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“You think I don’t know which room is yours?” he asks, leaning down until our noses are a millimeter apart. “My day doesn’t end until I see your bedroom light go out.”
I smile. Caleb’s been watching my house just as carefully as I’ve been watching his.
He kisses me again—soft lower lip, unshaved jaw—and his hands move to the hem of my dress.
“I’m not wearing the garter thing,” I gasp.
“Good,” he says, his palm running up the back of my thigh. “God, that would have pissed me off if you’d worn it for someone else.”
He pulls me firmly to that bulge straining between us, and then he leans back on his knees, his mouth wet and open as he looks me over.
“Jesus Christ, this dress pissed me off when I walked in.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I actuallywasgoing to apologize until I saw the fucking dress.”
I laugh. “Maybe you should remove it then.”
He gives me a half-smile, tugging his t-shirt overhead before he pushes the dress around my hips. “Now that I know you weren’t wearing it for someone else, I sort of want you to keep it on.”
He pulls my panties down and sweeps his tongue between my legs.
“Ah,” I gasp, arching. “You don’t have—”
He laughs against my skin. “Yes, Lucie.I don’t have to. You’re not going to come. I’m not doing any of this for you, I promise.”
I almost believe him, and it’s freeing. Without the pressure to perform, to do this right, all I have to do is experience it. I’ve got little basis for comparison, but I’d be willing to stake my lifeon the fact that no other man alive has Caleb’s mastery of this—the pressure of his fingers pushing inside me, the tip of his tongue flicking along my swollen clit then breaking to sweep over me in long, lathing strokes.
I might even be able to come this way, if it went on long enough. But if I let him keep going, he’ll get his hopes up about it and then it wouldn’t work and he’d be disappointed. He’s got to be getting tired of it anyway. “Come up here,” I plead.
He takes one last taste and then slides up, thrusting inside me without warning.
“God,” he groans. “I’m—already close. Don’t move.”
“It’s okay,” I urge. “Just...please.”
“Hearing you beg is not helping the situation,” he hisses. But he starts to push in and out, his jaw locked tight as he reins himself in. He tugs the dress and bra down to bare my breasts, looking me over with smug satisfaction on his face, thrusting harder and harder as my eyes fall closed, as I start to arch and gasp and plead. And when I finally go over the edge, he follows, groaning into my neck.
“Lucie,” he whispers, my name slurred with fatigue. “Haven’t slept yet. Too worried.”
I wrap my arms around him, and within seconds his weight settles, his mouth still on my neck. He’s already asleep. And he’s smiling.
The spring breeze blows through the curtains while I marvel at the way this evening worked out, the way mylifeis working out. I’ve never considered myself especially lucky, but is that true? I think, perhaps, it’s not.
Caleb lands on the pillow beside me and reaches for me without opening his eyes once. I’m lulled to sleep by his even breathing, his warm chest, and my dreams are so vivid that they seem entirely real.
I dream Caleb and I are in his office building that crib I saw,that we’re both in my aunt’s boat when a woman starts swimming alongside us, a woman I somehow know is Kate.
And then I dream about Caleb pushing my legs apart. I dream of his tongue, the tiny, electric flickers of pleasure he elicits with it, his fingers inside me, the wet sounds of my pleasure. I would normally tell him to stop at this point—It’s not going to work, you’re wasting your time—but I’m dreaming, so what does it matter? I can let him go as long as I want. The pressure grows and I want a few more seconds, and a few more after that. I slide my hand into his hair and pull, demanding more.
“Fuck yes,” he hisses. I wake—I’m not dreaming after all.
“Caleb—” I whisper.
He pushes his fingers inside me again, more forcefully this time, and I mean to repeat my normal warnings except...I’m strung so tight that I no longer have the air to speak. He does it again, his tongue still flickering, and there’s a sharp pulse in my belly, the muscles contracting hard. I cry out, and even as some distant part of my brain still wants to insist to him that I won’t finish...I am.
The world goes black and explodes while his tongue and fingers move faster, harder, never letting up until my body goes slack beneath him.
“Oh my God.” I’m breathless and really can’t come up with any other words. My eyes open to stare at him in astonishment. “Oh my God.”
I expect him to laugh, to sayI told you so, but he does not. He climbs up, looms over me, his face feral and desperate. “Are you ready for me?” he growls, and when I nod, he guides himself in, one hand pressed to the bed beside me, his groan drowning out my own.
