by Virna DePaul
I don’t say anything, mostly because I have this sensation that this woman will be back to cause more trouble. When Tanya says my name again, I shake off the feeling, telling myself it’s all in my head.
Have drinks with me tonight.
The text from Caleb arrives when I’m about to head home for the evening, and it sends a stupid thrill through me. I’m about to respond right away, but I force myself not to reply so quickly, like I was waiting for him to contact me.
I give myself ten minutes. By the end, I’m too jazzed to ignore the text any longer.
Sure. When and where?
Caleb says he’ll pick me up, which I probably should say no to. I end up giving him my address instead, because apparently I’m the queen of poor decisions.
He picks me up at eight o’clock, and when I see him at my doorstep, I almost swoon at his feet. Wearing a perfectly tailored pair of slacks and a dress shirt that shows a sliver of his tanned chest, Caleb looks good enough to eat. He grins when he sees me, but the grin transforms into a smolder.
“Look at you, sweetheart. Gorgeous.” He takes my arm and spins me around. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to skip drinks and have me come inside to get you good and naked.”
I flush. “Behave yourself.” McQueen takes this moment to twine around Caleb’s ankles, his fluffy tail probably getting his pants covered in fur.
Caleb leans down and picks up my cat, who ends up purring so loudly you could probably hear it from a few miles away. “Who is this?” he asks, stroking McQueen’s head.
“McQueen. He’s usually shy around strangers.” I give my cat a glare, but he ignores me.
“I have a way with pussy cats.” Caleb’s fingers glide over the cat’s body, which only makes me think of how his fingers glided over me.
“Okay, time to go.” I grab the cat, set him down onto the floor, and hurry Caleb down the steps. I know one more second of him stroking and talking about pussies will result in falling into bed with Caleb. For a third time.
Then again, that wouldn’t be such a hardship, now would it?
Caleb isn’t going to let me get away from him that easily, though. He takes me by the wrist and, in a move that has me gasping, pushes me up against my front door and kisses me. My body melts as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, and his hands skim down my body to rest on my waist. I don’t even care that my neighbors can see us kissing. Just as I’m about to wrap my arms around him and never let go, he breaks the kiss.
“Let’s go,” is all he says.
I’m left standing at my doorstep, breathing hard and totally turned on, wondering why murder is illegal. It should be allowed in cases where jackasses like him are concerned!
Caleb’s eyes gleam as we drive to the bar. “A little hot and bothered, sweetheart?” he asks after some miles of silence.
“From what? You standing at my door?” I roll my eyes, refusing to mention the kiss. “I feel like a broken record in telling you how arrogant you sound.”
“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look? Because you do look gorgeous. If I weren’t on the highway right now, I’d pull over and show you how gorgeous you are.”
I blush bright red. “Watch the road, Casanova. I don’t want to get in a wreck because your libido took over your brain.”
He just laughs, the jerk.
We arrive at a swanky bar that often has lots of celebrities and other famous people there. Although I know I work in the fashion industry, I still get star-struck whenever I meet someone famous. Caleb, though, walks into the place like he owns it, which doesn’t surprise me.
We order our drinks—I get a glass of wine while Caleb gets whiskey—and that’s when I realize we’re together on what anyone would probably call a date. My body heats and my skin prickles. My heart pounds as I wonder if he considers this a date.
“Did you design that?” He nods at my dress.
I glance down, like I can’t remember what I’m wearing suddenly. “Oh, yes, I did,” I stammer. “It’s from my next collection.”
“I can see why Rebecca wanted you in her magazine.”
I smile from ear to ear. “Thank you.”
He can’t help but smile at me, and then he shakes his head. “I should’ve known—I should’ve just complimented your work from the beginning. Then you wouldn’t have been out for my blood this whole time.”
“Hey now, I wasn’t the one who—”
He holds up a hand. “I know, I know. I messed up. I did many terrible things. I am the evilest of villains. Etcetera, etcetera.” He raises a sardonic eyebrow. “That cover everything?”
“You forgot arrogant, self-absorbed, cocky, rude.” I tick off the adjectives on my fingers. “Thoughtless, obnoxious…”
He growls at me and takes my hand. “I get it, sweetheart. I’m a terrible human being.”
“I’m glad you can admit it,” I say sweetly.
For that, he nips at my fingers. I have to restrain a squeal.
It’s ridiculous, but my heart squeezes at the flirtation and banter. When we aren’t fighting, we’re good together. We make each other laugh. We poke fun at each other. Then we can discuss art, and fashion, and everything that’s important in our lives.
I shouldn’t read more into this. I shouldn’t hope for more. I already know that I can’t have a career and a relationship. I’m not going to get my heart broken again.
“You want another glass of wine?” he asks when I’m finishing up my second glass.
I really shouldn’t. I shake my head. “Unless you want to carry me out of here, I’d better not.”
“Like I would complain about that. Having you draped over my arm, your ass so close to my cock—”
“Keep it down!” I murmur, although if I’m being honest, I’m speaking louder than he is. “Do you want everyone to hear?”
His eyelids lower, and he gives me a look that says, Yes, I do. Leaning forward, he murmurs into my ear, “If I had my way, I’d take you right on this table. I’d push that dress of yours up your hips until you were revealed to me, and then I’d taste that sweet pussy and lick it until you screamed my name, not caring that everyone else was watching.”
Now I’m practically on fire. I cross my legs, but it doesn’t stop the pulse of blood heading straight to my sex. If Caleb touched me right now, he’d find me wet. Looking at my face, he’s aware of this fact.
“Cat got your tongue?” He smirks at me.
For once, I don’t want to be the one to be surprised. For once, I want to surprise him.
Before I can lose my nerve—or wonder if it’s just the alcohol—I capture his lips with mine and kiss him in full view of everyone in the bar. I lick at his mouth, tasting the whiskey on his lips, and then when he groans, I know that I have him.
I smile when he kisses me back.
16
Caleb
Heather tastes like the wine she’s drunk, and it’s heady. I’m about to turn this kiss into something else when I hear someone clear his throat behind me.
“Sir, could I get you another drink?”
I look over my shoulder to see our waiter, his face red. When I glance around the restaurant and notice that everyone else is looking at us, I let out a laugh.
“No, but how about you get us that check—and quickly.”
By the time I get Heather back to my rental place, I’m not sure we’ll make it inside. My hands are all over her, and she’s like a wildcat in my arms. She nips at my bottom lip, and her nails are digging into my upper arms, like she can’t bear to let go of me.
I laugh huskily before dipping down to pick her up. She squeaks.
“Let’s take this upstairs,” I practically growl, so hard that I’m about to combust right in the entranceway. Heather’s face is flushed, her eyes glassy.
When we reach the bedroom, I’m stripping her out of her clothes as she does the same for me. I need her naked. I need my hands all over her, touching and stroking and claiming her. Why can’t I get e
nough of this woman? She’s an addiction that I don’t want to be cured of.
She pulls my shirt over my head and then lets out a sigh. “You’re so yummy,” she says in a dreamy voice.
I let out a laugh, mostly because I can tell that the alcohol has let her inhibitions down. Tilting her chin up, I look at her face. “You sure about this?” I may be a cocky, arrogant, pain in the ass, but I’m not going to take advantage of Heather if she’s too drunk to say yes.
She smiles, covering my hand with her own. “I’m not drunk. Just a little buzzed.” She hops up from the bed and proceeds to walk in a straight line, crossing her feet as she does so, not remotely off-balance. Glancing over her shoulder when she turns to do it again, she asks, “You want me to say the alphabet backwards?”
I grin. “Sweetheart, even I can hardly do that when I’m sober.” She giggles, and I grab her by the waist to pull her back down onto the bed.
With her gaze on me, I slowly unhook the front clasp of her bra. She shivers as I part the cups and reveal her breasts. Her nipples are puckered, delicious little berries, and I can’t stop myself from sucking one into my mouth.
She moans. “Caleb…”
I roll the nipple around my tongue, making her squirm. I press her harder against the bed because she’s not getting away from me. Not now, not ever. I fondle her other breast, plucking at that nipple in time with my strokes on the nipple in my mouth. Her breathing increases. If I could, I’d suck on her breasts for the entire night, they’re so sweet.
But I need to kiss—and taste—all of her. I move down her body, swirling my tongue in her belly button, my hands stroking. She’s silk and satin, her skin creamy. I hook my fingers into the elastic band of her panties and pull them down her legs, tossing them away.
I can smell her arousal, and I grind myself against her. My cock is about to burst, but I want to make her scream first. Scream more than once. I want her name on my lips all night long.
I spread her legs, revealing her pink, glistening center, and my mouth waters. With her legs over my shoulders, she’s a feast for all of my senses. I skim through her folds, feeling the moisture already gathered there, and I hear her inhale. I play with her, only touching, not tasting quite yet. She’s like a flower begging for me, and it takes everything in me not to lick her and suck on her like I did her nipples.
“You’re gorgeous,” I murmur. She makes a sound, and I look up to see her blushing. But she doesn’t stop me. Instead, she curls her fingers into my hair and beckons me back down.
I laugh.
I gently push a finger inside of her, blowing cool air against her engorged clit. She shivers. She’s so tight, just around my finger, and sweat beads on my forehead. I pump my finger inside of her in slow strokes, loving how wet she is, the sounds she makes as I touch her. Not able to control myself any longer, I latch onto her clit before dancing my tongue around it. She moans, long and low.
My finger and mouth in tandem, I drive Heather insane. She says my name in a litany, like a prayer, and wanting to make this go on as long as I can, I begin to barely touch her clit. Cursing, she tightens her hold on my hair, but I just smile.
I could lick Heather’s pussy for hours if she’d let me.
But as she hitches her hips against me, begging for more, I can’t stop myself. I thrust a second finger inside of her and start moving faster and faster, my mouth on her clit, mouthing it with each stroke of my fingers. Heather begs and begs. I just go faster and harder, her juices coating my tongue.
Finally, she bursts, calling out my name. Her entire body shudders, and I can feel the contractions of her sheath around my fingers. I clench my jaw. I’m so turned on I’m about to come in my pants, which I can definitely say hasn’t happened since I was a teenage boy discovering my dad’s Playboy.
I continue licking lightly, letting her come down from her orgasm. She sighs, her limbs melting.
I crawl up her body, and she smiles as she wraps her arms around me. My heart constricts at this small gesture. I can’t think about why—why this woman has gotten under my skin like this. My kiss becomes harder.
Heather’s hands drift down to my belt, and she unhooks it before unbuttoning my jeans. I let her play, let her stroke my cock through my jeans, and God Almighty, it’s like my cock is iron hard. I grit my teeth as she palms me.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” I bite her shoulder as she touches me. “You drive me crazy.”
“Really?” She reaches inside my boxers and touches my bare cock. I almost come out of my skin at that small touch. When she brushes her thumb over the tip, I push her hands away.
“Enough playing.” I strip out of my jeans and boxers and in one swift move, flip Heather onto her stomach. “Naughty girls don’t get to tease and not get punished.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, her lips parted. “Is that so?”
I lightly spank her on her ass, and she lets out a squeal. I spank her again for good measure before getting a condom from the bedside drawer, ripping open the packet and grunting as I get the latex over my cock.
I make Heather get on her knees as I kneel behind her. I push my cock inside of her in one thrust. We both groan at the sensation.
Gripping her hips, I pump inside of her in a steady rhythm, my head tipped back. She’s so tight and hot that I’m gritting my teeth to keep from coming already. It doesn’t help that she keeps moaning in that breathy voice. It drives me insane.
I grab her hair and pull it lightly, mostly to see how she’ll react. She doesn’t balk, but instead pushes her ass harder against my pelvis, egging me on.
“You’re going to come for me. You’ll come so hard that you’ll lose your mind. So hard that you’ll scream and shout and everyone in this entire neighborhood can hear you.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore: I can only feel her pussy beginning to contract, the silk of her hair in my hands. I pull harder with one hand, my other still gripping her hip. “Come for me, sweetheart. I can feel that you’re close.”
Heather’s upper half has already collapsed onto the bed, her face buried in the pillows as I fuck her from behind. She’s close to her orgasm: I can feel it in my cock. But I need her to get there, because I’m about to lose it. I capture her clit between my fingers, rubbing it lightly, and it only takes a few strokes before she shoots off like a bottle rocket. She moans into the pillows, still pushing against me like she can’t get enough, and then she screams.
I hear something that sounds like “Caleb,” which makes me grin. But then I’m groaning as I start to come, thrusting into her one last time before her sheath drains me completely. I come and come, and for a few seconds, my vision goes black. I’ve never come this hard in my life.
I can’t say what day it is or what time it is or, fuck, even my own name after that. I collapse next to Heather on the bed as we draw in ragged breaths. We’re both sweaty and flushed. I push some of her hair from her face to see her cheeks red and her mouth parted as she pants.
“Damn,” I say, because it’s all I can think of right now.
She nods. “You got that right.”
After we get cleaned up a bit, I find myself in bed with Heather cuddled next to me. I’ll admit, I’ve never been a cuddler. Any woman I’ve been with resulted in me leaving shortly thereafter, unless we ended up having sex again. Anytime a woman’s tried to get me to stay—usually to cuddle and even worse, talk—I’ve resisted.
Tonight, though, I hold Heather in my arms and I don’t want to go anywhere. I’d be perfectly content with having her here for eternity.
Which scares the ever-living crap out of me.
Heather is quiet, and when I look down, her eyelids are heavy. She’s trying to stay awake, which I have to admit, is adorable.
“Tired?” I touch one of those eyelids.
She smiles, yawning. “It’s been a long day. Long week. Long month. I haven’t been sleeping well, either.”
“So go to sleep now. I’ll watch over you.” I’m not sure wha
t possessed me to say something like that, but I know it’s true.
She just smiles wider and burrows next to me, rather like a cat seeking warmth. I inhale the scent of her hair, stroking her back. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep, and then I fall asleep, too.
When I wake up, Heather’s ass is pressed against my groin, and it takes everything in me not to wake her up and have an encore.
But seeing the circles underneath her eyes, I know she hasn’t been sleeping well, so I let her sleep. I can’t help but bury my nose in her hair, though. It smells like roses, and I can’t get enough of it. I’m suddenly obsessed with blond hair like hers—like golden wheat or amber. Every time I see a woman with hair like hers lately, I think it’s Heather, and my body is instantly on alert. It’s ridiculous. I feel like Pavlov’s dog. But as I run my fingers through her hair now, I make a rumbling sound in the back of my throat, content and satisfied.
She rouses and turns toward me. I notice that she has more freckles on her nose than on her cheeks. I love freckles, I decide. I lean toward her to kiss her, and she smiles before kissing me back.
“Good morning.” She brushes my hair from my forehead. “What time is it?”
I glance at the clock behind her. “Close to seven.”
“I probably should get going.” She doesn’t move, though, and I continue to play with her hair.
Lying here with Heather, I can’t help but think I want this to continue. I’ve always been alone—something I’ve chosen, for the most part—but now I wonder why the thought of Heather leaving for good feels like a splinter in my heart.
The thought pops into my mind so quickly that it takes me a second to wrap my brain around it: why not make things official?
I initially reject the idea. I’m not a guy who does relationships. I’ve tried, and it never ends well. The women end up resenting my work schedule and wanting me to stay home more often, while I end up resenting them for trying to clip my wings.
