by Shey Stahl
Caleb’s expression is livid. His chest heaves with deep breaths. “You better be ready to finish this, asshole!”
“All right, boys, break it up.” The bouncer’s large hands settle on their chests, pushing, and then he steps between them. The crowd around us breaks apart slightly, watching and waiting to see where this is going.
I’m one of them. What the hell just happened? One minute I’m giving lap dances and now this? What’s happened to my life?
“I’ve got your attention now, don’t I?”
Caleb’s stance becomes protective, reaching for me and taking my hand in his, his grip a little more covetous than before. He stands tall. “You’re stupid if you think that’s going to scare me.”
I’m convinced it did get to him a little, but he’s not going to give Nixon the satisfaction.
“I’m serious,” Nixon says, his posture showing he’s ready for anything. And get this? He runs his hands over his slicked back hair like some kind of Fonzie move.
And here’s where the advantage Nixon thinks he has. Nixon’s anticipating Caleb being irrational. Nixon, though, he has patience. Something I’m being to understand Caleb lacks.
“I’m serious, too.” Caleb never lets up. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“I’m not finished with my beer.” He lifts his glass, which was still on the bar, and takes a slow drink. “I think I’ll stay.”
“Listen, you stupid fuck.” Caleb gets right in his face, towering over him by at least three inches, his hands fist in Nixon’s suit jacket just about the time the bouncer tries to get in between them. “You’re not going to win this fight. Know why? Because I have something you want. Her. She’s never going to fuckin’ suck your dick, man. Get over it and move on.”
Is it bad that his words just turned me on a little?
Nixon’s beer gets knocked over and then he laughs, in a very creepy way. I actually cringe. “And you have no idea how easily that can be taken from you.” They struggle a little, both shoving and pushing, trying to get the bouncer out of the way, but he’s probably the size of both of them put together.
The struggle is useless.
Nixon’s never known when to shut up. It’s apparent he still doesn’t, but he also doesn’t know what Caleb is capable of.
“I’ll play dirty if I have to. Go ahead, try something with her.” Caleb opens his arms and motions to me. “Try.” He sidesteps me, his back blocking my view of their interaction as he gives Nixon one final shove. “And fuckin’ watch what happens, motherfucker!”
Before anymore can happen, the bouncer turns to Nixon and says, “You’re out of here, man. I warned you.”
Nixon holds his palms up and goes willingly. He’s done what he came here to do.
Ruin my night like I ruined his at the benefit dinner.
But he says one thing to me directly as he’s leaving. “Milena?” I don’t know why, but I look at him, and then back to Caleb, unwilling to give Nixon my eyes. “Tell your father I want a meeting with him tomorrow morning.”
Son of a bitch!
Scarlet finds me, her eyes wide and nearing tears, trying to grab my face to make me look at her. “Ignore him. Don’t let him get to you.”
Too late. Despite my lack of effort to stop them, my eyes burn with tears. That shit was crazy scary.
Caleb sighs, an act of annoyance as he runs his hand through his hair and then locks his hands behind his head, drawing in a few calming breaths. “Goddamn it,” he mutters under his breath, his jaw tightening.
Nervously, my eyes meet his and something inside of him snaps when he sees the tears in my eyes and he pulls me to his chest. “I may be losing my head right now.” His grip on me tightens, his hands trembling. “But I’ll tell you what, Mila, he’s never going to touch you.”
When I draw back, I can see it in his eyes. He’s scared of something more than what’s happening here. And then his stare focuses on mine, his face impassive as he watches the crowd though, his mind elsewhere.
For fifteen minutes Caleb says nothing. Absolutely nothing. And to be honest, I don’t expect him to. After knowing him a few short weeks, I already know he can suppress his anger. That is until suddenly he snaps, like he just did. Sometimes he’s vocal about his anger. And sometimes he remains silent, with a deadly attitude.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, confused and worried. Hell, you name it, I’m feeling it while trying to process what’s happening.
Again, nothing.
Kellan steps in, trying to get Caleb’s attention. “He’s not going to do anything, are you, man?”
Caleb shrugs him off as his fist connects with the wall near the bar, breaking the silence.
His eyes snap to mine and then suddenly he’s calm, the rage dying, but it’s still there, just suppressed again. Grinding his teeth, his eyes narrow. “He better stay the fuck away from you.”
The night has officially turned to shit.
Slamming his beer down, Caleb grabs me again by the hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“My place.”
I don’t even have time to say goodbye to Scarlet. Caleb drags me out and into his truck parked three blocks away on the street, which, I might add has the headlights busted out of it.
Classy Nixon. Real classy.
WHEN WE MAKE it through the door to his apartment, my eyes are heavy and the room starts to spin. Caleb had sobered up—adrenaline will do that to you—but I haven’t.
Once in his room, Caleb walks behind me and frees one strap of my dress and then lets the other slide away, his own eyes growing just as heavy. “Too many clothes.”
His hands sweep over my body, the same way flames engulf a room. Dipping down, and without saying a word, he picks me up and lays me on the bed.
With sure hands and eager breaths, his determination to make the night last comes alive. I want this right just as much as he does. We need this, and the fact he’s not going to let what happened with Nixon ruin it says loads about what we have together.
Caleb’s eyes settle on my body, his gaze memorizing my every feature and curve.
Brushing my hair tenderly from my face, he kisses my forehead and then moves down my body, pushing my dress up around my thighs and then spreading them.
My panties are ripped off and discarded as if they mean nothing. He’s not wasting any time as he runs his tongue down me, sucking between my slick folds. Before long, he’s pushing a few fingers inside and licking me with just the right motions. Caleb’s fucking gifted when it comes to licking pussy.
Fucking. Gifted. He devours my pussy as I rock my hips against his rapacious mouth. My hands hold his head, pushing him deeper, demanding more despite him giving so much already.
In a very graphic description, I can tell you all kinds of things that might be gross to some and turn others on. Like the fact that I could literally feel myself dripping wetness all the way to my ass and all over his face. Or when he bites down on my clit only to suck at the same time like he did in my office, and it’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt.
Tonight, and probably every other night from here on out, he owns me, and there’s a good part of him that knows it.
With his left arm laid across my stomach, his right hand all up in me, he holds me in place. The intemperate possessiveness rolling from him captivates me, sends me over the edge and rocks my body to the point I’m sure everyone in the apartment building knows I’ve just had the best experience of my life. Heat surges up my spine, radiating through my entire body. I cry out, my fingernails digging into his shoulders, but Caleb only groans and thrusts his fingers inside me, again and again until I’m screaming his name.
When I glance down at him, he smiles, kissing the inside of my thigh. “That was fuckin’ hot.”
I have no actual words.
“Did you like it?” he grunts against my thigh. Most of his weight shifts to rest against his arm, which is bent near my hip, supporting him.
“Yes . . .”
Kissing my body desperately, his impatient hands work my dress over my head. Sitting up, he rests back on his heels and reaches for his belt and smiles. I know where this is going.
Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he pushes his jeans down past his hips and then nudges the back of my head for me to lower it.
Sweeping my tongue over him, I wait for his reaction. He’s so hard, so warm. Before taking him inside my mouth, I look up at him, and he smirks. “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” I say as I lower my mouth.
Caleb’s into it.
How can he not be? He’s getting a fucking blow job. Most men are into that shit.
His hands tangle in my hair, forcing my head up and down. Though it’s not overly forceful, it’s just enough pressure to let me know I’m giving him exactly what he wants.
His hands shake, a groan falling from his slightly open mouth. Caleb Ryan is the ultimate in sexy when it comes to watching a man in the heat of the moment. It’s a silent confidence he has and the way he doesn’t ask for anything. He takes it. That in itself says a lot.
It’s gross, the noises your mouth makes when you’re giving a blow job. It really is. I feel like all I’m doing is gagging and gasping for air, but apparently, I’m doing something right because he groans and twitches against my tongue, and a moment later, his orgasm bursts hot streams into my mouth.
It just keeps coming and I choke a little, only to have him hold my head steady, both hands on me now.
“Swallow it, Mila.”
“What?” If you’ve ever spoken with a dick in your mouth, you’ll know that no one can understand you.
“You heard me. Swallow.” I nod, and he must think I’m not going to because he’s hasten to add, “I mean it. You better fucking swallow.”
I do. It’s not like I wasn’t going to anyways. Spitting’s for quitters.
When I’m finished, I lie back on the bed, thinking he’s done.
Nope. I thought wrong.
He crawls up my body. It’s fucking erotic to the point I can barely breathe.
As he hovers over me, his hands press to the mattress on either side of my head. “You have me a little worked up tonight,” he says, all breathy and sexy, sliding his body flush with mine. “It may be a long night for you with no sleep.”
His lips meet my skin, and I’m on fire again, burning to the beat of his heart and his shaky breath over my skin.
When he tries to nudge my legs apart, I push them together to tease him a little.
Caleb raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you telling me no?” he asks in a low, rough whisper.
“You’re the one who said to stop . . . remember . . . after the dance?”
He settles between my legs, and his lips grazing over my bare nipples. “If I ever tell you to stop while doing that again, knock me in the fucking head, because there’s something clearly wrong with me.”
Moving his fingers over mine, clasping our hands together, he lies on top of me, pushing me into the mattress.
Nothing compares to the feeling I have right now. Nothing. After he’s sheathed in a condom, he settles between my thighs. The weight of him is exactly what I need as he pushes inside of me.
“Open your eyes,” he commands, low and deep. “I want you to see me fucking you.”
Part of me thinks this has something to do with everything that happened at the bar. Is this him wanting me to see who I belong to? And why does that turn me on?
After a while, his movements become erratic. He lets out grunts and groans, heavy but low, and there’s no question as to what’s happening. I let go with him, my back arching into him.
His hands return and tightly grasp the pillow my head’s resting on. His lips move to my neck, trying to control his breathing, but it comes in irregular gasps.
Chasing his need, he moves with a determination that borders on rough, and I love every minute of it as he comes, the muscles in his chest and stomach clenching as the endorphins take over.
Collapsing on my chest, somewhere between my incoherent breaths, he wraps his arms around my back, kissing me gently.
So far in the weeks I’ve known him, he’s made me feel a lot. Wanted. Protected, Loved. Worshiped at times. Beautiful. Strong. Sexy. Everything a woman should feel in life, he’s provided without even knowing it.
He cuddles me, pulling me close as his lips touch the back of my neck. “Hey, Mila?” His chest’s warm against my back, his face dropping lower, and his parted mouth meets the curve of my neck.
“Yeah?”
“Stay the night with me?” he asks softly.
I nod. “Okay.”
Like he has to do much convincing.
Oxidizer
A hazardous material containing oxygen that can be combined with adjacent fuel to start or feed a fire.
“I’ve seen your dad. He’s pale as a fuckin’ ghost. Do you look like your mom?” Caleb asks when we’re in his truck on the way back to Scarlet’s apartment.
I spent the night with him and the day, now I have to work tomorrow, so I asked him to take me back to Scarlet’s place. I need to think about what’s going to happen at work with my dad and this whole Nixon mess.
“I’m adopted. Born in Hawaii. Mother was Hawaiian. Father was half Puerto Rican and half white.” I twirl a piece of my brown hair around my fingers playfully. “I’m all kinds of experiments and came out with olive skin, amazing hair and blue eyes.”
He grabs my thigh and squeezes. “And great legs.”
“That too.” I laugh. “What about you?”
“Born here.”
“No, your parents.” I know he’s keeping something from me, but I’m not sure he’s ready to tell me about it.
“They’re still around. Dad’s a Battalion chief. Mother’s a saint.”
Okay, so he’s not ready. His stare doesn’t move from the road when I ask, “And how many brothers do you have?”
He glances my way quickly, before turning his attention back to the road, lips twitching as he loses himself to a thought I’m not privy to. “Four,” he eventually tells me. “You’ve met Evan and Kellan, right?” I nod. “Then there’s Gavin. He’s a firefighter too, and Taylor. He’s a probationary firefighter.”
“Wow, all firefighters except for Kellan? I bet that makes for some interesting conversations at Christmas.”
He laughs. “For sure.”
The weather station called for a snow storm tonight, but I wasn’t expecting it to hit while we’re driving to Scarlet’s apartment.
Seattle doesn’t get much snow, and in a matter of thirty minutes, at least two inches have formed on the already frozen streets, leaving them a mess. Everywhere I look, cars are colliding with guardrails and other parked cars.
Some people even stop and get out of their cars, leaving them in the middle of the road, as if that will solve the problem.
“What a bunch of fuckin’ assholes,” Caleb grumbles, pulling around a Mercedes that’s stopped in the left lane of the two-lane street.
When we reach Capitol Hill, that’s when we see the worst of it. Two buses have collided with each other and smashed into a guardrail, and now had one wheel over the edge of the bridge.
Caleb reaches for the center console to retrieve his phone.
He dials 911, but I’m too stunned to understand what’s happening. My eyes focus on the bus in front, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the bridge. Bystanders watch, gawking, rendered silent as they slowly approach it, but I don’t think anyone knows how to react.
Caleb does and reaches for the door handle.
My face clouds with uneasiness. “What are you going to do?” My voice shakes.
Immediately, his hand finds mine in the dimly lit truck. “I’m going to go help who I can. Stay here.”
“There’s no fire,” I point out, becoming increasingly uneasy about him getting out of the truck. “How can you help them?”
“There doesn’t have to be
. I do more than run inside burning buildings.” His remark is kind of sarcastic, but I can tell he’s in work mode now. He wants to save those people.
“I’m scared, Caleb,” I admit, my hands grasping his forearm.
He pauses with one foot out the door, the other on the steering wheel as he twists away from me. “Don’t be. I’m not. I’m just going to go over there and make sure everyone’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
I sigh with no relief. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“Stay in the truck.”
There isn’t a chance in hell I’m getting out. It’s cold out there.
Nature rages outside, the tires of the nearby cars making a crunching sound as they fight for control on the slick hills of Seattle. Dozens of vehicles lose control, slamming into other ones all around us, some barely missing his truck, and Caleb’s now standing near the bus.
Once the fire trucks and ambulances start to arrive, I can hear Caleb outside the truck, helping the passengers as they lie on the ground just feet from me. The wind had picked up, snow swirling as if it’s dust, constricting my view and, I’m sure Caleb’s.
It’s a surreal experience to see him working up close and personal. Wanting to hear what he’s saying, I crack the window.
“Can you feel your fingers and toes, buddy?” Caleb asks a kid lying on the snow-covered pavement.
“No.” The kid, who looks to be a teenager, starts to cry. That’s when Caleb removes his jacket and drapes it over the kid’s chest. “I can’t feel my legs.”
“Get a neck collar and a long board over here!” Caleb hollers over his shoulder and then turns back to the kid. His eyes catch mine, and he looks at me for just a split second, sighs, and then focuses back to the boy. “What’s your name, buddy?”
“Lance.” The boy sniffs, everything from his waist down completely still. I can only assume he’s broken his neck.
“Lance, my names Caleb. We’re gonna get you on this board and get you to the hospital where they can help you out.” He places his hand on the kid’s chest, speaking softly. “Just stay calm.”
One by one, Caleb assists the passengers off the bus and then gets them all the help they need.
