding us together fiercely. I groan.

“Tell me, Colin. Tell me.”

“I—ungh!” His mouth is on my neck and I can hardly think. “I tap three times. Rafe, please. Please! Oh god!”

“You’re so fucking hot like this. Struggling underneath me. Desperate to come but waiting until I let you.” We kiss until our mouths are bruised. Rafe strokes a thumb along my neck, which leaves me shivering against him.

Shit, shit, shit. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m coming apart. And I shouldn’t like losing control like this. It’s dangerous. Too close to having it taken away. And when that happens—

“Oh god!”

Rafe’s hand on me is hot and slick with my own arousal and he’s moving so slowly. He runs his other hand up the inside of my thigh and squeezes my balls. I arch off the couch and start babbling. “Oh fuck, fuck. What are you—fuck!”

Rafe groans and squeezes my hipbones, holding me still. I make an effort to relax when I realize I’m gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise.

“Rafe, Rafe, that’s—I—”

“Good?” he drawls. “Or not good.”

“Good. Yes. Fuck. Please.”

He sinks his teeth into the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder and a jolt of pure lust rocks me.

“Rafe.” I sink my hand into his hair and strain up into his body. “I’m gonna….”

He strokes me fast and brutal, and I almost choke as I come all over his hand and my stomach and chest. Rafe ends up half on top of me, face pressed to my neck.

I start to untangle my fingers from Rafe’s hair and catch my breath. I want to say thank you, but I know it would sound stupid.

He kisses the corner of my mouth, and then he cups my jaw and kisses me for real. I can feel his erection against my hip, and become aware that he’s still fully clothed while my clothes are in total disarray and he’s made me come harder than I’ve ever come in my life.

“You’re—do you—what about you?” I finally choke out around Rafe’s demanding mouth.

“I’m… okay,” he says, easing off the kiss a little. He traces my lips with his fingers, then pulls off me and sits up.

“Come back here.” When he doesn’t move, I sit up, groaning after being mashed into the couch. “You’re so fucking stubborn.” Rafe just watches me through half-lowered eyelids.

I frown and tug gently at his shirt. He lets go of me and puts his arms up, allowing me to strip it off him. He’s fucking beautiful. The thought falls into my head, though I don’t think I’ve ever had it about another person. He’s broader than me: his frame is large and his muscles are rounded. One of my hands comes up and strokes his arm before I’m aware I’ve moved. Rafe sits, gamely letting me touch him.

“Will you?” I gesture to his jeans, and he immediately slides them down his long legs. His thighs and calves are defined and my eyes keep darting down to the bulge in his white briefs.

“Tell me exactly what you want to happen right now. Not what you think should happen. Not what you think I want. Don’t think about it. Just tell me.”

I blink stupidly at him, and he leans in and kisses me. I bring his hair forward so it envelops my face, and twine my fingers through it.

“Mmmm,” he hums. “Tell me.”

I shake my head, not sure what the hell to say, and lean closer to kiss his collarbone.

“Tell me,” he murmurs again. “Please.”

His
please
sends shivers down my spine.

“I want to watch you jerk off.” Oh god, did I just say that?

Rafe groans. “Fuck. Whatever you want.” He pushes his briefs down his thighs but doesn’t bother taking them all the way off. “Won’t take much.” He shakes his head and presses his thumb to my mouth, distracting me from staring at his dick, which is thick and uncut, straining against his muscled stomach. “Practically came just watching you.” His words are matter-of-fact but his voice is raw, and it fucking gets to me.

He palms his erection and looks at me through lowered lashes. I nod, my mouth dry. Rafe starts to move, slowly at first, like he’s trying to make it last, but he’s looking at me like he’s barely paying attention to what he’s doing. His mouth falls open and he catches his full bottom lip between sharp teeth. His eyes keep darting down to my hand so I reach out to him.

I’m expecting him to pull my hand down between his legs, but he just holds it while he strokes himself with the other, squeezing my hand as he arches into his own. It’s… shit, it’s so hot. Like I’m jerking him off by extension. But then it’s not enough and I lean against his shoulder and reach down, tentatively resting my hand on his erection. Rafe startles.

“Hey, you don’t have to.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. He releases himself. I move my hand on him and I guess it’s not so mysterious, since I do it to myself, but the feel of him, hot and hard and straining, makes my heart pound and sends a jolt of electricity through me. Rafe squeezes my hand and gulps.

“That feels amazing,” he says, bringing our hands to his mouth and kissing my knuckles. I squeeze him tighter and stroke him hard, twisting my hand a little over his foreskin. He shudders and groans and his head tips back. I press closer to him so I can feel the tremors running through him.

As I move my hand faster, Rafe lets out a string of curses and clamps his free hand down over mine. He strokes both of our hands up and down twice, and then he’s coming with a growl, his muscles rigid, our hands twisted up together.

He hisses as he strokes himself gently a few more times. I turn my head and press a kiss to his shoulder, and he leans into me.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. And it doesn’t really sound stupid at all.

OVER THE
next weeks, every few evenings after work, Rafe’ll come over, we’ll go running, eat dinner, and talk through movies I don’t care about. Rafe thinks about movies analytically, and he connects everything to politics and social justice. He’s explained a lot about the political organizing he’s involved with, but to be honest, I don’t get half of what he says. Fundraising and campaigns and direct actions and… well, really, a lot of it sounds like a shit-ton of meetings, and I’m not totally clear on what the end goals are. I try to listen but I kinda space out.

One night I guess I failed to hide my spacing out when Rafe was saying something about zoning exemptions, race, and charter schools, and he gave up and asked me to teach him the trick with the coin and the glass I showed the kids one Saturday.

I showed him over and over—coin in the center of the palm, tap the glass, slide the coin down, hit with the glass to pop the coin up and in—but he was hilariously hopeless, fumbling the coin and almost dropping the glass every time. He got frustrated at himself, and I teased him about taking everything so seriously. His very serious protests that he doesn’t take everything seriously cracked me up, and I finally got him to laugh too. Rafe doesn’t laugh much. Almost never. So when he does, it’s a total win. I celebrated by climbing on top of him and kissing him silly, narrowly avoiding shattering the glass.

He’s also told me a lot about his family. His two younger sisters are both crazy about him. Gabriela has two kids and is a nurse at Temple Hospital, and her husband, Alejandro, is some big-time contractor. She’s always inviting Rafe over for dinner so she can lecture him about settling down.

Luz calls Rafe to ask for advice about men, about problems with her apartment, and to talk about Camille, her fifteen-year-old daughter. Luz had Camille when she was sixteen and Rafe feels guilty about it because he thinks if he’d been home instead of in prison, she never would’ve gotten pregnant and dropped out of high school. Rafe has a major soft spot for Luz and Camille, though, so I doubt he’d actually want to change anything. Whenever Luz calls asking about a leaky faucet or a stuck window, Rafe goes over and fixes it for her right away, even though her landlord lives down the street.

Saturday workshops have been going well. It’s clearer and clearer that the kids are up for learning anything if they like the person who’s teaching it to them, but what they really want is a chance to hang out with each other in a place where they feel comfortable. Sometimes Rafe and I end up just standing around while they gossip or talk about movies and music and TV.

Watching them has made me think more about Daniel in the last few weeks than I ever have before. About what it might’ve been like if he’d had something like YA to go to. He was small for his age in high school—skinny and clumsy. His hair was always a mess and he had this expression when he was pissed off, which was most of the time, that I’m sure he thought was intimidating but really just looked like he was in pain. It was a beacon to anyone who picked on the kids who showed weakness. He was always coming home with black eyes and bruises and split lips. When Brian was still in school with him, we’d sometimes ask who he fought with so Brian could take care of it, but Daniel would never say.

“What’re you thinking about so hard?” Rafe asks, startling me. He strokes a hand up my neck and into my hair.

“Um, about Daniel, I guess.”

“You always think about him after we’re at YA.”

“Yeah, maybe. I watch them and the way they are with each other. I don’t think Daniel had… friends. Anyone to talk about stuff with.”

“None?”

“Well, he never brought friends home.” Of course, that could’ve been because he was embarrassed of us. “And Brian was in school with him when he was a senior and Daniel was a freshman, and he said he never saw Daniel talking to anyone. He got picked on a lot. He was scrawny.” I snort. “And mouthy.”

“Imagine that,” Rafe says and raises an eyebrow at me, which is as close as Rafe gets to teasing.

But he settles onto the couch with me, and it feels right having him here, even if I’m still not clear on exactly what’s going on between us.

Earlier in the week, while I was doing the dishes, Rafe’s sister Gabriela called. I was half listening to Rafe’s side of the conversation, amused at how often Gabriela cut him off to lecture him about something. It sounded like it might be about some family dinner. After a few minutes of being interrupted, Rafe came up behind me and dropped his forehead down on my shoulder, sighing in irritation. He’s too tall for it to have been comfortable for more than a minute, though, so he wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed against my back.

“Gabri, no— No, thank you. I appreciate it but— Well, he sounds— No—
Sí
, but— I’m sure he is— I don’t even know what that means, Gabri— Yes, I’m sure doctors do make a lot of— I don’t—
Por el amor de dios
, sis, stop!—
Porque
!— Fine, because I’m already seeing someone, okay?”

Rafe glanced at me, but I was careful to give the dishes my full attention.

I don’t know why it freaked me out that Rafe would say that. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know that’s what’s going on. I just don’t know what it means. About me. About the future. Anything.

Rafe was looking at me intently.

“
Hermana
, I have to go—no, I’m hanging up. I’ll talk to you later.
Te amo
. Okay. Colin?”