by Sara Ney
Sure, it’s late—but it’s not that late. Eleven o’clock on college student time is when parties are usually just getting started. Besides, I only live a few blocks over, so his walking me home isn’t a big deal. It’s three minutes away.
I might not have a lot of previous experience when it comes to guys and their intentions, but I know this: Caleb’s nonchalant attitude isn’t fooling me. He wants me to stay, and that makes me nervous.
Abruptly, I stand and wipe my clammy palms on the front of my jeans. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom if you don’t mind?”
Shutting myself in his master bath, I pull out my phone and frantically tap out a quick text to Cecelia.
Me: HELP! SOS! I think Caleb wants me to stay the night at his place. AM I READY FOR THIS? Is this moving too fast?????????????????
She responds within seconds.
Cecelia: Okay, first of all, cool it with the ALL CAPS and hundred question marks. You’re not texting me while you’re with him are you??
Me: No. I’m holed up in his bathroom like a big scaredy cat. We were sitting on the end of his bed, and I said it was getting late, and he said I could spend the night if I wanted to.
Me: So I got up and shut myself in the bathroom. I’m so awk, Cece!!!! I don’t know if I can go back out there and act suave.
Cecelia: I’m going to pretend you didn’t just use suave in a sentence…
Me: WOULD YOU BE SERIOUS?????????????
Cecelia: SORRY! Okay. Chill. Deep breath.
Cecelia: Go out there and rock his world. Dude deserves to get laid. Might I recommend starting with the classic blow job.
I stare at my cell phone screen, face turning red and mouth hanging open.
Cecelia: OMG I’m so sorry! Matthew stole my phone.
Me: I can’t stay in here all night. What should I do?
Cecelia: What do you WANT to do?
Me: I want… I guess I want to spend the night.
Cecelia: Then what are you waiting for?? Abs, remember, just because you stay doesn’t mean you have to have sex with him.
Me: I know. I’m just nervous. My palms are sweating. My face is red. My neck has a rash. I’m A HOT MESS.
Cecelia: Awkward is only part of your charm.
Me: So NOT what I wanted to hear.
Cecelia: Well, it’s true. You’re never going to be “one of those girls” who just goes for the guy. That’s not you, let’s face it. But what you do have is charm. And you’re sweet. For the most part.
My phone dings again as she continues.
Cecelia: I know it’s hard for you because you’re shy around guys, but I don’t think you have to worry with Caleb. He might not be a virgin, but he knows less than you do.
Me: Gee, why doesn’t that make me feel better?
Cecelia: It should. If you’re worried he’s going to judge you, don’t. DO NOT. He’s putting himself out there. Why don’t you do the same?
Me: God, I hate when you’re right…
CHAPTER 24
Caleb
What is taking her so damn long?
I stand and walk over to my dresser, dig into the pocket of my jeans, empty the content onto its surface, then kick my shoes off and push them under my desk with the side of my foot.
Glancing again at my bathroom door, I pull out my desk chair and sit, rolling it back and forth on the hardwood floors while rapping my knuckles nervously against the solid wood of my desktop.
What is she doing in there?
There’s no window, so I’m assuming she didn’t go in there to climb out.
The thought sobers me.
Wait. Shit. What if she spends the night and tries climbing out my window in the morning? That would be a crushing blow to my ego. I can handle her not wanting to be with me tonight, but I couldn’t handle it if she tried to sneak out.
I’m not overly worried, but let’s be honest, she does have a history.
The sound of the doorknob turning garners my attention and has me shooting straight up and off of my desk chair, the rapid motion propelling it backwards on its castors across the hardwood floor and smashing it into the end of my bed.
Fucking bull in a china shop.
I grab it and push it back in place as Abby is flipping the bathroom light off behind her, and walking demurely back into my room, head cast down and hands clasped in front of her solemnly.
She looks up at me then, a small smile on her lips. “Okay.”
Um… could you be more specific?
Apparently, my confusion is evident, because she gives a shy, tinkly little laugh. “Sorry. Yes. I’d love to stay. O-overnight. Um. With you.”
I do my best to remain indifferent, despite my racing heart. “Great. I’m really freaking tired. Not that I wouldn’t walk you home. It’s just that I’m dead on my feet.”
Her bright blue eyes assess me, head tilted to the side. “Mmmhmm. Yeah, me too.” To illustrate her point, she gives a loud, dramatic yawn, lifting her hands above her head and stretching her arms. “So tired.”
My eyes go to her white tee shirt pulled taught against her high, round breasts, and I pivot on my heel, roughly yanking open the top drawer of my dresser. It shakes on its rickety legs from the jerking motion. Digging through haphazardly, I pull out the smallest shirt in my arsenal and chuck it at her. “Here.”
It hits her in the face.
She fumbles, just barely catching it, and holds it up to her chest, burying her face in it and faintly giving another quiet laugh. “Thanks.” Her shiny blue eyes, now sparkling with mischief, peer up at me as she bites down thoughtfully on her lower lip before retreating back into the bathroom. “I’ll just be a second.”
As soon as the door closes, I go to work undressing, starting with my jeans, yanking them down and draping them over the large chair in the corner. I look down at my navy boxer briefs—at my straining erection—and pull those down quickly in favor of a pair of red Wisconsin Badgers sleep pants.
I strip off both my shirts, first the plaid flannel then the tee shirt underneath, and begin pacing as I wait for the door to swing back open, wondering if I should stay bare chested or toss something else on. I mean, Jesus H Christ, my nipples are so hard they could cut glass. You’d think it was twenty frigid degrees in here.
Should I be putting that shit on display?
I glance at the bed and groan, wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to act when Abby comes back out that door wearing my tee shirt. And if I don’t stop running my fingers through my hair, I am going to give myself male pattern baldness. One glance in the mirror shows me my hair is standing on end.
Giving the dark locks a tug, I smooth them down with the palm of my hand and let out a frustrated breath.
The bathroom door creaks open.
My breath catches.
It’s just an old ratty tee shirt, but… damn.
The smallest shirt I own skims her thighs and does an outstanding job being snug in all the right places, her white underwear playing peek-a-boo from under the hem.
“Do you want boxers or something?”
Please say yes.
“No. I think I’m good.” Her freshly washed face glows, make-up free, and her long, dark hair falls in a straight curtain, framing her face and cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall. She glances at the bed, uncertain, fiddling with the hemline of my gray cotton tee.
Stop fucking with the bottom of your shirt, I want to shout, because the fidgeting is giving me a clear view of not only her smooth, bare stomach, but also a shot of her cotton-covered crotch.
Whoever said basic Hanes hipster panties can’t get a guy’s dick hard was a goddamn liar.
Let me assure you, they fucking can.
“Um. Which side…?”
“I sleep on…” Lamely, I point to the side next to the door, and stick my hands in the pockets of my sleep pants.
Abby nods, takes a deep breath, and gingerly walks robotically to the opposite side of the bed. She pulls back the cove
rs and stares down. “When’s the last time you changed your sheets,” she jokes as she climbs in.
“My mom washed them today, smart-ass.”
“You never know. My cousin Tyler hasn’t changed his since fall semester when he moved in. And the worst part is, my aunt’s been to visit him twice.”
“That’s kind of disgusting.”
She gives a visible shutter, scrunching up her nose. “Not kind of—it totally is.”
I still haven’t gotten in the bed yet.
“Crap. I forgot to brush my teeth. Be right back.”
~ Abby ~
Why, oh why am I going to lose sleep tonight? Let me count the ways:
1. Bare feet.
2. Bare chest.
3. Happy trail.
4. Abs.
5. Ripped biceps.
6. Aftershave.
Repeat.
Oh my god, even his freaking belly button is sexy. And I… I mentioned happy trail on the list, right? Yup, there it is, number three.
I can’t even handle it right now.
Shrinking down deeper inside his goose-down comforter, I pull it up to my chin and resist the urge to squeal out loud and kick my feet with both excitement and horrification. Horrification: who knew that was even a word?
My silky legs glide beneath the bedding, the crisp sheets cool against my smooth skin, creating an awareness of how bare I actually am beneath the blankets. Nothing but undies and a shirt that’s not even mine.
Nostalgic and self-aware, I tip my chin down and give the soft gray threadbare shirt a whiff, inhaling the clean smell of fresh laundry, slub cotton, and Caleb.
Content, I decide that no matter what happens after tonight, I’m going to steal the shirt and live in it.
Is that weird?
So intent am I in indulging my senses from Caleb’s big cushy bed, I don’t notice him standing bare chested, framed in the threshold of his bathroom door, until he clears his throat. He’s watching me wide-eyed as I have my nose buried deep in the collar of his shirt.
“This… isn’t what it looks like,” I murmur, cheeks on fire.
“It isn’t?”
“No. So please don’t look at me like that.”
“I didn’t say anything.” He grins, gap on full display. “However…” he pauses to torture me. “If I had to speculate, I’d say you were smelling my shirt? But that’s just a guess, because I’m not wearing my glasses or my contacts.” He chuckles at his own joke.
At the mention of his glasses, I shiver, remembering how flipping gorgeous he looks in them, all Superman Clark Kent-y and whatnot.
Embarrassed—no—mortified, I dive under the covers then, bury my face in a fluffy pillow, and yes, take a whiff of that too, nervous laughter finally bubbling over.
“Fine. Yes! I was smelling your shirt,” I shout from under the covers before coming up for air. Folding the covers over and smoothing out the wrinkles in the duvet, I sit up and pat the air out of the goose-down in an attempt to avoid eye contact.
“Would you please, please just get in bed so my breathing can go back to normal?”
My heart is beating at a rate of one thousand beats per minute, no lie.
Far more casually then he slipped into bed when we were sharing a room at the rental cabin, he folds back the coverlet and slides in, then begins his routine of pounding and shaping pillows. I watch, mesmerized, as his sinewy muscles flex and bulge and swell with every languid movement, the tendons in his back and neck so defined…
…my mouth might actually be salivating.
I manage to tear my eyes away just long enough to readjust my position on the bed so I’m lying on my side, and give him a guilty smile when he finally turns to face me.
Like I wasn’t just undressing his undressed body with my greedy, lecherous eyes.
My wanton, covetous, virgin eyes.
As Caleb settles in beside me with his arms bent behind his head, I can’t tell if he’s feigning indifference or if he isn’t feeling what I’m feeling—complete inner turmoil.
“Can you really not see without glasses?” I ask, breaking the silence.
He tips his chin to glance over at me and chuckles. “Yeah, I’m pretty blind.”
I wave my hand through the air in front of his face. “Can you see that?”
Another chuckle. “I’m not that blind. Saw it and felt it.”
“What about this?” I stick out my tongue at him and he emits a “Pfft.”
“Why don’t we do an experiment? You get closer and I’ll let you know when I can finally see you clearly,” Caleb suggests with a mischievous grin, his dark eyes raking over my hair, face, and his tee shirt. I think. I mean, the guy did just say he was blind without his contacts…
“Okay, I’ll play along.” I lean in until I’m a foot from his face. “Can you see me now?”
He squints, and his hands feel around as if grasping through the thin air. “Abby, dear, is that you?” His voice croaks and scratches as he attempts to make his voice sound like that of an old lady.
I move closer still, and his dark brown eyes crinkle at the corner in amusement as he watches me move in on him. I’m at a near crouch, hovering a mere six inches or so from his face, hands braced on my knees.
“Is this better?” I whisper.
“Well, I can’t say for certain, but… I see lots of little dots. And is that—did you—Lisa, do you have a beard?”
God, he’s so freaking cute.
Closer still…
“Better?”
If I’m not mistaken, I watch his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare as he stares at me with those big, beautiful chocolate-brown eyes. His dark eyebrows lower in concentration as he studies my mouth.
“You know what I think?” I whisper.
“What?” His torso leans forward toward me a fraction, and his arms come down from behind his head.
“I think you’re a big faker.” Our lips are a fraction apart. I gulp back a sigh. “A big… fat… phony.”
“How. Dare. You.” Caleb lets out a small gasp of indignation as he envelopes me in those strong arms, hauling me against him. Then, before I know it, I’m flat on my back, staring up at him. “Now what do you have to say?”
His low voice vibrates in my ear as he drags his mouth from my ear, trailing it along my jawline. My eyes flutter closed and I turn my head, presenting him with the slim column of my neck in a silent invitation to graze. He accepts eagerly, the tip of his nose running the length of my neck before giving the tender skin there a gentle nip, then a suck.
“Oh, Lisa, you smell so good,” he teases, nuzzling the neglected spot behind my ear before peppering it with kisses. Caleb’s large fingers run through the long hair fanned out around the pillow.
“Mmmm, oh, Clark, that feels so good.”
His muffled laughter fills my ear. “Clark? Who the hell is Clark?”
“Who the hell is Lisa?”
We lie there laughing until our laughter fades into smiles, and those smiles turn into kisses—steamy, wet, open-mouthed kisses.
Slow. Unhurried.
Kisses that steal my breath away.
Kisses that consume us both.
Kisses that continue when Caleb’s hand slides up my bare thigh, his fingers flirting with the trim on my white cotton panties before palming the warm heat between my legs and sliding up my stomach.
A soft puff of air leaves my lips, and he captures it with his mouth, sucking on my tongue as he cups my naked breasts under his gray tee shirt, cupping them in his hands. I can feel the hard callouses marring his skin, the rough pads a contrast to my unblemished skin, and I marvel at our differences. I suppress a moan from beneath his large body.
My hands find their way to his back, and I run them up his spine. Our pelvises meet, the solid weight of Caleb’s stiff erection digging into the valley between my thighs.
He tugs at the hem of my shirt, drawing it up over my stomach—and I give him permission to remove it by lifting my
back off the bed so he can pull it over my head.
This is the first time in my life I’ve even bared myself to a man, and I blush from head to toe as Caleb looks down at me, exposed from the waist up.
Desire and passion and longing fill his eyes as he watches me, slowly rotating his hips, his hooded gaze a slow burn as it drops to my breasts.
My breathing is labored as his hand reaches for me again, one forefinger tracing the underside of first one full breast, then the other, round and round, back and forth, deliberately, painfully slowly.
The feeling is…
Indescribable.
Empowering.
Bliss.
My head tips back as his mouth finds purchase on my body, kissing and suckling, and I close my eyes, prepared to lose myself in Caleb.
~ Caleb ~
Abby isn’t a sure thing, and I’m not sure I’d ever want her to be.
Resting both hands on either side of her head, I prop myself up and stare down, running my abrasive palm over the silky flesh of her flawless breasts, loving the weight of them in my hand and marveling at how perfect they are as I stare at my reflection in her sapphire-blue eyes.
They get glazy and hooded when I run my thumb over a hard, dusky nipple, her pink lips parting and head tipping back when I lower my mouth to taste her.
My arms quake when I bend down to run my tongue over the perky tip of her right breast, and Abby moans when I suck it into my mouth, greedy for her. Hungry for her.
Her hands go to my hair just then, those delicate fingers tenderly threading themselves through my shaggy locks, down over my shoulders, and pulling me closer.
Our mouths collide when I pull my mouth off her nipple with a pop, and she licks the moisture from the corner of my lips before our tongues tangle in a rushed frenzy.
I begin kissing my way down her neck. Jawline. Behind her ear.
Lower I go, kissing her breasts, down to the flat planes of her stomach. I give her belly button a lick and suck the skin of her hips before my wet tongue trails down her navel. She shivers, her hands back in my hair. I can physically feel her ab muscles tighten as I go lower.
A short, stunned squeal flies from her lips. “Caleb,” she breathes. “I-I don’t… I…”