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“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired of accepting less than what I want. Tired of never asking for it. Tired of being so guilt-ridden from everything I’ve ever done wrong that I’ll never even try for something that might make me happy. Tired of being afraid to feel good even a little because I might not be able to control it.” My voice cracks at the end because my burst of words has suddenly gotten too close to the core of insecurity in my heart.
I turn away, not wanting Caleb to see that he’s upset me.
I don’t even know why I’m upset except it feels like he was rejecting me—in the deepest, most intimate way.
He whirls me back around, his hands on my shoulders, his expression fierce. “No. Don’t ever think that way about yourself. I never do.”
“Thenwhat? What do you think about me? Why can’t I be like any other women and ask for what I want?”
“Because you’re not like any other women,” he rasps, his hands tightening on my shoulders. “And I’ve never been able to stop myself from wanting you no matter how off-limits you are—like a star that’s so bright you think you can touch it but will always be forever out of reach.”
I’m panting now. Literally panting. His blue eyes, his strong jaw, his familiar face blurs briefly in front of my eyes before becoming clear again. “But… I don’t want to be out of reach. Why do I have to be?”
He doesn’t say anything. Just stares—that intense heat and hunger flaring up again on his face and not going away this time.
I’ve never—never—felt so desired, so beautiful, so yearned for as I do from the look in his eyes right then. Men have kissed me, touched me all over, fucked me, poured out an endless spiel of dirty talk or over-the-top romantic declarations, and they never made me feel the way Caleb is making me feel right now.
Just from the look in his eyes.
“Caleb?” I put a hand on his chest. “I’m not a star. I’m not a fantasy. I’m right here. Youcanreach me.”
He’s breathing so raggedly I can hear it, feel his chest moving against my hand. Very slowly, one of his big hands lifts until he’s lightly touching my cheek with his fingertips.
“See?” I’m trembling now—from an overload of excitement and emotion. “You can reach me. I’m sitting right here.”
He pulls in another ragged breath. Takes my head in both his hands. “I’m supposed to be good.”
“This is good. This is what I want.” I sway toward him unconsciously.
He bites off a groan and leans forward, claiming my mouth in a hard kiss.
It isn’t like it was the other night—groggy, instinctive, two bodies finding each other in the dark.
This is realer, harder, deeper. It’s all of me kissing him, and it’s all of him kissing me back.
My head nearly explodes from the pleasure, the power of it.
His tongue is in my mouth, delving deep, dueling with mine, possessing me completely. His hands move back slightly so they’re tangled in my hair. One of them fists around a handful of long hair, and I gasp against his lips at the shock of sensation the move triggers.
I’m clawing at his shirt, his shoulders, trying to rub myself against him.
Before I know what’s happening, he’s reached down to cup my bottom over my pajamas.
He lifts me up slightly and then lays me down on the couch before grabbing a throw blanket, and I raise my hips and then my shoulders so he can spread it out beneath me, protecting the couch.
Then he leans over, moves over me, doesn’t stop kissing me.
I’m already so aroused that I’m throbbing between my legs. The ache is deep, overwhelming, seems to radiate out through my whole body. I grind myself against him, thrilling when I find the hard bulge of an erection in his thin pants. I rock up into it until he breaks his mouth away from mine with a low groan.
“Jesus, baby. You’re going to kill me. I was going to be good. Not take advantage of you again. But I have no control when it comes to you.”
“Good. I don’t want you to have control. I want you to let go. You aren’t taking advantage.”
He kisses me again—hard and deep and ravenous—and as he does, he works on my pajamas, pulling off my pants and panties and then tugging up my tank before breaking the kiss to yank it off completely.
He stares down at me, and it isn’t dark in the room. His eyes run all over my small breasts, flat belly, toned thighs. My body isn’t perfect—not even close—but the hunger in his eyes belies that knowledge.
He looks like he loves my body.
