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His hands came up and bracketed her face, his eyes snapping open, his dark brown gaze intense. “No,” he said. “I’m always alone. Don’t leave me alone. Please.”
“I won’t,” she said, kissing him again. “I won’t.” She reached down and tugged his shirt up, pulling it over his head, sliding her hands over his perfect chest. Down his abs, down to the button on his jeans. No belt today, but it was just as well. This was about him.
Everything so far had been about her. About her fantasies, her exploration. Her figuring out what she’d missed while she’d settled for blah for all those years.
But this was about him.
Caleb, the man who’d had a lot of sex, the man who could always find a woman to go home with, but still always felt like he was alone.
“Is there something new you wanted to try tonight?” he asked, his voice rough.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I just want you.”
“You don’t want to get out the app and—” she kissed him again, cutting off his words.
“No,” she said. “No app. No games. Think you can handle it?”
“You think I can’t handle a little sex?”
She wasn’t sure he could. Because she wasn’t sure she could handle this either, whatever the hell it was they were on the edge of. And it was something. Something big. At least it was for her.
“We’ll see if you can handle me,” she said.
“You’ve come a long way, Evie, Evie James,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers.
She had, but not in the way he meant. If she had to put herself out there with a different guy, she would be as inept as she’d been that night they’d first met in the bar. The thing that had changed was the way she felt about herself.
It wasn’t all false I’m-a-successful-millionaire-so-I-must-be-okay bravado. It was real. A desire to think that she could give something of herself and have it matter. And more, the need to demand more for herself. Better sex, better relationships, a real emotional connection.
She wanted it all, dammit. Because she was worth it.
“I have,” she said. “Want to see how far?”
“Sure.”
“The tuna’s on ice.”
“What?” he asked.
“The tuna. In the basket. So we can go…and it’ll be okay. See? I’m still me.”
“I like you like this,” he said. “I like that you just say the things that pop into your head. I like that you aren’t smooth.”
“You don’t think this is smooth?” she asked, sliding her hands over her breasts and down her stomach.
“Uh…there’s no good answer for me to give here, so I am just going to kiss you. Talking is too hard anyway.”
He leaned in and kissed her, tugging her up against his chest and drawing them both into a standing position without breaking it. Then he pulled her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
“Oh,” she said, her hand resting over his heart. She felt slightly dizzy. It was cliché, but it was a cliché she’d never had before. Being carried to bed by her lover. It made her feel small and delicate, made her conscious of his strength.
And more importantly, it made her feel like he couldn’t wait to have her.
Wow, that did things for her. For her ego, her libido…all the things.
He carried her down the hall and into his bedroom, where he laid her down on the bed, lowering himself over her, his arms on either side of her shoulders. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
He wasn’t the one who was supposed to be giving. She was. She was the one who wanted to make him understand what he meant to her. What he did to her. How important he was. That he wasn’t alone.
