by Alexis James
This is moving fast. Really, really fast. For all the months and months it took for things to fall into place between us, we’ve suddenly gone from nothing to practically living together. The strangest thing of all is how right it feels. I should be disconcerted, and at times I suppose I am. I should be insisting we take it slow, not spending every waking moment together. But that’s the last thing I want.
It’s not only fast, it’s completely out of character for me. Hell, the whole damn thing is like an out-of-body experience. This can’t be me, laughing and smiling as we walk down the street together. This can’t be me, stopping to buy her flowers because I want to see her eyes alight with happiness. This can’t be me, making love to her so frequently that it’s no longer a question of if but when. I know her body completely, and she knows mine, and yet every single time feels brand new.
I’m losing my fucking mind.
I am not this sappy guy mooning over my girl and buying flowers just because. I’m not the guy who watches her sleep because I can’t imagine not doing so. I’m not the guy dreaming about what the future will look like, how we’ll celebrate the holidays, and whether or not we’ll eventually move in together.
This. Is. Not. Me.
What the hell is she doing to me?
I’ve suddenly turned into someone I don’t recognize. I don’t exactly despise this guy, not like I despise the bastard that used to snap at her every five minutes, but I wonder what the hell happened. The Caleb Bonham I used to be would never have been swooning over a girl like this, watching her sleep, waking her with kisses. The man I used to be would fuck—fuck hard and often, if given the chance. The man I used to be didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.
Where the hell did he go?
Fear shimmies up my spine as I look down at her and wonder how the hell she managed to undo me like she has. Not that change is a bad thing, but I sure as hell didn’t need to hand her over my balls either. There’s got to be a happy medium between caring for her and still being the strong man I promised myself I’d always be. Sadly, I’m all too aware of what could happen if I don’t protect myself. I learned that the hard way with Rianne.
Gently easing out of her embrace, I roll to my feet and pull on sweats. She snuggles down on my pillow, the sheet pulled around her waist, giving me a peek at the curve of her hip and the slope of one breast. God, this woman is so damn desirable and my cock starts to harden just looking at her. You’d think after all the times we’ve fucked the past few weeks my need for her would be sated. Just the opposite. I’d go at her now if I hadn’t worn her out so much last night and again earlier this morning.
How the hell can I be so damn conflicted? My body isn’t, but my head sure as fuck is. She gives me everything a man could ask for: unlimited access to her body, the freedom to do whatever I want with it. She hasn’t pushed the love talk, not since that first night. I don’t believe she’s even mentioned the words since then. She sure as hell doesn’t need to ask if I want to spend time with her. I’ve told her repeatedly I want nothing but that.
So why the hell am I standing here debating this when I could be snuggled up to her delectable body and waking her once again with my mouth?
Because it’s not all about sex?
Because I fear maybe that is all it’s about?
Guys are not normally turned off by the idea of a sex-only relationship. I have to believe that’s not what this is about. But is that what’s keeping us together? If and when it fades—because it will, because it always does—what then? I’ll be much older and far more experienced, and she’ll be the young, fresh-faced beauty embarking on her new career and a new life.
Sophia’s eyes drift open and concern immediately crosses her pretty face. “Caleb, what’s the matter? Why are you standing there scowling at me?”
“Nothing is the matter. Go back to sleep.” Forcing a neutral expression, I turn to leave the room.
“Are you all right?”
With my back to her, I close my eyes and sigh. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m fine. Get some rest.” Pulling the door closed behind me, I make my way into the kitchen to get the coffee going. I doubt she’ll be pacified and content to do as I suggested, but at least I can take these few moments to get my head back in the game.
I’m a little freaked out. I’ve worked myself up when there was no real cause to do so. She and I had been going along just fine, enjoying our time together, learning more about each other every single day. Then a few thoughts roll through my head and suddenly I’m running, scared of her and of all she does to me.
I’m just filling a cup when she comes strolling down the hall. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts and it engulfs her completely, falling to her knees. The short sleeves hit her elbows. Her long hair is chaotic tousle of soft waves around her shoulders, and my heart jolts when I see the mixture of pain and fear in her eyes.
Her bare feet come to a halt just outside the kitchen, keeping a good distance between us as she says softly, “Please talk to me.”
How the hell do I tell her that more than anything I want her in my life, and yet I’m fighting like hell to keep a lid on my emotions? How do I do that, when she’s so freely given herself, her love, and her body to me? How do I remain protective of myself yet insure that I’m giving her enough?
“Caleb?” My name is a plea on her lips.
“It’s all right, babe,” I soothe.
“No it’s not. You look upset.”
Moving toward her, I shake my head. “I’m not. I’m just … overwhelmed.” It’s a shitty way to describe the flurry of emotions I’ve been rolling through, but at least I’m giving her something.
One small foot rubs the top of the other in a move that’s equal parts innocence and nerves. “Overwhelmed because of us? Because of me?”
I do not want to hurt her. That’s the absolute worst thing I could do. But after all she’s given me, after all she’s been to me, I owe her honesty at the very least. “Yeah, you could say that.”
She’s wearing her heart on her sleeve now, eyes pooled with tears, fear evident in the paleness of her face. “Am I doing something wrong?”
Unable to maintain the restraint to keep my distance, I stride quickly across the floor and pull her into my arms, speaking softly against her hair. “No, sweetheart. You’re perfect. This is all me.”
Her fingers grip my waist. “Then what?”
I mutter, “It’s all happening so fast. I feel like I’m constantly playing emotional catch-up.”
There’s a long moment of tense silence. “Okay. Well, do you want to take a break?”
Fuck, is that what I want? Part of me wants her by my side 24-7, keeping me company, warming my bed. The other part needs to … breathe, think, function on my own. So how the hell do I get both without completely alienating her? “Not exactly.”
Her shocked gasp tells me this was the last thing she ever expected from me. “Oh.”
My hands cradle her face, tipping it back so we can look directly at one another. “I love every minute we’ve spent together, but we’ve moved really, really fast. We’ve been together nonstop for weeks, and I’m feeling a little … um …”
“Suffocated.” The statement is made with a voice empty of emotion.
“No. Overwhelmed. And a little outside my comfort zone, that’s all.”
She pulls free of my embrace and busies herself with filling a cup of coffee. “So what are you comfortable with, Caleb?” Turning to face me, her anger is evident. “Am I allowed a few hours once a week, every other day? Or does this boil down to what we do in bed? You know, a good fuck every three days or so. Will that do it for you?”
Her disdain only further ignites my attraction to her. She’s so brave. Here I am, the damn coward who is trying to run. Even though I fight not to, I can feel my body responding to her. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“No, I don’t!” She slams down the coffee cup, dark brew spilling onto the counter as she turns ang
ry cocoa eyes to mine. “I’m not going to be the girl you call to sleep with when you want to get laid. If that’s what you want, then I need to leave.”
“Jesus, I did not say that!”
“You might as well have.”
She starts to step past me and my hand snakes out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her body flush against mine in a move that’s all to reminiscent of that night in my office. Predictably, I’m just as hard as I was then. By the way she’s fighting like hell to escape my embrace, I’d say she’s well aware of where this is headed.
Leaning down to her ear, I snarl, “I did not fucking say that.”
“Just let me go.”
Oh hell no. That is not happening. I may be slightly fucked in the head, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting her walk out thinking the past few weeks have meant nothing.
“You scare me, Sophia,” I murmur. “You overwhelm me. You make me want to be a good man for you. You make me want things I’ve told myself I could never want again.”
“I feel exactly the same way,” she whispers. “But I refuse to let you use me. I want you, Caleb, and I might even love you, but I won’t allow you to treat me like I’m nothing more than your fuck buddy.”
Her feistiness only fuels the need I have for her. Maybe I am confused about what this is and where it’s going. Maybe I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. But there is no way in hell I’d ever mistake her for a fuck buddy. While she may willingly give me anything I ask for or demand in bed, I’m well aware I’m allowed that luxury because she trusts me. Because she cares for me.
“Why the hell are you turning this into such a big deal?”
She looks over her shoulder, glaring at me when I refuse to let her go. “I’m not! You’re the one who … who …”
“Who what, Sophia? Who has doubts? Who is a little caught off guard at how good we are together? Fuck, I’d have to be subhuman not to feel this way.”
Her eyes widen. “So are you saying I am inhuman because I’m not having doubts about us?”
Somehow, we went from tentative questions to snarling at one another. All the while I’m rock hard against the curve of her ass and her nipples are beaded and poking through the soft cotton of the T-shirt.
I slide my hand under the shirt, between her legs, and find her drenched with need for me. With a growl against her neck, I walk us to the couch, yank the shirt off, and toss it on the floor. My palm hits the center of her back, urging her to bend over, while my other hand shoves my sweats down just enough to free my cock. Then I’m slamming in deep, gripping her hips and going hard at it and hard at her. Our bodies smack together as we start to move fast, all the anger and doubts and worry coming through in the furious way I fuck her.
I’m not thinking straight, and I doubt she is either. She’s moaning, mumbling incoherently, grasping for something to hold onto as I thrust into her again and again. And when I gather her hands together, pull them taught behind her back and use them for leverage, she succumbs to my demand and allows me to restrain her, groaning her approval.
It shouldn’t be physically possible, but the sight of her bound in front of me, willingly allowing me to do what I want, makes me thicker and harder than I’ve ever been. Coming now feels like a form of torture, especially when this … this … is so damn good. My hips slap against her ass again and again, and the harder I pummel her, the wetter she gets.
Our bodies are slick with sweat as I release her hands and pull her upright, taking a moment to breathe and slow the pace. But then our lips meet and she whispers, “More,” into my mouth, and once more I shove her down and go right back at it.
I’m moving with the driving need of a madman hell-bent on making my presence known in each and every way. She’s as mindless as I am, head thrashing about as she mumbles incoherently and begs me not to stop. So I do what any half-crazed man would do: I grip her hips tightly and pull her on and off my cock, eyes focused right where our bodies are joined.
“So close,” I growl, reaching out and gripping the back of her neck with one hand.
Sophia digs her fists into the couch, uses them to push herself back onto me, her body seeking release in any way it can. “Oh my God … that’s so good …”
My only cognizant thought is that I don’t want this to end. None of the other bullshit matters. This right here … Sophia and I and what we’re doing to one another … this is all that matters. All the little stuff will work itself out, but this intense physical and emotional connection can’t be bought or imagined. It can only be experienced and enjoyed.
She comes hard on a strangled cry, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back in her head, face flushed from the exertion. The constricting of her body around mine instantly sends me over, and with a few more good, deep thrusts, I’m cursing a blind streak and emptying myself in her. My legs begin to buckle, and I reach for the couch to steady myself, dripping sweat down onto her back.
There’s nothing romantic or loving about what we just did to one another. I can say without a doubt that I’ve never felt more connected to her—or to anyone else. Yes, it was anger-driven sex, but it was also the two of us at our barest. Torn wide open. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Attempting to steady my breath, I release the tight hold I have on her, wincing when I see the dark indentations from my fingertips on her skin. Looking her over, I see more evidence of my total domination. A red mark from my teeth on her shoulder. Slowly forming bruises on the front of her thighs from the couch arm. I’ll sure as hell never regret what we just did to one another, but I hate myself for leaving any physical trace of my inability to control myself.
Through the clearing fog I realize how careless I’ve been. Not only have I left her scarred, I have put myself and her at great risk by foregoing a condom. Mind reader that she is, she pants, “We’re safe.”
We aren’t, not really, but we can discuss that later. Right now I only want to pull her into my arms and love away the anger, the doubts, the uncertainty. Right now I want to believe that we are best when we’re together, that we’ll work out all the other stuff and come out better on the other side. This is an adjustment period, I remind myself as I pull her up against my chest again and bury my face in her hair. Time is what we need. Time to grow together. Time to learn about one another. Time to find a good middle ground that works for the both of us.
Sophia turns in my arms, holding me tightly in her embrace and resting her cheek against my chest, where my heart still beats a furious staccato rhythm. Pressing my lips to her hair, I whisper, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She shakes her head, rubbing her nose against my skin. “You didn’t. Not at all.” Her eyes drift up, the sated expression mixed with trepidation from our earlier fight. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, Caleb. If you need space, need some time to yourself, I’ll understand.”
That’s the thing about Sophia. She gives me what I want before I can ask for it. Almost as if she can read my mind. Or maybe she just knows me so well. “Thank you, babe.”
Leaning down, I press my lips to hers. The gentle, sweet kiss is far removed from the almost hostile way we just went at one another. But it’s important to me that I show her how grateful I am … for her understanding, her openness, her willingness to go wherever I take her. That gratitude and her patience with me will go a long way in getting us to where I believe we eventually want to be: walking hand in hand into the future.
Charlotte pops a bite of orange chicken into her mouth and says, “So, where do you guys stand now?”
Two weeks after our argument and subsequent mind-altering sex, I’ve kept my promise to Caleb. I’ve given him his space. I’ve stopped spending every night at his apartment and have generally allowed him to initiate our contact.
I hate this. I hate all of it. I was perfectly happy where we were, spending unending amounts of time with one another, sleeping together every night. Apparently I was the only one feeling that content, and weeks after his admission of such, I’m still smarting from t
he knowledge that I need him more than he needs me.
Why is this such a surprise?
It shouldn’t be. After all, he’s still dealing with his ex, even though they’ve been divorced for some time now. It’s no wonder he’s hesitant about getting seriously involved. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say.
With that understanding, I’ve tried very hard not to push. And I will give him a lot of credit. There’s not one day that goes by where we don’t at least talk on the phone or exchange texts. We see one another every few days and always end up back at one of our apartments for the night. For the most part, nothing has changed. And yet it’s changed just enough to plant those seeds of doubt and a lot of uncertainty. I worry about what will happen when school starts and our free time is limited. I worry about where we stand as a couple.
Are we even really a couple?
We talk constantly like couples do. We go out, walk down the street holding hands, maybe share a kiss … like couples do. We sure as hell have a lot of sex like couples do. So why am I so hesitant to call us that?
“Soph? You’re zoning out again.”
Rolling my eyes, I offer her a contrite look of apology and shove my food around with the chopstick. “What did you ask me?”
Charlotte snickers and helps herself to more rice. “I asked where you guys stand now.”
With a shrug, I mutter, “I have no idea. We’re a couple. Sort of. I guess.”
Tossing down her fork, because she can’t seem to master the art of using chopsticks, she states, “That makes no sense at all.”
“Tell me about it.” Shoving my plate aside, I gulp down a good portion of cheap beer and sit back in my chair. “Here’s the thing, Char, I love the guy. He knows that. He’s even admitted to thinking he’s falling in love with me too. We have fun together, we can talk about anything, and the sex …” My voice trails off as I recall the little S & M session we had on the couch. That was a side to Caleb I’d never seen before and haven’t seen since. The secret dirty girl inside of me really misses that man. The experience was unlike anything I could even imagine, and even now if I think about it too much, I can feel my body respond.