by Alexis James
“Uh, I care about him. A lot.”
Marco grins at me and wiggles his brows up and down. “So, you’re fucking then?”
“Enough,” Cruz snarls, looking as if he’s about to snap our brother’s neck in two.
Marco rolls his eyes and pats my knee. “Well, good for you, little sister. Glad to see you’re finally getting some.”
Just as I’m getting ready to launch into my prepared speech about how I expect them to be welcoming and kind to Caleb, the doorbell rings. Popping up off the couch, I whirl to face my brothers, whisper-yelling, “I love this man. So if you love me, you will try to get to know him.” The only response I get is a hard stare from Cruz and a shrug from Marco.
My hand is shaking as I reach for the doorknob and pull it open. Caleb is standing there in dark jeans and navy blue button-down, looking powerful and far too beautiful for this college girl. He’s cut his hair since I saw him a few days ago, but it still falls in the category of too long, curling softly around his nape. His now full beard is neatly trimmed and has filled in since the last time he shaved it off. Like always, I’m just a bit starry-eyed to think he’s mine.
“Hi,” I state, reaching to take the flowers he hands me. “Thank you. They are beautiful.”
“So are you,” he says softly so that only I can hear him.
Rising up on my toes, I press a light kiss on his lips, lacing my fingers with his. “Thank you.” Keeping our hands clasped together, I pull him into the apartment and close the door behind us. My brothers slowly get to their feet, and as they do, the tension level in the room skyrockets. I might have been prepared to face the wrath of Cruz, but never in my wildest dreams did I expect Marco to be the more hostile of the two.
“You’ve got to be kidding me? This old guy is your boyfriend?” he shouts.
“Marco!” I gasp, horrified. Caleb’s hand clenches tightly around mine, though he remains silent next to me. “Where are your manners?”
He glares at me. “Where the fuck is your head? Who is this guy?”
Caleb steps forward, hand outstretched. “Caleb Bonham.” He holds it out there, in a stare-down with my brother, until finally Marco mutters a curse and takes his hand. “Good to meet you.”
Marco scoffs, making a point to roll his eyes dramatically. “Seriously, dude? You’re fucking my sister and you’re going with ‘good to meet you?’”
Caleb flinches but remains silent as I step slightly in front of him and lift my chin to my much larger, much taller brother. “I really thought you, of all people, would be the least judgmental. How dare you stand here, in my home, treating someone I love like this?” I’m shaking with unrestrained anger and pain. When I glance at Cruz to take in his mood, my heart plummets. “So, this is how it’s gonna be, huh? Neither of you are going to care about how I feel at all? You don’t seem to care if I’m happy or if he’s good to me. Hell, you’re not even bothering to find out anything about him.” My voice rises as my eyes shift from brother to brother. “God, I hate you both right now, you know that?”
“Sophia, please don’t …” Caleb cautions. I move quickly toward the kitchen and he’s hot on my heels, pulling me into his arms the moment we’re out of sight. Thankfully, he remains silent. Words won’t change anything. My hope for my family beginning to treat me like an adult has once again been crushed.
I refuse to cry, refuse to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing they’ve broken me down. I’ll cry buckets once they’ve gone, which I can only pray will be soon. By the murmured voices I hear coming from the other room, I’m afraid they might be sticking around to hand out some more tongue lashings.
“I should go,” he whispers.
My eyes dart to his and the simmer of anger I’d been feeling escalates to a full boil. “No. You are not leaving. You’re staying right here. With me.”
His hands cradle my face, concern etching is features. “They’re your family, sweetheart.”
Pulling him close, I whisper, “Yes, but you are who I love.”
Caleb’s forehead comes down onto mine and my eyes drift closed. I wanted so much for my family to welcome him. Now all they’ve done is draw a line in the sand between us.
Long minutes go by and eventually I hear footsteps headed our way. Cruz’s voice is low and menacing as he says, “Mr. Bonham, please understand that we’re only trying to protect our sister.”
“I don’t need your protection!” I wail, pulling out of Caleb’s arms. “I need you to accept me for who I am. I need you to trust me enough to know that I will make good choices. I need you to take a breath and forget for a moment that I’m your sister and remember that I’m a woman.” Caleb’s fingers entwine with mine while I continue to rant. “I deserve to be happy, Cruz. Caleb makes me happy. Why can’t that be enough?”
Cruz nods, though he remains stoically unemotional and cold as ice. “Let’s sit down and eat and get to know one another. Alright?” His gaze is directed solely on me, as if the other man is no longer standing right next to me.
“Fine,” I snap.
Caleb assists me in getting the food onto the tiny table and pouring wine for all of us. By the time we’re seated, the mood has cooled some. Here I am, surrounded by all these large, imposing men, and suddenly I feel like screaming. Between the still-hostile looks I’m getting from Marco, the stoic emptiness radiating from Cruz, and the occasional sympathetic glance that Caleb gives me, my stomach is rolling around nervously, and I’m chugging wine like the town lush.
“This is really good,” Caleb murmurs.
“Yes, it is. Tastes just like Mama’s,” Cruz replies.
I glance at Marco, expecting him to contribute to the conversation, but all he can do is sit there shoveling enchiladas into his mouth, ignoring the three of us. Without warning, my eyes fill with tears that slowly trickle down my face as I silently beg him to at least try.
His pain-filled eyes meet mine and when they do, his fork clatters to the table. He reaches for me, pulling me into his tight embrace and whispering into my hair. “I’m sorry, little sister I’ll try. I promise.”
Gripping his shoulders tightly, I gulp back the tears. “Th-th-thank … y—y-you …”
When I eventually turn my gaze across the table to Caleb, he’s just as stoic, if not more so, than my eldest brother. His jaw is clenched with anger, eyes so dark they are black. It’s like looking at the man he once was, back when I was nothing to him and he was someone I stalked from afar. I never realized until this moment how expertly he can hide his emotions or how easily he’s opened them up to me in the time we’ve been together.
Marco takes a breath and says, “Mr. Bonham, what do you do?”
“I’m a history professor.”
Dual sets of concerned eyes lock onto me, but it’s Cruz who does the talking this time. “He was your teacher?”
Lifting my chin stubbornly, I reply, “No, I was his TA.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Marco snaps, his words directed at the man I love. “You were sleeping with a student?”
“No, he was not,” I intervene. “Caleb and I didn’t get together until this summer. After I was no longer a student at the college.”
More long moments of silence follow. Moments I spend slugging down wine and looking from one man to the other, waiting for the next implosion. Then Cruz’s menacing voice growls, “Have you been married before?”
My mouth falls open as Caleb quickly answers, “Yes, once.”
“How about we try making this less of an interrogation. Okay, gentlemen?” I shove my plate aside as I refill my wine glass yet again. Pissed off Sophia is feisty. Drunk and pissed off Sophia is likely to say anything that crosses her mind.
“It’s all right,” Caleb replies. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Realizing that the pissing contest between the three of them isn’t going away, I try for a more neutral approach. “So, Cruz, how are my beautiful niece and nephew?”
Cruz softens just a bit as h
e tells me about Thomas’s preschool antics and Kami’s teething, which has just begun. I ask a lot of questions, gauging the mood of the room as I do, intermittently glancing at the other two silent men at the table. Like me, Caleb has eaten very little, which I can only presume is due to all the hostility. I certainly can’t blame him. If it were me, I’d have been out that door a long time ago.
“How is Amita?”
Marco smiles, although it’s rather forced and very un-Marco-like. “She’s great. Keeping me in line like she always does.”
“I’ve spoken to Amita,” Caleb replies, in what I assume is his attempt to contribute to the conversation. “She threatened to lob my dick off with a dull knife if I hurt Sophia.”
My mouth falls open in surprise as Marco guffaws and Cruz snickers. I’d completely forgotten that it was Amita who sent Caleb running after me. I suppose I was too focused on the fact that the man was standing at my door.
“She’s a pistol, that one,” Marco replies.
“I’ll say,” Caleb agrees.
That one simple comment does seem to alleviate some of the tension. For the first time since Caleb walked through the door, I’m actually somewhat hopeful they won’t all kill one another. That’s not to say I have any hope of them having some great friendship, because there’s no way that’s happening anytime soon. But at least we’re all now contributing to the conversation, and I’m relieved to see that Caleb’s resumed eating.
“When do you go back to Miami?” I inquire once we’ve finished our meal and have moved onto dessert.
“Late tomorrow. We have meetings most of the day.”
“So I won’t see you before you leave?”
“No.” Cruz tosses down his napkin and gets to his feet. “Thank you for dinner, pequeńa, but we should be going. We have a meeting at six.”
Scrunching up my face, I consider that the only thing I’ll be doing at six in the morning is sleeping off my wine hangover. “Yuck. Glad it’s you and not me.”
We move toward the door and once there, Marco pulls me up into a hug. “Thank you for dinner, little sis. Love ya.”
“You’re welcome. I love you too.”
He releases me and turns to Caleb with a lift of his chin. “Caleb.” They shake hands, but Caleb remains silent this time, not that I can blame him.
Cruz hugs me and drops a kiss to my forehead, whispering, “Take care of yourself.”
“Always do. Love to everyone at home.”
Silently, he exchanges a brief handshake with Caleb, and with one final concerned look my direction they take their leave.
Shutting the door behind them, I turn the lock as my head comes down onto the surface. I’m exhausted, emotionally and physically rung out. Worst of all is that I have no idea what to say to Caleb. How do I make him understand that my family has always been like this? That now, more than ever, they question my decisions and choices simply because I’m far enough away for them not to be an influence? How do I explain that regardless of how my brothers feel, my feelings have not and will not change?
How the hell do I convince him that I … that we … are worth holding onto?
Sophia is silent while she eats, occasionally shooting me a concerned look but never once putting a voice to what’s troubling her. The entire week has been like this: stilted conversations about mundane things, looks of worry and fear crossing her face almost as often as happiness used to.
Not once have we discussed the evening with her brothers. I’ve thought of little else since I rolled out of her bed the following morning, but I fear the longer this silence goes on, the bigger the pain I’m going to inflict will be.
Her brothers were right to be concerned. There’s a small part of me that’s grateful she has people like them in her life. People so driven to protect her they’re willing to fight like hell to do so. Being apart from her is going to kill me, but at least I will know she’s well cared for.
In retrospect, I think we were destined to fail. There’s a whole lot right with me and her, but there’s also many things that don’t make a lick of sense. Why the hell would she want to tie herself down to a man fifteen years older than her, right when she’s getting ready to fly? I’ve got baggage—and lots of it—some of which will undoubtedly follow me around for years to come. I’m a nasty, mean, sonofabitch, but somehow she’s managed to reach inside of me and pull out a few bits of good stuff. I’ve smiled more with her than I have in the past twenty years, which is saying something. I’ll always be grateful to her for seeing something inside of me that I never did. Something humane. Someone worth loving.
Our eyes meet briefly across the table, but she immediately looks away. She’s eaten very little and has mostly pushed the food around and attempted to make it appear like she is enjoying herself.
She’s not.
She knows something is going on with me, and I fear she most likely has a better sense about it than I do. The woman can somehow see inside my head, my heart, and know without me saying so how I’m going to react. Sure wish I could. I have no damn idea what to do next except attempt to make things right and give her the future she deserves.
Rising, she holds out her hand, her face unreadable. “Make love to me, Caleb.”
My heart rolls around and lands with a hard thunk in the pit of my stomach. I shouldn’t want this. I have no right to want this or her. Not now. Not anymore.
But good sense is easily overridden when the woman you love is pulling you into her bedroom. Good sense vanishes the moment she steps out of her clothes and lies down in the middle of the bed, arms and legs wide, offering her body and her heart freely without reservation.
I may be lacking in good sense, but I’m very aware of the fact that I’m just selfish enough to want this one last time. It’s a shitty thing to do to her, I know that. But I simply cannot imagine walking out now without one last taste, one final touch, one lingering memory of our bodies as one to carry with me when I leave.
My clothes join hers in a pile on the floor, and as I kneel between her legs, our eyes meet once again. Silently, her hands frame my face, and she looks me over slowly. For all the times we’ve spent in bed together, never has it been slow or silent. She’s as physically involved in the act as I am. The more times we’re together I can feel her opening herself up to me. She’s willingly explored my body as many times as I have hers, though never before with the mixed look of fear and reverence she’s showing me now.
Her fingertips trace my jaw, my eyebrows, my nose. They mark a path over each ear, down my neck and grip me by the nape. Pulling me down, our lips meet. Soft and sensual, a promise of what lies ahead. Her tongue searches for mine as her mouth widens, and she allows me to take control.
It’s a kiss of apology. A kiss of understanding. A kiss of promises left unfulfilled. It’s lips and tongues and teeth gnashing together in a duel as old as time. One I feel between my legs and equally deep within my heart.
I owe her so much more than this. I owe her a lifetime of happy memories. I owe her more walks down the street hand in hand. I owe her more laughter and teasing and stories she’ll want to share. I owe her my heart.
She sighs as my body comes down over hers, her legs immediately wrapping around my waist. I should spend long minutes getting in my final taste of her skin, but all I can focus on is making her mine one last time. I should bring her to orgasm with my mouth then repeatedly with my cock, but I fear if I survive this one time, I’ll be split in too many pieces to linger.
I slide my fingers between her legs and find her, as always, wet and willing. She arches into my touch, tipping her hips up in encouragement when I pull my lips away from hers and wrap them around one nipple.
I don’t ever want to forget what her skin tastes like or how it feels to have her body melt into my touch. I don’t want to forget that she likes it when I graze my teeth over her nipples or that she writhes when I circle her clit with my thumb.
I don’t want to forget one single thing.
/> A soft moan drifts from her lips as she watches me. I’ve always loved this about her. How much she enjoys looking at me when I pleasure her. I’ve loved so many things about this extraordinary woman, but more than anything I’ve loved how freely she loves me.
Her hand slides over my hip and her fingers grip my cock, rubbing it over her damp folds and moaning once more. Eyes closed, I give myself over to the feel of her hand around me and store that memory away with all the others. The only thing better would be her lips wrapped around me, her tongue drifting over the tip, driving me to distraction.
She pulls me closer, lining me up at her entrance and pushing her hand aside. With one dip of my hips, I slide all the way into her velvet warmth. Damn if this woman doesn’t undo me, gripping me like she does. Nothing has ever felt this good.
Nothing will ever feel this good again.
Keeping my thrusts measured and slow, I ease in and out of her, taking my time and stockpiling things to remember for a lifetime. Like the clean scent of her hair as I bury my nose in it or the lavender lotion she wears. I want to remember how her hips greedily rotate against mine and how she’s never been an idle participant in our lovemaking. I want to remember it all … every touch, every taste, every moan.
Her nails dig into my ass as she encourages me to give her more. As much as I don’t want this to end, I want to make certain she is left boneless and sated, even if she’ll most likely hate me in the end.
Backing off slightly, I ease my hand between our bodies and work her clit with my fingers. A few strokes and she’s groaning through her release, though never once does she stop welcoming my thrusts.
The moment she steadies and sighs with relief, I grip her ass with one hand, her neck with the other, and use my body to explain all that I’ll never be able to put into words. I bottom out time and time again, hard and fast, driving us both toward the end. I kiss her mouth, her ear, her neck. I suck on her tongue. One nipple then the other. She digs her nails into my flesh, her teeth into my shoulder, all the while silently allowing me to take control and push her further than I ever have before.
