by Kati Wilde
“Shh, baby. We’ll just take the edge off. All right?”
I can’t agree because I don’t know what he means. But what he does is all right, more than all right. He lifts me against him and turns, sitting on the passenger seat. There’s a few seconds of awkward movement as he pulls his legs inside while still holding me. Then he closes the door, and suddenly everything is very all right, because I’m straddling his hips and our mouths are so close. Our hot breaths frost in the cold air, and it’s so dark but his eyes seem to glitter with their own heat.
And I want my panties gone but I also don’t want to stop what he’s doing now, his hands sliding beneath the back of my coat and sweater and grabbing my ass, holding me in place for the upward thrust of his hips. And there’s so much friction. From his cock and his jeans and my leggings and my panties and all of it dragging against my clit. My strangled moan against his lips is answered by a feral snarl, followed by Caleb’s taut, “Is that the right spot, baby?” and my “yes, yes” that I would have kept saying forever if I hadn’t desperately lunged for his mouth. Because I understand the edge he means to dull now, letting me masturbate against him to orgasm, and this is so much better than my fingers have ever been.
But not better than his fingers. And I never want to stop kissing him, but when Caleb brings one hand forward around my hip and pushes down the front of my leggings and his thumb dips into my panties to tease my clit, I don’t have a choice. I can’t kiss him anymore. I can’t do anything but feel him touch me, can’t breathe or think. I can’t do anything but fist my fingers in his hair and hold on as he rocks beneath me and curses about how I’m soaking wet and his thumb circles and rubs that slippery knot of flesh.
Can’t do anything but shake, and chant out a “You’re making me come, Caleb. Oh god, you’re making me come. You’re making me—” before I do come in a convulsing, white hot flash, my head tilted back and my scream trapped behind my clenched teeth.
Then he pulls me back down against him, our foreheads together, our frozen breaths harsh and ragged. I think of kissing him again, but the edge is gone—and I don’t want to risk it returning until we’re home.
Maybe Caleb’s thinking the same, because when he does kiss me, he holds my face in his palms but only presses his lips to my forehead and then to both of my cheeks. “All right now?”
I nod into his hands. “Thank you.”
He grins. “I ought to be thanking you. Watching you come so hard and so fast was the goddamn sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Warm pleasure blooms inside me and I grin back at him. “And it made me tired.” Utterly sated, with lethargy stealing into my limbs. “I’m going to nap until we get home. Do you have my address?”
A chuckle rumbles through him. “Yeah, I do. Do we need to stop for dinner? Maybe pick something up?”
“I should have something ready at home. If you want, you can eat there.”
“I definitely want to eat,” he says gruffly. “And I’ll even settle for food.”
“Audrey. I’m sorry, baby, but I need you to wake up.”
I do, sitting up and wiping the drool from my cheek. Immediately I see the problem. A gate blocks the narrow lane ahead. My hands dig into my pockets searching for my phone.
Caleb’s frowning at his, the screen open to a mapping application. “The GPS brought us here, but we’re apparently on a nature reserve. Should I have turned down the last road or—”
“No. This is where I live.” I tap the gate code into my device.
His brows rise. “In a park?”
“It’s a private reserve. Most of it’s open to the public. Just not this part.”
He huffs out a laughing breath, shaking his head. “All right, then.”
Unfamiliar nervousness flutters in my stomach. Because I forgot—this is where he’ll be living, too. And his reaction seems somewhat…ironical. As if he’s laughing at a joke I don’t understand.
“You don’t like the forest?” I ask him hesitantly.
“I do. I just didn’t expect that you’d live in one, especially so close to the city.” He pulls forward through the gate and into the snowy wood, following the gravel lane. “How long have you been here?”
“I had the house built about eight years ago.” And because that nervous flutter still hasn’t gone away, I add, “It has a big garage that I don’t really need. You could take it over and use the space for your restoration projects.”
He glances over at me with a quick smile. “Yeah, maybe.”
That smile eases some of the tension in my stomach, but not all of it. I watch his face as the truck begins climbing the incline toward the house. The structure is visible now, though at first he doesn’t seem to see—
“What the…?” Slowing the truck, he brings it to a halt and stares through the dark, as if trying to make out the shape of the house. “You live in a waterfall?”
Not exactly, but…kind of. “The water actually falls behind the house. And then flows through the different levels, so it just appears as if it’s part of the waterfall.”
“But your house is built into that cliff?” The disbelief has returned.
“Right up against it.” And designed to look as if it’s an extension of the cliff. “I wanted the house to seem like it’s a part of the natural landscape.”
“It does that,” he says in that ironically amused voice again. “Where do I park?”
“The garage entrance is around the side, but the front entrance is under that overhang. We can just park there, instead. And I’ll show you inside.”
Where Caleb seems to fall uncharacteristically quiet. The house isn’t built into the cliff, but more like a semicircle sitting with the flat side against the cliff, and made up of several levels. The main living space is on the second level, so I take him there before running upstairs to change. I strip off my leggings and my damp panties, drag on a pair of fuzzy socks, then head back down.
When I spot Caleb, I’m reminded of the first time I saw him—standing silently with his back to me, his hands in his pockets, gazing through the enormous windows that look out into the snowy forest. Except he doesn’t unbalance this space. He seems to fit right in, as if he belongs—and I suspect that now this room will only feel wrong when he’s not in it.
As if he spots my reflection in the window, he turns. My stomach drops as I see his expression. Not a frown, exactly. But also not pleased.
My chest tight, I tell him, “If you don’t like it, we can buy a different house.”
“Not like it?” he echoes before dragging his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Audrey, this place is fucking beautiful. I mean, these windows. You only have a view of some trees, but it’s just…like nothing I’ve ever seen. Like we’re not even in a house, but outside in the forest, and there just happens to be some”—he waves around us—“really comfortable furniture and stuff around.”
The tension in my chest eases. “So you like it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, baby, I do.” His voice deepens and his brows draw together as he looks at me—as if suddenly realizing how nervous I am. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I didn’t know. You sounded…something. When you found out where I lived. And what the house looked like.”
Nodding abashedly, he rubs the back of his neck, looking around again. “I’m still adjusting to the reality of what a whole lot of money can do. And…I didn’t expect this. In any way.”
“It’s an unusual house,” I agree.
“Not the house. Though, yeah, it’s unusual. But I pictured something like the Bennet place. Up on a hill—or maybe one of those giant mansions on the lake. And this is a big place, relatively speaking, but still a lot smaller than I expected. How many bedrooms does this have?”
“Four. But only because the architect pointed out that I might want a family someday. I originally asked for one.”
“So you must want a family someday?” Gaze suddenly intense, he doesn’t wait for an answer before c
ontinuing, “I also thought it might be like your office. Empty and sterile. But this isn’t at all.”
“Oh. That’s just because the office is where I work—so I minimize distractions as much as possible. I don’t ever work here at home, though. And I don’t guard against becoming hyperfocused here. If it happens, it happens. But the spaces are similar.”
“Because of the giant windows?”
“Yes. Because nature is the one thing that’s never wrong. Or too cluttered. Or unbalanced. Or out of order. It just is what it is. And that’s very soothing to me.”
“So when I move in, I shouldn’t go shifting stuff around and unbalancing everything?”
When I move in. Relief pours through me. “You can change anything you want to. But if it bothers me, I might move it back.”
He grins and comes closer. “You don’t need to worry that I’ll change much of anything. I don’t own much stuff, and what I’ve seen of this house seems perfect as it is. Especially if you’ve got a kitchen. Are you hungry?”
“Very.” My stomach has been growling since we got here.
“Then I’ll get you fed before getting you into bed,” he says and a shiver of anticipation races over my skin.
I lead him to the kitchen, which has its own wall of windows, though part of the view is blocked by my Christmas tree. I head for the refrigerator. “My housekeeper always leaves a dinner for me. Looks like we have…peanut chicken skewers and a chopped salad.” I read the label she left on the container, then consider the size of the portion, then Caleb’s massive size. “Do you want this? I’ll eat one of these yogurt and granola things.”
“Just a yogurt? Let me see how much is in here.” Frowning, he takes the container from me. “Ah, yeah. Okay, how about we split the chicken, but I’ll cook up something else to go with it.” Opening the refrigerator door wider, he scans the contents. “We can work with this. Do you have any rice noodles?”
“I have no idea.”
“Can I look through your cupboards?”
“They’re your cupboards now, too,” I point out, and that seems to stop him for a long second, his gaze arrested on my face. Then he gives me a brief, fierce kiss before beginning a search for the noodles.
Remembering that he ordered a beer at the party yesterday, I find one in the beverage cooler and pour him a glass. It doesn’t take long before he’s got a small collection of ingredients on the counter.
“Do you need me to cut anything?” I ask, moving in to examine the bottles and spices. “I can cut. And peel.”
“I’ve got it covered. But you can keep me company. And you should eat some of this salad to hold you over until it’s ready.” With thrilling ease, he hefts me up onto the counter. My sweater’s long enough to cover my bottom, but the granite’s cold under my bare thighs—yet it quickly begins to warm from the heat of my skin. “Those fuzzy socks are adorable.”
“And comfy.” Which is more important.
“Your bare legs are gonna kill me, baby.” He skims his hands down my thighs before bracing his hands on the counter on either side of my legs. “In the very best way. Is this the kind of thing you usually wear around the house? Just a long top and some fuzzy socks?”
“Yes. Though I usually wear underwear, too.”
His eyes close and he groans as if tortured, his head hanging low. Then my stomach growls and he abruptly backs away, shaking his head. “Feed you first. After that…”
Anticipation heats my blood. Because he doesn’t finish that thought now, but he already told me. I’ll get you fed before getting you into bed. I don’t see why we can’t just do the rest in the kitchen, but I can wait for the bed, too.
And enjoy myself here. I especially like looking at his hands. His fingers are long, the tips blunt and his movements deft as he begins preparing the noodles. He rolls up the cuffs of his flannel shirt before filling a pot beneath the tap, his forearms like sinewy steel.
“Do you cook often?” I ask him, taking a bite from the chopped salad.
“Most nights. So tell your housekeeper she doesn’t need to keep making dinners for you.”
Because he would cook for me? Warmth fills my chest. “Or I can ask her to make two, if you don’t want to take the time.”
“I enjoy it. But you don’t?”
I shrug. “Hot stoves and I don’t make a safe combination. I learned that fairly early. So I don’t cook. But I can cut and chop and peel.”
“Can you stir?”
“Like a three-star Michelin chef.”
He grins, opens a few bottles and pours a measure of their contents into a small bowl. A dollop of reddish-brown paste goes in before he hands me the bowl and a whisk. “Get to work.”
It only takes a minute before it all smooths together, the scent of the sauce slightly sour and slightly fishy. “When did you learn to do this?”
“Cook? When I was twelve. Though when I first started, it was usually mac-and-cheese or spaghetti. Sure as hell wasn’t pad thai.”
“Only twelve?” I assumed it was when he began living alone—learning out of necessity.
“Yeah. I remember it pretty clearly.” He pauses to take a swallow of his beer, then cracks a few eggs into a bowl. “My mom worked most nights until pretty late. It just made sense for me to cook something for myself and have enough left over for her, so she’d have something ready when she got home. Once I got the hang of it, I started reading recipes so I could surprise her now and then with something new. As long as the ingredients weren’t too expensive.”
Oh. On a soft sigh, I tell him, “You are all marshmallow-y inside.”
He barks out a short laugh. “Yeah, no.” His jaw tightens briefly before he shakes his head. “The reason I started? Is because I was a lazy little dick. Because one night she came home late, just fucking exhausted. And the first thing I said to her was that I’m hungry and where’s my dinner. So she went into the kitchen and started heating up a can of soup. Then she hid in the bathroom and began bawling, because she was so damn tired, but her work still wasn’t done. And all that work she did for me. But it was no effort for me to learn and have it ready on those late nights for her, to make her life a little easier. So I stopped being such a dick and gave something back.”
“Ooey-gooey S’mores,” I tell Caleb quietly, my heart swollen with all the sweet emotion I feel toward him. “You didn’t start cooking because you were a lazy little dick. You started because you loved her.”
“Yeah, I did,” he says gruffly.
Of course he did. And being loved by Caleb sounds completely, utterly wonderful.
Not being loved by him is completely, utterly wonderful, too. Simply being with him makes me so happy. When I accepted his proposal, I believed that I’d be marrying a forthright man I liked and was attracted to. But Caleb is so much more. He’s a man who apologized when he hurt me. Who makes me catch fire with his kisses. Who so easily accepts my tendencies and doesn’t demand typical responses.
I didn’t expect that I might start falling in love with him. But I think that I am.
I don’t expect Caleb to fall in love with me, though. That’s no more likely than being loved by my own mother. But I’ll take what he gives. I’ll take this desire, this closeness, this happiness—and give him everything I can in return.
I know it won’t be enough to keep him forever. His marriage proposal stipulated that the marriage would be temporary. I was reminded of that today when I saw the first draft of the marriage contract based on his business plan. He only wants to be married until he receives his inheritance.
It was so difficult not to take that stipulation out of the contract. To demand that our marriage should last forever. But I know all too well that demanding more than someone wants to give can destroy a relationship. So I need to accept that I’ll only have a little while with him.
I can be content with a little while. It’s far better than no time at all.
“So what’s your story?” he suddenly asks.
; I look at him in confusion. “My story?”
“You asked when I started cooking. I told you the story. So what’s the story of you building a house in the forest? Because I understand that it’s soothing—but how do you end up knowing something like that? Did you grow up in the woods or go camping a lot as a kid?”
“Neither of those. It was at my boarding school. They had extensive grounds, including some woodlands. So I used to go out hiking alone and…” I don’t think there’s anything else to this story. “I liked it.”
“So why didn’t you become a forest ranger or something similar, instead of working in an office?”
“I wouldn’t have been a good forest ranger. But I am good at business, and the money I make allows me to establish nature reserves and hire forest rangers.”
“So you’re like someone who enjoys art but can’t paint. You’re a patron, instead.”
That analogy is literally accurate, too. I support many artists. But instead of confusing the issue, I simply nod and scoop up another bite of salad. “Unlike you.”
“Me?”
“Fixing vehicles and restoring them,” I say, then try to use his analogy. “You work in the art museum but you are also a sculptor.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” A smile quirks his mouth before he flicks a glance at me. “Is that forest story also the story of this camp project of yours?”
Essentially. I nod while chewing.
“So what kind of camp is it?”
“It’ll be a summer camp for neurodivergent teens. During the rest of the year, it’ll offer outdoor school programs and science education for local underfunded school districts.”
“So you’re trying to give a bunch of kids the same experience that you got at your boarding school?”
I shake my head. “Just a different experience from what they usually have. Whatever they get out of it will depend on them.”
“Speaking as one of the kids who came from an underfunded school district, I’d have loved an opportunity like that.” Admiration fills his voice. “That’s a fucking fantastic project.”