by Virna DePaul
“Sir, could I get you another drink?”
I look over my shoulder to see our waiter, his face red. When I glance around the restaurant and notice that everyone else is looking at us, I let out a laugh.
“No, but how about you get us that check—and quickly.”
By the time I get Heather back to my rental place, I’m not sure we’ll make it inside. My hands are all over her, and she’s like a wildcat in my arms. She nips at my bottom lip, and her nails are digging into my upper arms, like she can’t bear to let go of me.
I laugh huskily before dipping down to pick her up. She squeaks.
“Let’s take this upstairs,” I practically growl, so hard that I’m about to combust right in the entranceway. Heather’s face is flushed, her eyes glassy.
When we reach the bedroom, I’m stripping her out of her clothes as she does the same for me. I need her naked. I need my hands all over her, touching and stroking and claiming her. Why can’t I get enough of this woman? She’s an addiction that I don’t want to be cured of.
She pulls my shirt over my head and then lets out a sigh. “You’re so yummy,” she says in a dreamy voice.
I let out a laugh, mostly because I can tell that the alcohol has let her inhibitions down. Tilting her chin up, I look at her face. “You sure about this?” I may be a cocky, arrogant, pain in the ass, but I’m not going to take advantage of Heather if she’s too drunk to say yes.
She smiles, covering my hand with her own. “I’m not drunk. Just a little buzzed.” She hops up from the bed and proceeds to walk in a straight line, crossing her feet as she does so, not remotely off-balance. Glancing over her shoulder when she turns to do it again, she asks, “You want me to say the alphabet backwards?”
I grin. “Sweetheart, even I can hardly do that when I’m sober.” She giggles, and I grab her by the waist to pull her back down onto the bed.
With her gaze on me, I slowly unhook the front clasp of her bra. She shivers as I part the cups and reveal her breasts. Her nipples are puckered, delicious little berries, and I can’t stop myself from sucking one into my mouth.
She moans. “Caleb…”
I roll the nipple around my tongue, making her squirm. I press her harder against the bed because she’s not getting away from me. Not now, not ever. I fondle her other breast, plucking at that nipple in time with my strokes on the nipple in my mouth. Her breathing increases. If I could, I’d suck on her breasts for the entire night, they’re so sweet.
But I need to kiss—and taste—all of her. I move down her body, swirling my tongue in her belly button, my hands stroking. She’s silk and satin, her skin creamy. I hook my fingers into the elastic band of her panties and pull them down her legs, tossing them away.
I can smell her arousal, and I grind myself against her. My cock is about to burst, but I want to make her scream first. Scream more than once. I want her name on my lips all night long.
I spread her legs, revealing her pink, glistening center, and my mouth waters. With her legs over my shoulders, she’s a feast for all of my senses. I skim through her folds, feeling the moisture already gathered there, and I hear her inhale. I play with her, only touching, not tasting quite yet. She’s like a flower begging for me, and it takes everything in me not to lick her and suck on her like I did her nipples.
“You’re gorgeous,” I murmur. She makes a sound, and I look up to see her blushing. But she doesn’t stop me. Instead, she curls her fingers into my hair and beckons me back down.
I laugh.
I gently push a finger inside of her, blowing cool air against her engorged clit. She shivers. She’s so tight, just around my finger, and sweat beads on my forehead. I pump my finger inside of her in slow strokes, loving how wet she is, the sounds she makes as I touch her. Not able to control myself any longer, I latch onto her clit before dancing my tongue around it. She moans, long and low.
My finger and mouth in tandem, I drive Heather insane. She says my name in a litany, like a prayer, and wanting to make this go on as long as I can, I begin to barely touch her clit. Cursing, she tightens her hold on my hair, but I just smile.
I could lick Heather’s pussy for hours if she’d let me.
But as she hitches her hips against me, begging for more, I can’t stop myself. I thrust a second finger inside of her and start moving faster and faster, my mouth on her clit, mouthing it with each stroke of my fingers. Heather begs and begs. I just go faster and harder, her juices coating my tongue.
Finally, she bursts, calling out my name. Her entire body shudders, and I can feel the contractions of her sheath around my fingers. I clench my jaw. I’m so turned on I’m about to come in my pants, which I can definitely say hasn’t happened since I was a teenage boy discovering my dad’s Playboy.
I continue licking lightly, letting her come down from her orgasm. She sighs, her limbs melting.
I crawl up her body, and she smiles as she wraps her arms around me. My heart constricts at this small gesture. I can’t think about why—why this woman has gotten under my skin like this. My kiss becomes harder.
Heather’s hands drift down to my belt, and she unhooks it before unbuttoning my jeans. I let her play, let her stroke my cock through my jeans, and God Almighty, it’s like my cock is iron hard. I grit my teeth as she palms me.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” I bite her shoulder as she touches me. “You drive me crazy.”
“Really?” She reaches inside my boxers and touches my bare cock. I almost come out of my skin at that small touch. When she brushes her thumb over the tip, I push her hands away.
“Enough playing.” I strip out of my jeans and boxers and in one swift move, flip Heather onto her stomach. “Naughty girls don’t get to tease and not get punished.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, her lips parted. “Is that so?”
I lightly spank her on her ass, and she lets out a squeal. I spank her again for good measure before getting a condom from the bedside drawer, ripping open the packet and grunting as I get the latex over my cock.
I make Heather get on her knees as I kneel behind her. I push my cock inside of her in one thrust. We both groan at the sensation.
Gripping her hips, I pump inside of her in a steady rhythm, my head tipped back. She’s so tight and hot that I’m gritting my teeth to keep from coming already. It doesn’t help that she keeps moaning in that breathy voice. It drives me insane.
I grab her hair and pull it lightly, mostly to see how she’ll react. She doesn’t balk, but instead pushes her ass harder against my pelvis, egging me on.
“You’re going to come for me. You’ll come so hard that you’ll lose your mind. So hard that you’ll scream and shout and everyone in this entire neighborhood can hear you.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore: I can only feel her pussy beginning to contract, the silk of her hair in my hands. I pull harder with one hand, my other still gripping her hip. “Come for me, sweetheart. I can feel that you’re close.”
Heather’s upper half has already collapsed onto the bed, her face buried in the pillows as I fuck her from behind. She’s close to her orgasm: I can feel it in my cock. But I need her to get there, because I’m about to lose it. I capture her clit between my fingers, rubbing it lightly, and it only takes a few strokes before she shoots off like a bottle rocket. She moans into the pillows, still pushing against me like she can’t get enough, and then she screams.
I hear something that sounds like “Caleb,” which makes me grin. But then I’m groaning as I start to come, thrusting into her one last time before her sheath drains me completely. I come and come, and for a few seconds, my vision goes black. I’ve never come this hard in my life.
I can’t say what day it is or what time it is or, fuck, even my own name after that. I collapse next to Heather on the bed as we draw in ragged breaths. We’re both sweaty and flushed. I push some of her hair from her face to see her cheeks red and her mouth parted as she pants.
“Damn,” I say, because it’s
all I can think of right now.
She nods. “You got that right.”
After we get cleaned up a bit, I find myself in bed with Heather cuddled next to me. I’ll admit, I’ve never been a cuddler. Any woman I’ve been with resulted in me leaving shortly thereafter, unless we ended up having sex again. Anytime a woman’s tried to get me to stay—usually to cuddle and even worse, talk—I’ve resisted.
Tonight, though, I hold Heather in my arms and I don’t want to go anywhere. I’d be perfectly content with having her here for eternity.
Which scares the ever-living crap out of me.
Heather is quiet, and when I look down, her eyelids are heavy. She’s trying to stay awake, which I have to admit, is adorable.
“Tired?” I touch one of those eyelids.
She smiles, yawning. “It’s been a long day. Long week. Long month. I haven’t been sleeping well, either.”
“So go to sleep now. I’ll watch over you.” I’m not sure what possessed me to say something like that, but I know it’s true.
She just smiles wider and burrows next to me, rather like a cat seeking warmth. I inhale the scent of her hair, stroking her back. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep, and then I fall asleep, too.
* * *
When I wake up, Heather’s ass is pressed against my groin, and it takes everything in me not to wake her up and have an encore.
But seeing the circles underneath her eyes, I know she hasn’t been sleeping well, so I let her sleep. I can’t help but bury my nose in her hair, though. It smells like roses, and I can’t get enough of it. I’m suddenly obsessed with blond hair like hers—like golden wheat or amber. Every time I see a woman with hair like hers lately, I think it’s Heather, and my body is instantly on alert. It’s ridiculous. I feel like Pavlov’s dog. But as I run my fingers through her hair now, I make a rumbling sound in the back of my throat, content and satisfied.
She rouses and turns toward me. I notice that she has more freckles on her nose than on her cheeks. I love freckles, I decide. I lean toward her to kiss her, and she smiles before kissing me back.
“Good morning.” She brushes my hair from my forehead. “What time is it?”
I glance at the clock behind her. “Close to seven.”
“I probably should get going.” She doesn’t move, though, and I continue to play with her hair.
Lying here with Heather, I can’t help but think I want this to continue. I’ve always been alone—something I’ve chosen, for the most part—but now I wonder why the thought of Heather leaving for good feels like a splinter in my heart.
The thought pops into my mind so quickly that it takes me a second to wrap my brain around it: why not make things official?
I initially reject the idea. I’m not a guy who does relationships. I’ve tried, and it never ends well. The women end up resenting my work schedule and wanting me to stay home more often, while I end up resenting them for trying to clip my wings.
But with Heather, I just know that wouldn’t happen. Mulling the idea over, I find myself needing to say the words in the quiet of the morning.
Fingering a strand of her hair, I say, “I’ve had a nice time with you, these past few weeks. Despite all the fighting, of course.”
She laughs softly. “Yes, all the fighting. I guess it’s our kind of foreplay.”
At the mention of foreplay, my body decides to wake up. Again. But I tell it to calm down, because I need to say this.
“How about we make this official?” I continue touching her hair, probably because I’m kind of obsessed with it now. Seeing her face, I try to lighten the mood. “I mean, we can even update our Facebook relationship status and everything.”
I wait for her to smile, or laugh, or say yes. But she doesn’t say anything. I watch as the blood drains from her face, and her freckles seem stark against her cheeks.
I touch her cheek. “Now you’re freaking me out.”
She shakes her head and sits up. “It’s nothing. I just realized that I need to be somewhere. I have a meeting this morning that I can’t be late for.” She gets up and starts getting dressed.
I sit up on my elbow, watching her, confused. My stomach clenches. Did I move too fast? But she sure as hell seemed as into me as I’m into her. She fell asleep in my arms, for Christ’s sake!
She seems so agitated that I finally get out of bed and touch her arm. She pulls away.
“Look, we don’t have to do anything,” I say, trying to feel my way through. “We can keep doing whatever it is we’re doing. I just thought maybe you’d like to make this more than a friends with benefits kind of deal.”
Her lips thin when I say friends with benefits. She puts her shoes on. “You know, I told myself this wasn’t going to work, and guess what? I was right.”
I pull back. “Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means exactly what I said: this isn’t going to work.” She looks around for her bag before seeming to remember she left it downstairs. “I have to go.”
She rushes out of the room and down the stairs, and I follow her, mostly because I refuse to let her go without some kind of explanation. I grab her elbow before she can bolt.
“Heather, wait. Can’t we talk about this?” When she doesn’t move, I let her arm go, but she doesn’t look at me. “Look, we don’t have to do anything. We can keep hooking up, if that’s what you want. I just know that most women aren’t usually into that.”
She whirls on me. “Because you’re some kind of expert on women, and on what I want? You’re so full of yourself, Caleb.” She points a finger at my chest. “What happens when you start to hate me for working all the time? When you decide I should stay home and make you dinner instead of pursuing my career?”
I stare at her, at a loss. “When have I ever said anything like that?”
“You don’t have to. If you know women, then I know men. I know that they expect any girlfriend they have to cater to them first. And you know what? I’m not going to do it. Not this time.”
I’m about to ask her about what happened last time when she grabs her bag and stalks out of the house.
I follow her outside. She rubs her arms in the cool of the morning.
“You want a ride?” I ask, because she looks so miserable, standing there waiting for a cab.
“Leave me alone, Caleb. Just leave me alone. This is over. I’m not going to change who I am for any man.”
Rage spills inside of me, and I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. “Fine, run away. But I hope you enjoy that cold bed at night, because we both know that your pride isn’t going to keep you warm at night. Run back to your store and tell yourself what we had was nothing. I won’t stop you.”
She inhales, a flush climbing into her cheeks. Looking like she’d happily slap me, we’re both saved when a cab pulls up to the curb.
She doesn’t say goodbye before the cab drives off.
Chapter Seventeen
Heather
“Can you move a little to the left? Keep going…right there. Perfect.” Caleb raises his camera and begins taking shots, maneuvering around the models without missing a beat.
Standing off to the side, watching everything, I have to stop myself from clenching my jaw. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Caleb—that horrible morning when he asked me to make things official—and despite the time apart, I can’t concentrate with him here. He looks so handsome and cool-headed. I have to wonder if he was at all affected by my refusal.
When he walks close to me, our gazes meet. His eyes flash with anger, and my heart pounds. But he turns toward the models again without saying a word.
Okay, so he’s pissed. I can’t blame him. When he sprung that question on me, I was so surprised that I know I didn’t react very well. I freaked out. I thought of Bo and how he dumped me, and the thought of Caleb doing the same was so unbearable that I felt as though it’d be better to end things completely.
Now I know what a stupid
decision that was. I should’ve at least let him explain what he meant. But no, I basically told him to go to hell and ran out on him without a backward glance. I stifle a groan at the memory.
“The next models, please. Yes, you and you. Get to your places, everyone.” Caleb checks the lighting and the models’ first poses, and I have to admit, he’s merged our two visions beautifully. No longer am I feeling as though my designs have gotten lost within the shoot itself.
After I ran out on Caleb that morning, we briefly emailed to discuss the upcoming shoot. His replies were professional, if not a little terse, but we haven’t spoken or texted each other since then. I’ve missed him—I’ll admit it. At night, I dream of his kisses, and his smiles.
My heart hurts looking at him now.
“You doing okay?” Tanya touches my arm. I’d told her about Caleb and me when she caught me crying at the store some time last week.
I shrug. “As good as expected. Did you get that inventory done?”
She doesn’t comment on my change of subject, thankfully. “I did, and it’s on your desk. You want it now?”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you, though.” My gaze goes back to Caleb, like I can’t stop watching him.
“He’s a great photographer,” Tanya murmurs.
I just sigh. “Yes, he is.”
As I watch him continue to photograph, though, memories of how Bo dumped me rear their ugly heads. You don’t love me enough, do you? he yelled at me that last day together. You love your career more. Admit it! We both know it’s true.
Those memories give me the resolve not to give into Caleb in making things official. We can either continue as lovers, or we can end things completely. Turning whatever it is we have into a relationship would be a huge mistake. Besides, Caleb is known for his playboy past, and I as well as anyone else know how many notches he has on his bedpost.
Rebecca speaks with me briefly about the shoot, but I hardly hear what she’s saying. My entire focus is on Caleb.