Caveman: A Single Dad Next Door Romance

by Jo Raven

  A soft cry escapes her, and she moves with me, meeting my thrusts, squeezing me in her velvet vise until the pleasure draws me under and teases my vision with black.

  I come with a choked shout, calling her name, and she comes with me, holding me inside her, not letting me go. Coming with me all the way.

  Damn, she’s amazing. Never felt this way before. Don’t wanna pull out. Don’t wanna disconnect from her. I was so wrong. She’s not part of the picture. She is the picture, and I...

  I feel happy.

  Oh, crap. Jesus, Micah. What the hell were you thinking?

  Yeah, I know. I’ve got it bad for this girl. So sue me. See if I fucking care.

  Chapter Eight

  Evangeline

  Staring into Micah’s bright blue eyes, I struggle to find my way back down to earth. What he does to me is mind-blowing, how he plays with my body and draws out sensations I never imagined, and his smile… A little crooked, wide, sexy. Beautiful. It brings all sorts of unexpected feelings to the surface. A bit of joy, a bit of fear, a bit of panic and a whole lot of desire. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone so much before. This need to touch him all over, kiss him, feel him…

  Weak sunlight filters through the window, and I frown. I feel like there’s something I’m forgetting…

  Crap, it’s morning. My parents and Joel must be frantic, not knowing where I was last night.

  Micah mirrors my frown. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  I smile, his concern making me feel warm. “No, I’m fine. Got to text Joel, though, let him know I’m all right.”

  “Who’s Joel?” The blue of Micah’s eyes darkens.

  Wait. He’s jealous? I laugh and splay my hand on his muscled chest. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

  “Ev…” There’s confusion in his gaze now, the blue shot with gray. He has such expressive eyes.

  “Joel is my brother.”

  He searches my face, and his gaze slowly clears. His grin returns. “Really?”

  “I swear.”

  “On what?”

  “On your mighty cock.” I clap a hand over my mouth. What’s come over me?

  “Jesus, girl. You are something.” He laughs quietly, and I’ve found my new favorite sound. Deep and rumbling, it wraps around me like his warm body, pushing away my worries and fears.

  I laugh, too. “Sorry.”

  “What for? I think my boy never had such an honor.” He sits back, slipping out of me. I twitch at the odd sensation and watch as he pulls off the condom and ties it off. “In fact,” he says, “I think my boy here wants to thank you.”

  And sure enough, he’s hardening again as I watch, and heat gathers between my legs. Okay, what’s this—am I turning in to nymphomaniac or something?

  He clucks his tongue, and I raise my eyes to find him looking right at me. He knows I was looking at his cock, which is now standing semi-erect, rising against his taut stomach. He’s so handsome, strong and ripped, all lean muscle and sinew. I reach for him, and the blues in his eyes shift again—ever-changing like the sky.

  “Your cell,” he says, and it takes me a moment to process his words or the fact he’s now holding my phone in his hand.

  How…? Oh, right. I had the cell in the pocket of my pants. Joel is always bugging me to keep it in my purse.

  Joel. Shit. I reach for the phone, and Micah tugs on it as I try to take it, his grin widening. He’s playing with me, and it makes me feel giddy and hot. Finally, he relinquishes his hold, and I check my messages.

  Ten from Mom, demanding to know where I am and saying she will call the cops if I don’t answer. All from last night. One text from Joel, saying Mom is going crazy, asking if he knows where I am, and where the hell am I anyway?

  I wince. What if she called the cops already? I hate this, making them worry and not having the freedom to do a crazy thing like staying over at a guy’s place without the police looking for me. I really should move out. I’m nineteen, after all.

  I call Mom first, and she replies on the second ring. “Evie? Oh my God, baby, I was so concerned something happened to you!” She sounds so relieved I feel guiltier than ever.

  “Didn’t you get my text about staying overnight at a friend’s?”

  “And that makes it all right? You didn’t even say which friend, and I called several but nobody knew—”

  “You did what?” Mortified, I glance at Micah, who’s half-lying in all his naked and aroused glory next to me. “Mom, I’m an adult. You have to stop doing that.”

  “How can you blame me? You like wandering with filthy beggars and won’t look out for yourself! Joel says you’re still doing it. Of course I’m worried.”

  This again? “Well, I’m fine. Talk to you later, Mom.”

  “Evie, wait—”

  I put the cell down and sigh in frustration. Quickly, I type a text to Joel, letting him know I stayed at a friend’s last night.

  I know they all mean well. I’m actually quite a rational person most of the time. But it’s not as if I ran off to Vegas for a month. I even let them know I was staying out, for God’s sake.

  Micah runs his hand up and down my arm. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” His touch is calming, and I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “Parent stuff, you know?”

  He says nothing and when I open my eyes he’s looking past me, at the far wall.

  “Like, they want to know where I am every minute of the day,” I say, “and think they have a say in who I see and what I do… It’s annoying.” Micah’s face is blank, and as nervousness swamps me I start to talk faster. “Is that normal? I mean, I guess it’s different with boys. Joel is pretty much free to do as he pleases, and I know for most boys it’s like that. What about you? What about your parents?”

  “What about them?” Micah mutters and leaves the bed. He stands in the middle of the room, facing away from me, his body tense, every muscle outlined in his strong back.

  “Are you okay?” I hesitate, the sheet wrapped around me. “Micah?”

  “Fine,” he snaps.

  I gape at his back. Unexpectedly, my eyes sting. Gathering the sheet around me, I slip out of bed and pad to the door. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to pull myself together.

  “Ev, wait…” Micah intercepts me before I reach the door, his hand heavy on my shoulder. He slips his arms around my waist and turns me around. “Wait.”

  “What?” I mumble.

  Uncertainty flickers across his face. His hands move to my hips, holding me gently but securely.

  “Sorry,” he says, his chin dipping to his chest. From where I stand, I have a great view of his square jaw and high cheekbones, the sexy ruffled state of his blond hair. “Please don’t go yet.”

  Standing this close to him is different from lying down on his bed. He looks huge, powerful, dwarfing me. My pulse accelerates, and yet it’s not from fear. I’m not scared he’ll hurt me in any way. The only thing I feel is need– the need to be closer, always closer to him, to burrow inside him, and it’s just crazy. I barely know him.

  The thought makes me pull back, and the uncertainty flashes again over his features, like distant lightning. “Please, Ev. My parents… I just don’t remember them much.”

  My mouth opens. but no words come out. I didn’t expect this. I also didn’t expect him to start talking. For me. To stop me from going.

  “It’s okay,” I say quietly, reaching up to grip his biceps. “It’s none of my business. I never thought…”

  “My dad left when I was very little. My mom was never home.” He gives a rueful smile and a slight, apologetic roll of his shoulders. “Then came foster care and foster families, and they were all different in how they treated me. So…”

  So he has no real feel for what parents normally do.

  Crap. Of course he doesn’t. Come to think of it… His smile is still in place, but it’s tight and etched with sadness. He told his tale so quickly I almost missed
the fact he skimmed over lots of stuff. Important stuff. The most important: an absent father. An absent mother. Foster family after foster family. No stability. No home.

  My heart aches for him. I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, our lips brushing, and then he draws me flush against him and kisses me thoroughly, exploring my mouth with his tongue, flooding me with his dark taste, making me want him again.

  His arousal presses between us, steel-hard and hot. I moan when he slides his hands behind me to cup my ass and grinds his hard-on against my belly. He walks me backward until my knees hit the bed, and we fall on it. His mouth moves over my body, scorching and urgent. I’m lost in a storm of sensation, pleasure assaulting me on every side, arousal making my center throb with painful intensity.

  Then he pulls back for a moment, leaving me writhing on the mattress, and I hear the crinkle of foil as he takes out a condom and puts it on.

  He leans over me again, a question in his eyes. His arms tremble and his chest heaves. His cock nudges my opening, and I can’t help a moan at the feel of it. I love how he holds back until he’s sure I want it, despite being painfully hard and barely able to stop himself.

  And this barely reined-in control when it comes to being with me… I love it, too.

  “Micah,” I whisper and reach down between us to touch his erection. He’s throbbing through the thin rubber, and he gasps when I guide him inside me.

  Oh God, he feels amazing, stretching me, filling me. His stomach muscles contract. His hips roll, and I cry out at the waves of pleasure washing through me. I never knew I’d be so vocal in sex—never was before. His face dips down for a kiss, silencing me, and for a fleeting second, I wonder if he thinks someone will hear, if he lives alone in this apartment or not—but he grabs my hips, lifting me, entering me deeper, and all thought is erased in another riptide of unbearable pleasure that borders on pain.

  Holy crap. I can’t stop myself from crying out again as my orgasm starts, rising in me like a flame, making me thrash under him and sob for breath. His mouth is on mine again, stealing the sounds, his tongue thrusting just as he snaps his hips faster.

  Isn’t this a sign of addiction—wanting something—someone—more and more every time?

  His cock swells bigger inside me, sending new waves of pleasure down my spine. I draw back and force my eyes to remain open, fixed on his face, to see the moment he tips over the edge.

  And he does. A grimace contorts his features, and he drives deep inside me, stilling, then rolls his hips again.

  “Fuck,” he whispers breathlessly, “oh shit, Ev…”

  His arms give out, and he rolls next to me, panting harshly, pulling me to his chest. Cradled like that, I listen to his pounding heart, and it hits me that he always says my name when he comes.

  For some reason, it makes me smile.

  Going back to work, to normal life, feels like a slap in the face. I feel I’m still dreaming. Then again, the guy watching from across the street is back. He’s smoking and staring holes into me. Jesus.

  Well, if this is Blake’s doing, posting a lookout man to watch me, he’ll be disappointed. Not doing anything of interest anyway, and hey, watching isn’t hurting anyone.

  It only makes me feel like shit.

  Cassie takes a look at me, and her eyes widen. “Oh. My. God.” She squeals, grabs my hand and drags me to the changing rooms and closes the door. “Who is it?”

  “Whoa.” I take a step back, torn between giggling and having a mini breakdown. “Who is what?”

  “You got some.” She plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side. “So who is it?”

  The breakdown threatens again. Oh God, do I have a hickey? I lift my hand to my neck, hoping to hide any evidence of what happened last night. And this morning. Twice.

  Crap. My face heats. “How do you know I got some? Is it written on my face? Am I walking funny? What?”

  “That.” She points a finger at me. “That flush, and that self-satisfied smile. I can read you, girl.”

  I bite my lip and can’t help but grin when I think of Micah. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Yep. So who’s the lucky guy?”

  I shake my head and try to side-step her to escape the interrogation. I am a bit torn. I do want to share my big news with Cassie, but on the other hand it’s all so new, so shiny that I want it to myself for a while longer.

  “Do I know him?” She taps a finger on her lips. “Have I seen him with you before? Wait.” She’s watching my face like a hawk. How can she read me so well? “Is it that blond guy who was staring at you from across the street at the donut shop?”

  My face is now burning. I guess the clues she needs are not so subtle. “Yeah. Micah.”

  “Micah.” She winks. “Stayed over at his place?”

  “Okay, how do you know that?”

  “Same clothes you wore yesterday.”

  Crap. I stayed at Micah’s, and we had sex, and he held me and told me things about himself I don’t think he often talks about and… What does it all mean? Will he want to see me again? Am I special to him, or does he often take girls home?

  I even forgot to take my walking stick when I left his apartment—my excuse for going over to see him. I am transparent in my actions, an open book, and he’s like an encrypted message. He may have told me a few things about his past, but he remains a mystery. Apart from telling me he basically grew up in foster care, I still know nothing much about him.

  Cassie clears her throat, then opens her mouth and closes it. Her brows shoot up. I have no clue what she sees on my face, but she opens her arms and pulls me in for a hug. Stunned, I let her.

  “You really like him, don’t you?” she whispers against my shoulder, and I stiffen a little, because damn, I’d like to keep a few of my thoughts private, thank you very much. “I think he really likes you, too. I saw the way he was looking at you.”

  “You should warn people you’re a mind-reader, you know,” I mutter.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” She pulls back and smiles. “I know everything you like and hate.”

  “Do you, now?”

  She nods as if accepting the challenge. “You hate this job. You don’t care for sports, or selling things. You love your family, but they are too controlling and often negligent. You want to work with the homeless and those in need.”

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Shock steals my breath. “How the heck do you know all this? I never told you about—”

  “And you love Micah.”

  Her final words ring in the small changing room like bells.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I finally manage. “I don’t love him. I don’t even really know him and…”

  She arches a brow, and the rest of what I was about to say dies on my lips.

  I don’t love Micah.

  Do I?

  I open the door and head out to the shop, hoping a customer shows up soon. I really don’t want to face what’s in my head right now.

  My cell phone beeps as I finish work. A message from Micah.

  ‘Wanna come over to my place tonight? I finish at ten.’

  God, I’d love to. But Mom will have a fit if I don’t show up home tonight, and Joel… My jaw clenches. I’m nineteen. I don’t have to be a good girl and stay home every night. I don’t have to do it to please my mom. Come on!

  My fingers hover over the keys. Then I type as fast as I can, before I lose my nerve: ‘Sure. See you there.’

  Two seconds later, my phone pings with another message from him.

  ‘Great! R u near Damage? I have my break now.’

  Damage? As in Damage Control?

  I worry my lip between my teeth, then I grin. My heart starts to pound at the thought of seeing him again—and it’s only been a few hours since I left him. Jesus, this is ridiculous.

  ‘On my way.’ I stare at the words I’ve just typed and shake my head at myself.

  Hopeless, Ev. Hopelessly addicted.

  I barely limp as I lea
ve the store and hurry down the street, my bag swinging. I feel alive, more alive than ever, my every sense alert, every nerve singing. Everywhere I look, the colors are bright, every detail crystal clear. I still see the misery and pain, that isn’t going away—the people sleeping on cardboard boxes, wrapped in filthy sleeping bags, hands with blackened nails cradling their unshaven faces—and although that pain tugs at me, and I slow down to look at them, memorize where they are, try and think what they may need most, I feel light and happy.

  I feel so good, so drunk with joy it’s scary. After the high, usually there comes a low. The higher the rollercoaster, the steeper the dive.

  Before I manage to frighten myself more, I reach the donut shop and turn toward Damage Control, across the street.

  He’s there, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his jacket gray and his hair golden. He’s looking right at me, his grin so wide I can clearly see it from where I’m standing.

  My heart flips over. I cross quickly, and he meets me as I step on the sidewalk. Grabbing me around the waist, he spins me around in the air and laughs when I yelp. He’s still laughing, that quiet, vibrating sound I like so much, when he lets me down and lifts his hands to cup my face. His hands are warm and rough, and his eyes shine as he bends to kiss me.

  He tastes like buttered popcorn and sparkly wine, and I cling to his neck and kiss him back, with tongue and teeth and all. Shit, I keep surprising even myself when I’m with him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He actually seems to like it, judging from the moan rumbling in his chest and the tightening of his arms around me.

  He pulls back for air. “Fuck, how am I gonna wait until tonight to touch you?” he whispers. “Fuck.”

  “Come on.” I tug on his hand, and he tugs back, shifting uncomfortably. My gaze falls to the big bulge at the front of his jeans, and heat fills me. “Oh crap.” I want to laugh, but he really seems uncomfortable, and at the same time I want to strip him naked, take him in my hand, my mouth…

  Jesus. I’m turning into a sex maniac for this guy.