Chapter 1 – Arrival
The tires of Caleb’s old sedan crunched over the gravel driveway, the sound swallowed by the dense pine forest. He killed the engine and stared. The cabin wasn’t a cabin. It was a razor-sharp wedge of glass and steel bolted to the edge of a jagged cliff. Below, a vast lake stretched to the horizon, its surface the colour of used motor oil, rippling with a slow, hypnotic pulse under the grey sky.
He checked his phone again. No new messages from his dad. Flight delayed. Croft will get you settled. Make yourself at home. The text from six hours ago felt cold now, sitting in this unnatural silence.
The front door, a massive slab of charred wood, swung open before he could even knock.
“Caleb. Right on time.” Julian Croft leaned in the doorway, a silhouette against the warm light inside. He was taller than Caleb remembered from the one awkward company picnic, his white shirt rolled to the elbows, sleeves taut over forearms corded with muscle. His smile was a perfect, white slash. “Where’s your bag?”
“Just this one.” Caleb hefted his duffel, feeling immediately underdressed in his worn flannel and jeans.
“Traveling light. I like it.” Julian stepped back, ushering him into a vast open space. The entire far wall was glass, a cinematic sheet dividing the warmth of the room from the consuming dark of the lake and forest. The air smelled of cedar, of expensive leather, and beneath it, something else—damp earth, and the ozone scent of a coming storm.
“This place is incredible,” Caleb said, his voice small against the high ceilings.
“Isn’t it? A little reward for the new promotion. Your dad’s projects helped pay for it, you know.” Julian moved behind a kitchen island of raw-edge granite, pouring amber liquid into two low glasses. He handed one to Caleb. “To new vistas.”
Caleb took the glass. The Single Malt was smooth, burning a warm path down his throat. He wasn’t a drinker, not really. “Thanks. My dad said he’d be a few days. I really appreciate you letting me stay...”
“Don’t mention it.” Julian’s eyes, a pale, penetrating blue, didn’t leave Caleb’s face. “Frankly, it’s nicer to have company. Gets lonely out here with just the echoes.” He took a slow sip. “You look like her. Your mother. The hair.”
The mention was like a fingertip pressing on a fresh bruise. Caleb looked down into his glass. “Yeah,” he managed.
“Grief is a solitary thing. A young man shouldn’t have to carry it alone.” Julian’s tone was off-hand, conversational, as if commenting on the weather. He set his glass down with a definitive click. “So, we’ve got a weekend before Mark gets here. Awkward, isn’t it? You, me, this big empty space. We should break the ice.”
“Oh, you don’t have to entertain me. I’ve got some reading for my hydrology seminar—”
“Nonsense.” Julian’s laugh was a short, sharp burst. “I’ve got the perfect cure. The lake. Nothing like freezing water to reset the system.”
“The lake? It’s got to be fifty degrees out there.”
“Closer to forty-five. And the water’s colder.” That smirk was back. “That’s the point. It’s exhilarating. Clears the head.”
Caleb forced a smile, his politeness warring with a prickle of unease. “I didn’t exactly pack swim trunks.”
“Who needs them?” Julian said it lightly, already unbuttoning his shirt. “Skinny dipping. The only way to do it. No pre-tense. Just two guys, the elements, and a hell of a view.” He shrugged the shirt off, his torso a map of deliberate gym-sculpted contours. He didn’t wait for an answer, just walked toward a corridor off the main room. “Indoor access to the dock. Safer than crossing the cliff. Come on. Don’t be the college kid who’s afraid of a little cold water.”
It wasn’t a dare. It was an assumption. A command wrapped in frat-boy casualness. Caleb stood frozen, the Single Malt sour in his stomach. Say no. Just say no.
But this was his dad’s boss. The man who owned this glass palace, who was doing them a favour. It was just weird, rich-people eccentricity. An odd bonding ritual. He was being a prude.
“Okay,” Caleb heard himself say. The word felt borrowed.
“Attaboy.” Julian’s voice floated back from the hall.
Caleb followed, his footsteps echoing. The corridor led to a sleek, tiled room—a mudroom, or a giant shower space. A wide, industrial drain sat in the centre of the floor. Another glass wall looked out onto a cantilevered dock that seemed to float in the abyss.
Julian was already stepping out of his trousers, folding them neatly on a bench. He was completely unselfconscious. “We’ll rinse off after. The shower’s massive. Best way to warm back up.” He glanced at Caleb, who hadn’t moved. “First-time jitters. It’s normal. Just turn around if you’re shy. But really, out there in the dark, you won’t see a thing.”
Hands clumsy, Caleb obeyed. He turned his back, facing the glass wall and the consuming dark beyond. His fingers fumbled with his buttons. The air was cold on his skin. He heard the wet slam of the exterior door opening, a gust of frigid air, then the sound of bare feet on wood.
“Water’s perfect!” Julian’s shout was fragmented by the wind.
Caleb stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in a heap. The urge to bolt back to his car was a thunderous pulse in his ears. But his dad’s face, earnest and trusting, floated into his mind. Don’t make things awkward. Be a man.
He yanked the heavy door open.
The cold hit him like a physical wall, stealing his breath. The dock was slick beneath his feet. He could see nothing but the faint reflected glow from the house and the endless void. A silhouetted figure stood at the very end of the dock.
“Ready?” Julian called.
A splash. A low, satisfied groan carried on the wind. “Christ, that’s alive! Come on in, Holloway. The water’s… baptizing.”
Caleb’s body was all tight, protesting muscle. He walked to the edge, toes curling over the wet wood. He could not see Julian. He could only see the obsidian water, churned now from the entry. It looked like liquid pitch.
He jumped.
The shock was absolute. It wasn’t cold; it was a pain, a brilliant, white noise of agony that seized his lungs and scrambled every thought. He gasped, flailing, the water so dark he couldn’t see his own hands.
A strong hand closed around his bicep, hauling him up.
“Breathe!” Julian was right there, his face a pale moon in the darkness, his hair plastered to his skull. He was laughing, his breath puffing steam. “See? Nothing to it.”
Caleb choked, treading water violently. Every instinct screamed to get out. Julian’s hand was still on his arm, a hot brand against the paralyzing cold.
“Let’s get you warmed up,” Julian said, his voice low and intimate against the lapping water. He swam, still holding Caleb’s arm, leading him toward a ladder.
Teeth chattering uncontrollably, Caleb climbed, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He staggered back into the tiled shower room, his body shaking in violent, shuddering waves. Julian passed him, a slick, moving shadow, and turned on a faucet.
A torrent of steaming water roared from a giant rainfall showerhead overhead.
“Under,” Julian commanded, stepping into the spray himself.
Caleb stumbled under the hot water. It was bliss, it was scalding, it was sensory overload. He rubbed his arms, his head down, trying to get the feeling back into his fingers. The steam rose around them, fogging the glass.
Through the haze, he saw Julian watching him. Not a glance. A study. His blue eyes were clear and calculating, tracing the lines of Caleb’s trembling body.
“Feel your blood moving again?” Julian asked. He reached for a bottle on a shelf, squirting clear gel into his palm. “Here. This’ll help.”
Before Caleb could react, Julian’s slick hands were on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles.
Caleb froze. “I’m okay,” he stammered.
“You’re seizing up. Just relax.” Julian’s voice was a murmur, lost in the drum of the water. His hands were strong, insistent, moving down Caleb’s back with a practiced, possessive pressure. “That’s it. You’re all knots. Carry your stress right here.”
This was wrong. This was so wrong. But the heat from the water, the residual shock from the lake, the sheer surrealism of it all left Caleb paralyzed. He stood rigid, his hands clenched at his sides, as his father’s boss rubbed soap over his skin.
Julian’s lips were close to his ear. “Better?”
Caleb couldn’t speak. He gave a tight, jerky nod, as he felt blood rush to all parts of his body.
One hand slid around Caleb’s waist, pulling him back just an inch. The other came up, not washing, but resting against Caleb’s chest, fingers splayed over his pounding heart.
“See?” Julian whispered. The word vibrated through Caleb’s spine. “The ice is broken.”
The shower roared. The steam thickened. Caleb stared straight ahead at the fogged glass, seeing nothing, feeling everything—the terrifying, unwelcome intimacy of the touch, the terrifying weight of the silence he knew he was supposed to break, and the dawning, ice-cold certainty that the weekend ahead was a vast and uncharted sea, and he was already in way, way over his head. Struggling to comprehend the situation he was in. Unsure if the mist of the shower was what was clouding his focus – or judgement. Unsure on so many things. But his body was beginning to betray him. One part of him was evidently not as uncomfortable as Caleb thought he was.
Julian’s hand didn’t move. It stayed there, a claim stamped over his heartbeat. The pressure was swelling up within Caleb. He felt an overwhelming sense of anticipation. As Julian removed his hand, he took a step back. As if surveying his younger companion.
Caleb was petrified. Unable to move, unwilling to continue showering himself through sheer fear of exploding. He sensed Julian’s stare on his back, could feel his eyes penetrating him. He felt completely empty, yearning for the older man’s touch to return.
“Turn around.” Echoed through the shower. Still, Caleb stood frozen.
“Turn around, boy.” Slipped past Julian’s lips.
Caleb slowly turned to see a sadistic smirk painting itself on the chiselled jaw.
“Guess I should leave you to deal with that.” Julian said as he exited the shower. He picked up his towel and draped it over his shoulder before returning his gaze to Caleb once more. Now, entirely unable to hide his excitement, Caleb releases himself from his statuesque pose. They look each other dead in the eye. Julian’s smirk becomes an intense glare, as he imagines all the fun that can be had. Caleb is quickly submissive, dropping the overpowering eye-contact and averting his attention straight down. Between Caleb’s legs. To the heavy, swinging meat of his Dad’s boss. Just as the towel is wrapped around his waist and he retires to his bedroom.
Caleb’s head is swirling and he can’t control the intense pressure. Building up on his head. Burning through his ears. Images seared into his brain.
He allows his hands to wander to the epicentre of the anticipation. As he slips the skin back, he pictures Julian’s strong hands on his body. Rough fingers on his chest, feeling his heart attempting to burst out of its cage. He imagines the gentleman’s hand making its way down, over his tight abdomen, resting on his pubic area.
And at that, he released. He had never experienced a moment like it. The anticipation. The taboo. The excitement. The uncertainty. All of it combined to make for an intense morning.
And more importantly, the best orgasm he had ever experienced.
