by Virna DePaul
I swallow. A small part of my mind whispers that he’s right, but I’m definitely not going to tell him as much. Then all thoughts disappear when his hand drifts upward, cupping my breast, while his other arm snakes around me. He presses me against him. I gasp when I feel his hardness against my ass.
“You drive me insane,” he says, kissing my neck. “I want to throttle you every time I see you. I get so irritated around you that I’m halfway tempted to toss you off of a bridge for good measure.” One hand is still on my breast, kneading it, while the other cups my mound. I know I’m already wet, and hot and achy. “But then I want to kiss you, and bend you over, and fuck you until you scream.”
I shouldn’t let him touch me. I should tell him to go. But instead, I lean back, letting him lick and suck my neck. I’m sure he’s leaving hickeys, but I don’t care. His hand presses against my mound, rubbing my clit through the fabric of my jeans and panties. My breath hitches.
“Fuck, Heather. I have to have you again.”
It’s the most honest thing he’s said yet, and for some reason, it turns me on even more. I turn and kiss him. He groans, his fingers snaking into my hair and pulling my head back. He ravishes my mouth and before I know it, he’s pushed off all of those shirts I’ve folded onto the floor.
I tear my mouth away. “I just folded those!”
“Fuck the shirts, Heather.”
I’m about to tell him that people can see, that we shouldn't do this here, but then I realize that we’re far enough back in the store that no one will see us. And at this point, I don’t care who sees us. I just want Caleb kissing me, touching me, inside of me. I want to feel him slide inside of me and taking me like he did in the dressing room.
I slide my hands under his shirt. Thumbing his nipples, I watch as his eyes darken. His jaw is clenched, and it only makes me hotter. Wetter. I pull his shirt up and he helps me take it off. Seeing Caleb shirtless makes me truly breathless: he’s all muscles and sinew, golden hair sprinkling his chest, and I want to feel that heat against my own skin. I practically tear off my own shirt and unhook my bra, freeing my heavy breasts from their confinement.
His eyes gleam when he sees my bare breasts. “I missed these beauties,” he rasps. I watch as his tanned fingers play with each peak, tweaking my nipples and then pinching hard enough to make me gasp from the bite of pleasure and pain.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts against his chest, his chest hair rubbing against my over-sensitive nipples. It only sets me more aflame. Moaning, I kiss him, and he licks inside my mouth.
It’s like every time Caleb is near me, I lose control of myself: my emotions, my thoughts, my own body. He’s taken me over, and right now, I only want him to take me over and over again. I don’t want him to let me go.
Caleb’s hands are busy: he pulls down my jeans and panties in one fell swoop. His fingers slick through my folds, and he mutters that I’m burning hot. All of my inhibitions have burnt away, and sitting before him, completely nude, I widen my legs to give him a good look at everything I have to offer.
He inhales. His jaw tics, and his chest rises and falls with quick breaths. As he watches me, I spread my sex, showing him my wet, pink center. I tip my head back as I touch myself, dipping one finger inside and another lightly rubbing my clit. I’m already so sensitive that I could come with only a few strokes of my own fingers.
I play, and when I catch his gaze again, he looks like he’s about to explode. When I take my finger to my mouth and lick it clean, his control snaps.
Before I realize it, he’s gotten a condom on and he’s lifting my hips, pushing inside of me in one long thrust. I moan; he curses. He starts pounding into me: he’s not gentle or tender or sweet, and I love it. I egg him on, my fingernails biting into his biceps as our bodies slap together. His cock fills me to the brim, and I almost laugh, I’m filled with such brilliant ecstasy.
Caleb takes hold of my hips to hold me steady. He uses me, he uses my body, and it’s seeing that intense concentration on his face that sends me over the edge. My orgasm rushes through me. I moan and I call out his name, panting and trying to catch my breath. It’s overwhelming. I can’t breathe, my mind is blank, my body is just a bundle of pleasure.
He kisses me one last time as he comes inside of me. I feel his cock twitch, and it sends one last bit of pleasure bursting through me. His tongue ravishes my own, and we kiss and kiss, his cock still inside of me. It’s like we can’t bear to part from one another.
My heart clenches at that realization.
Caleb kisses me one last time before pulling out, disposing of the condom as I try to catch my breath and find my discarded clothes amidst the fallen, now unfolded, shirts. I get my panties and bra back on and finally my jeans, but my body is too sated and my mind too full of Caleb and sex and sex with Caleb to button my blouse. So I settle for snagging one of the t-shirts from the floor.
Caleb pulls on his own clothes, which makes me sigh in regret. If only he could walk around naked all of the time. He’s definitely an impressive sight unclothed.
He notices my little sigh, and he smirks. “Upset, sweetheart?”
I sniff. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Like I can’t see how you look at me, like a woman who’s been starved all her life.” He grins, catching me with a kiss. “It’s okay. Look all you want. I know I’m the best you’ve ever seen.”
I push him away, but it’s a playful shove. My body is still high from my orgasms, and I’m feeling more charitable towards Caleb. Maybe I should make him sleep with me every time he pisses me off. We both end up in better moods as a result.
We somehow end up lying on the table together, the shirts bunched under our heads like pillows. I know in the morning I’ll be horrified at how we’ve treated the merchandise, but right now, I’m on another planet. I can only think of Caleb, and see his smile, and how I’m so close to letting him seduce me all over again.
The lighting is dim, and for some reason, I can feel myself letting my guard down. Perhaps it was just the sex. Perhaps it’s this man. I don’t know anymore.
Gazing at Caleb, I memorize the lines of his face because I know, deep in my heart, that I probably won’t see him again after our next photo shoot.
“I wanted you to know that I did love the photos,” I murmur, gazing at him all the while. “The photos had nothing to do with your talent. It’s more that they didn’t go with what I wanted overall. If they weren’t my designs, I’d tell Rebecca to publish them right now.”
He gazes at me in silence for a moment before pushing my hair from my forehead with a gentle touch. “I probably shouldn’t have gotten so defensive about it,” he admits.
“I think we both know that artists—including ourselves—tend to be high strung and emotional.”
He covers his heart, a shocked expression on his face. “I am not emotional! I am brilliance personified!”
“Okay, buddy, calm down.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling, either. “You know what I mean.”
“I probably could’ve reacted better, but I’m not used to anyone saying they want me to redo my photos.” He raises an eyebrow, challenging me.
I lift my chin. “And that’s why I knew I couldn’t sit by and say nothing. I bet most designers are too intimidated by you to challenge you.”
He blinks, and then he laughs. “You’re probably right, sweetheart.”
The endearment—damn it all—burrows into my heart despite myself. I’m still warm and fuzzy, not only from the sex, but from just being near Caleb. I don’t want to think about why that is right now, though. Didn’t I tell myself that getting involved with him would only end badly?
“But if you know that you love the photos,” he says before I can reply, “why not let them be published? Do you really think they don’t represent your designs, or are you just freaked out that they’re different from what you’d imagined?”
I bite back a terse reply, forcing myself to co
nsider his words. I know I have a tendency to be stuck in my ways and to be extremely stubborn, but I’m also well aware that it’s easy to get bullied in this industry if you don’t speak up. I have to fight for my designs and my store with every breath.
Looking at Caleb, though, I consider. Am I just reacting out of fear? Or should I listen to the voice in my head, telling me that the photos aren’t the best that they could be? I chew my bottom lip.
“Let me think about it,” I finally say. “I think I’ve gotten myself so tied up emotionally with this whole thing that I don’t know what to think anymore. Do I go with my gut? Or is my gut just reacting and not really thinking?” I let out a long sigh. “I’m so confused; it’s like I’m tied up in knots.”
“Then think it over for a few more days. Rebecca can wait. I can even wait. I have another client I’m working with anyway, so I wouldn’t be able to do a possible reshoot before next week.”
I take a breath, nodding. I think I just need to separate myself from everything and everyone for a few days and take a breather. Looking at Caleb, I know he’s a huge part of the equation. Maybe I’m just reacting to him. If my photographer were anyone else, would I feel this intense need to push him away?
I have a feeling I know the answer to that.
Caleb sits up then, and I follow him. He takes a strand of my hair and twists it around his finger. I find myself smiling at the gesture.
“I think you just need to have faith.” His voice is low, warm, and I wonder if he’s talking about the photos, or about something else—about us. His eyes are unreadable, and suddenly my chest tightens. He keeps twisting that strand of hair and then lets it fall back to my shoulder.
“I should get going.” He stands, and I follow him to the front door.
I almost tell him to come home with me. For some reason, going to my empty house seems especially painful tonight. But I don’t have the courage to ask him that. So I just let him kiss me goodbye, telling me we’ll see each other soon. I let him go, because I know that I’ll have to break this off in the end.
Chapter Fourteen
Caleb
I get back to my rental place without even remembering driving there, I’m in such a daze. Or rather, I’m so preoccupied with thinking about Heather and having sex with Heather that I’m like a zombie. A sex-crazed zombie, who almost gave in and asked a woman over so we could continue the sex into the night.
I don’t invite women over. They invite me. And then I leave before they get clingy.
I rummage around in the fridge for a beer, because that’s the only thing I can think of that might get my brain in order. But I can’t stop the memories of Heather: how she tasted, how she moaned, how her body pressed against mine as I thrust inside of her.
I shudder. I don’t have time for this. For one, Heather Flint is a gigantic pain in my ass. Secondly, I don’t do commitment. I do flings, and that’s it. Heather’s the type of woman who’d want commitment: I can tell from just looking at her.
I’ve finished off my first beer and I’m about to start my second when someone knocks on my door. I growl. It’s close to ten at night—who the fuck is knocking on my door right now?
I’m about to ignore the knock when I hear Fiona’s voice calling out, “I know you’re in there, Johnny!”
I groan. The last thing I need is Fiona sniffing around like some bloodhound. But I also know that she’s spotted my rental car and will probably climb through my window if I don’t answer the door.
I let her in, not saying anything in greeting, but she doesn’t seem to care. She waltzes in with Bertie the dog under her arm. The fluffy monster barks at me and even snaps at my arm when Fiona brushes past me.
“Why are you here, Fiona?” I open the beer I just got from the fridge and take a deep drink, hoping the alcohol will save me from whatever she wants.
As usual, Fiona pouts. “I was just in the neighborhood—”
“Don’t lie. We both know you wouldn’t live a mile past Santa Monica.”
“You’re in a mood,” she says with a sniff. “Did someone turn you down?”
I glare at her over the rim of my beer. I want to tell her it was the exact opposite, but then she’ll start fishing for details and never leave. So I just shrug. “I’m tired. I wanted to watch Netflix and go to bed, but you showed up.”
“You’ve gotten boring in your old age.”
“I am boring, so that means you have no reason to stick around.” I walk out of the kitchen to the living room and flip on the TV, hoping Fiona gets the hint.
She doesn’t.
“You know,” she says as she sits down beside me, petting Bertie, who whines with each stroke of her hand, “I heard from a little birdie that you and Heather Flint just about tore each other apart at her shoot.” Fiona taps her bottom lip. “And I said, ‘surely not! Not Johnny, the most charming man alive!’”
I glare at her. “Did you come here just to gossip?”
“Of course not.” She sets Bertie on the floor. The dog trots over to a pillow that had fallen from the couch and proceeds to growl at it and tear it to pieces. “I’m here because I know you’ve been lonely. And I’ll be honest, so have I.”
Fiona moves closer, pressing against me. Her perfume wafts up to my nostrils. Where normally I would’ve found her scent and fluttering lashes a clear—and welcome—invitation, right now, I’m just irritated.
She strokes my arm, her fingernails a bright red, rather like bloodied claws. “Let me make you feel better, darling.” She smiles.
I stare down at her, and I’ll admit, I consider it. Falling into bed with Fiona would get my mind off of everything, and she’s a fun, lusty bed partner. Never mind the insanity afterward. My original plan had been to get drunk and collapse onto my bed—alone—but maybe I should rethink that.
But when Fiona’s white teeth flash as she smiles, I know that it would be beyond stupid if I give in to her. For one, she’s crazy. And there’s no spark. My cock is as limp as a dead fish in her presence, even with her breasts practically right under my nose and her mouth as red as her nails.
Truth be told, the only woman I want to take to bed right now is the one who probably hates me more than anyone else.
Damn Heather Flint to hell to back again. How could the woman ruin me like this?
I stand up, mostly because sitting next to Fiona is like being an insect caught in her spider’s web. Bertie continues his assault on the pillow, which I’ll have to replace, I realize with a curse.
“You should go,” I say curtly. I don’t even try to disguise my annoyance. “I have to get up early tomorrow.”
She stares at me, surprised, before her expression changes into one of rage. Her eyes flash, and if she looked dangerous before, now she looks positively sinister. She doesn’t get up, though. She pushes back her blond hair from her shoulder as she says in a disgusted voice, “Are you really turning me down?”
I roll my eyes. “Believe it or not, yes. I know it’s probably a new experience for you, but you’ll survive.”
She sniffs. “You have a lot of nerve, Caleb Johnson, acting like you’re above me and so many other people in this town when you were a nobody taking photos that no one other than your own parents even looked at just a few years ago. You think you’re invincible?” She stands. “You’re not.”
“This has nothing to do with any of that,” I say in an irritated tone. “You’re deliberately twisting my words.”
“I doubt that very much. So who is she?”
I still, but I force myself not to react. Fiona doesn’t know, otherwise she would’ve named Heather right from the start. She’s not that subtle.
“She who? As I told you, I have an early start tomorrow.”
She licks her lips, like she’s about to inhale me in one big bite. And if given half the chance, she probably would consume me.
“Oh, Johnny, you aren’t as good at keeping secrets as you think you are.” She slowly walks toward me, until she presses
a hand against my chest, her nails digging into my skin through the thin cotton of my shirt. “I know that look on your face. I know when you have a woman on your mind. It was the same look you got when you told me we should just stay friends, and then you started screwing that Ukrainian model.” She’s practically purring at this point, but I know very well it isn’t because she’s happy.
“And then you went and dated some tech CEO from Silicon Valley. What of it?” I move her hand away from my chest, mostly because I’m afraid she’ll try to rip out my heart if I’m not careful.
“We’re not talking about me, darling. We’re talking about you.”
I turn away in disgust. I don’t have time for this—not for Fiona fishing for gossip or for her jealousy.
“I’m going to turn in. You can show yourself out.” I don’t wait for her response.
I hear a yip and then footsteps behind me. “Is she one of the models from the shoot? The British girl?” Fiona follows me, her stilettos clicking against the hardwood floor. “Or the new one from New York? I’ve seen her, and let me tell you, she’s not nearly as pretty in real life as she is in photos.”
I’m at the stairs when I take Fiona by the arm and practically drag her to the door. She and Bertie both make yelping sounds.
“Good night, Fiona,” I say as I open the door.
I’m close to hauling her outside, but she wrenches her arm away with a sniff. “I get the hint. You don’t have to manhandle me. Goodness, she must’ve done a number on you.”
“No one did a number on me. Good night.”
She smiles, a cat-like smile, and then pats me on the arm. “Good night, Johnny. I’m sure I’ll see you again very soon.”
After shutting the door—and locking it—a wisp of fear curls in my belly. Fiona looked way too triumphant as she was leaving for me not to wonder if she knows more than she let on.