by Kati Wilde
“It makes me happy.” And hearing him say that makes me even happier.
“It should. And if you still want the Wyndham property for that project, I’ll just give it to you. You don’t have to buy it.”
Touched by that generosity, I smile up at him. “The property I have is enough.”
“All right.” He reaches for a colander hanging on the pot rack and I take another bite of salad. “So what’s the story with your parents?”
It suddenly becomes hard to swallow. “My parents?”
“You told Jessica not to invite them to the wedding.”
“Because I don’t want them there,” I say woodenly.
His gaze fixed on my face, Caleb comes closer, bracing his hands on either side of my legs. “Why?”
I don’t talk about why. “I shut them out of my life.”
My voice is icy. And I know how it comes off. The billionaire who cut off her family and refuses to reconcile. I’ve heard the whispers. My parents are vocal about my rejection of them, telling anyone who listens that I’m a cold ungrateful bitch who cares more about money than I care about family and human connections. Maybe Caleb is thinking the same.
I only wish that I could truly shut them out. That the mention of them wouldn’t affect me at all. That I could sit here without a lump in my throat and a dark ragged hole in my chest.
His eyes search mine before nodding. “All right.”
It’s with relief and regret that I watch him move away from me again. He busies himself at the stove, scrambling the eggs. His profile is a beautiful arrangement of hard angles and surprising softness in the shape of his mouth, which feels firmer than it looks. But there’s no softness in his jaw, shadowed by a heavy growth of stubble. And with his collar looser than it was yesterday, I can see a little more of the tattoo peeking up along the muscled column of his neck. Still not enough to determine what it is, but I try to mentally extend the shape, searching for a design that seems right.
“Audrey.” Caleb’s directly in front of me, his big hands gripping my thighs just above my knees. “Audrey, baby.”
I blink up at him.
“There you are. You weren’t kidding about spacing out.” A slow grin widens his mouth. “Dinner is ready.”
“Okay,” I say and reach for his collar.
He goes still as I unfasten the first button, then the next. His rough hands begin a slow slide up my legs, and my name is a low groan. “Audrey…”
“I want to see your tattoo.” I smooth the left side of his shirt back, revealing part of the design, but need to unfasten more to expose it all. The tension in his body increases with each button I undo, until his shirt is hanging open and I can push the flannel completely over his left shoulder and halfway down his arm.
“Do you have a tattoo under your sweater that I can look at?” Despite his clear amusement, hunger deepens his voice.
“No tattoos. I don’t handle pain well.”
“The needle’s not as bad as you think it’ll be.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s really bad or not. I still don’t handle pain well.” As if in reaction to my touch, his heavy pectoral flexes beneath my fingers when I trace a stylized wing. “It’s a bird?”
“A phoenix.”
“Why?”
“I like the idea of second chances. Or rising from the ashes.” His short laugh reverberates beneath my fingertips. “Or fucking up a first date, but still ending up at a woman’s house the next night after making her come in your truck.”
I like all of those ideas, too. My hands range down over his stomach, gliding over the ridged muscles that harden to corrugated steel beneath my touch. My fingers hook beneath his belt.
He catches my wrists. Voice raw, he tells me, “There aren’t any tattoos down there.”
I’m not looking for tattoos. Instead it’s the thick bulge behind his zipper that interests me. I glance up into his face. His eyes are a fevered gleam of arousal.
Need sparks across my skin. “I’ll race you to the bed.”
That’s all the warning I give before shoving him aside and taking off. His bark of laughter comes from behind me, then the sound of his pursuit. I sprint up the first flight of stairs, giggling and already breathless, then nearly wipe out as I turn the corner in my socks and start up the next flight. That slip allows him to gain on me, his hands snagging my hips, just enough to make me stumble before I catch myself on the steps, still trying to climb but forced to use both my hands and feet on the risers. Abruptly he curses and his grip tightens, bringing me to a sudden halt.
His deep groan sounds from behind me. “Fucking hell, baby. You think you can tease me with a glimpse of this pink pussy and get away easy?”
I hear the muffled thunk of his knees hitting a step below, then he pushes my sweater up over my ass. My heart thunders as a ragged exhalation passes over my exposed flesh.
Time stops as I feel Caleb’s mouth against me—and his hot tongue. Oh god. Licking through the seam of my pussy. Pushing into me. My head swims from the sheer stunning pleasure, then I cry out when his firm lips close around my clit and he sucks on that aching bud, just like he did to the tip of my tongue when we kissed, but the kiss didn’t feel like this.
“Goddamn, you’ve got a delicious little cunt.” His harsh voice penetrates the silky haze of ecstasy he just wrapped around me. “Now you keep running. And we’ll see what happens when I catch you again.”
My knees wobble unsteadily as I start off. I’m still reeling from the pleasure of his mouth, the flesh between my legs slick and hot—but I like to win, so I push past the lust and run. I hear Caleb following, taking the steps two at a time.
But I’ve got a head start and the advantage of knowing exactly where I’m going. I burst onto the fourth level and sprint for the bed, leaping the last few feet to secure my victory, letting loose a triumphant laugh when I safely land before he closes in. From my perch atop the mattress, I spin to see how far ahead I was.
And…oh. He’s not far behind me, but he’s not running. Instead he’s prowling closer, his hot gaze fixed on my face, his thumb wiping a glistening smear from his chin. His shirt is still unbuttoned, his hard chest framed by soft flannel, but he’s only a step away when he drags the shirt the rest of the way off.
“You beat me here,” he says in a gravelly voice, then licks my arousal from his thumb. “But I’ll still catch you.”
So easily. Because I don’t even try to get away, sinking down on the mattress as his hands grip the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head.
Abruptly he stops, staring at my nude form kneeling on the bed. “God help me. You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he groans as if that’s a terrible thing, then spears his hands into his hair and pulls at the short strands in frustration. “Waiting is going to kill me.”
“Waiting for what?” I grab his belt and tug him forward. He makes that tortured sound again but sways closer, his hands catching my face and his head lowering.
He rasps against my parted lips, “Waiting until we’re married before I fuck you.”
A giggle ripples through me. My mouth curves beneath his…but he’s not laughing. Was it not a joke, then?
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks, and his voice deepens. “It’s traditional to wait until the wedding night before consummating a relationship.”
I scoff. “It’s an old-fashioned tradition.”
“I’m an old-fashioned guy.”
“Really?” I pull back, narrowing my eyes at him. “So does that mean you’re a virgin, too?”
“No. But I didn’t intend to marry any of them, so there was no need to wait for a wedding.” Even as I snort derisively at that answer, he goes utterly still. “Hold up. Did you mean ‘too’ as in ‘Are you old-fashioned and also a virgin, Caleb?’—or did you mean ‘too’ as in ‘Are you a virgin like me, Caleb?’”
I give him my coldest stare.
“Holy fuck.” His disbelieving
gaze searches mine. “But you’re not old-fashioned—or religious.”
“No.” And not shy or prudish, either. “But I don’t like people touching me. And I don’t like touching them.”
Tension abruptly whitens his jaw. “You don’t?” Gaze stricken, he jerks his hands away from my face. “I’m so sorry, baby—”
“Except for you, Caleb.” I catch his hands and guide them back, until he’s cupping my cheeks again. “I like it when you touch me. I like it very, very much.”
He exhales a relieved breath, then pulls me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “Then I’m going to touch you so damn good. So you tell me what you like and what you don’t.”
I will. But I don’t get the words out before he kisses me, deep and hot and hungry. And I do like this, so much, as he eases me onto my back, his mouth ravishing mine all the way down. His tongue slicks past my lips in rhythmic strokes, drawing a low moan from my throat as my hands roam up over his strong arms, his broad shoulders. I want to touch him everywhere, the wondrous pleasure of his warm skin under my palms blending with the ecstasy of his kiss.
His weight settles between my thighs, and the burning need becomes a wildfire. I break the kiss, gasping, “Your jeans. Take them off. Let me feel you.”
Laughing and groaning at once, he buries his face against my throat. “If I feel your wet pussy against my bare cock, I sure as hell won’t last until the wedding. So they aren’t coming off until we’re married.”
I hiss with frustration, then he’s kissing me again—but this time my neck, trailing his lips downward and finding a spot so sensitive that a single lick seems to swipe over every nerve within my skin, making me tighten and shiver all over.
“I won’t leave you aching, baby,” he promises on a soft growl before moving lower, cupping my breasts in his big hands and pressing them together, giving me more cleavage than I’ve ever had. His thumbs sweep across my hardened nipples before he lowers his head to my right breast. He teases me with a swirl of his tongue, then moves to the left and teases again.
“I like this, Caleb,” I tell him on panting breaths. My nipples had been tight but now they throb with restless heat. “I like this so much—”
Lightning snaps through my veins as he draws hard upon one taut peak. A strangled cry breaks from me, my back arching.
“Oh god, and this. This, too.”
Caleb groans his agreement, as if his pleasure is as sharp and electric as mine. And now it’s clear why he pushed my breasts together, so that he could suck hard upon one nipple before hungrily feasting on the other, back and forth, back and forth, while my fingers dig into his shoulders and my hips writhe beneath him. Between my legs, I’m so slippery that there shouldn’t be any friction. But there is, rough and just as good as it was in his truck but here it’s adding a layer of sheer frustration.
“I’m getting your jeans damp,” I point out breathlessly, hoping that’ll change his mind and he’ll take them off.
“I know it, baby. I hope your pussy juices soak them through,” he says gruffly. “It’ll be like wearing a badge of honor, because I made you this hot for me.”
“So hot.” My skin on fire, my pussy all molten heat. I rock up beneath him, seeking the hard ridge of his erection where the friction is best and worst and so good. “And so wet. You make me so wet, too.”
A tortured groan rumbles through him. “You make it so hard to hold out.”
“Then don’t.”
“I have to. But I’ll take care of all these pussy juices for you—and I’d rather have that badge of honor all over my face,” he says gruffly and moves lower, his tongue tracing down my stomach, but I catch his hair and bring him up again.
I guide his lips to my left breast. “It wasn’t equal. You started on the right side and ended there, and this one didn’t get a final turn.”
“Not equal?” He chuckles against the bottom swell of my breast before latching on to my nipple, his heavily-lidded gaze holding mine as his cheeks hollow. And as incredible as it feels, the way he looks at me with his dark eyes gleaming with hunger and amusement and challenge—as if he’s daring me to find fault with what his mouth is doing now—deepens every sensation, not just touching my skin but also the sensitive, ephemeral parts buried inside me, those feelings that have nothing to do with nerve endings.
With a gentle tug of his teeth, he releases my nipple and rasps, “Better?”
“Yes,” I tell him huskily. “And I like watching you.”
“Then you keep those gorgeous eyes fixed on what my mouth’s about to do.”
I do, coming up onto my elbows. My stiffened nipples are a bright rosy pink when he leaves them behind. On a trail of licks and kisses, his dark head slowly moves down over my stomach, my skin tightening with every inch he gains. His hands go more quickly, coasting down my sides and gripping my thighs.
My breath catches when he pushes my legs up, settling my feet on his shoulders. He looks up at me, gaze dark with hunger.
“All right?”
Dizzy with anticipation, I nod.
His hands slide downward again, palming the underside of my legs, thumbs sweeping inward through the wetness glistening on my inner thighs. His gaze drops from mine and his body goes utterly still as he takes in the sight of my most intimate flesh, open and waiting for his kiss.
“I like this,” I tell him, my breath coming in erratic gasps. “I like this.”
A groaning laugh escapes him. “I’m not even touching you yet.”
He is. His hands are still gripping my thighs and his shoulders are bracing my feet, and that’s good, too, but that’s not what I like best now. “You’re looking at me as if you want this more than anything.”
“Because I do,” he says in a voice thick with hunger. His thumbs slide upward and part the lips of my pussy. A ravenous growl rumbles from him. “Just look at you. So fucking beautiful, and so goddamn wet, and all I want to do is to make you come on my tongue. Now you hold onto something.”
Obediently my hands fist in the bedspread as he lowers his head. Tension quivers through my thighs, then my breath leaves my lungs in explosive rush when his tongue drags up through my center and flicks over my clit. His eyes close in ecstasy, as if that long hot lick was even better for him than it was for me, but it couldn’t be, nothing could be better.
Until it is, when he does it again. And again. Slowly, as if savoring the taste of me, as if my pleasure is only his secondary goal—because if my pleasure was first, then he’d just focus on my clit, but he’s licking me all over. I tell him what I like, and it becomes a chant that I can’t stop because I like it all, from the way his tongue slicks through my folds to the way his teeth graze my clit before he licks it again, to the way he groans and orders me to fuck his face when I can’t stop myself from rocking against him, to the way he pins my thrashing hips when he focuses on my clit again, sucking and teasing.
And he told me to hold on but I can’t support my weight anymore, my elbows giving out and my hands letting go of the bedspread. So I hold on to his hair instead, fisting my fingers in the thick strands and sobbing with frustration and pleasure as he abandons my clit, lifts my hips and thrusts his tongue past my sensitive entrance again and again, fucking into me with each deep lick.
Then his gaze meets mine, and with a long slide of his tongue he slicks his way back up, his mouth and chin glistening with my juices as his lips close over my throbbing clit. And I can’t see what he does, only feel it—the teasing licks, and the sweet suction that makes my legs begin to shake. Then his tongue glides over my engorged clit from side-to-side, with pleasure and arousal ratcheting painfully tighter with every sideways swipe.
“That.” I can’t get any more words out, can’t tell him that I like it so much, that it’s so good. Instead I sob “that” again and Caleb does it, rougher and harder and faster, his eyes like hot coals locked onto mine as the ecstasy twists higher and higher, his fingers digging into my thighs to hold me in place as my spi
ne arches up with it, his harsh groans vibrating through my aroused flesh and urging me to come.
The orgasms uncoils suddenly, violently, an earth-shattering quake beneath my skin. I scream as it unleashes inside me, my pussy muscles clenching and my body shaking through its release. As my climax subsides, Caleb’s mouth gentles, his eyes burning with satisfaction and pleasure. Then I can’t hold his gaze anymore, falling back against the bed again. Aftershocks tremble through me as he slowly licks the full length of my pussy, as if gathering up all the wetness of my orgasm.
And I like it, like it so much, but can’t bear it now. “It’s too much,” I gasp and he begins working his way up my belly instead. My feet slip from his shoulders and I don’t have the strength to do anything but let them fall, lying beneath him with my legs splayed and my lungs still trying to catch up with what my body just did.
“I think we’re both about to take up a new hobby,” he says gruffly against my breast. “Because that was a whole lot of fun.”
I laugh breathlessly, nodding. And I like what he does now, too—kissing me again with the flavor of my arousal on his lips, then rolling us onto our sides and pillowing my cheek on his biceps. With his head tilted down and me looking up, we’re nearly face to face, and somehow I feel closer to him now than when we were kissing. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, then glide down over my neck. His gaze follows his hand, but I watch him, my chest swelling at the expression that settles over his features, a mixture of desire and wonder and contentment, as if simply being close enough to touch is as pleasurable for him as it is for me.
Until his fingers slip down my upper arm and a frown draws his eyebrows together. “What happened here?”
“Surgery,” I whisper. “I fell out of a tree and broke my arm.”
“Must have been a bad break.”
It wasn’t. Not really. Not at first. And the memory halts the swelling warmth in my chest, makes me tense as his fingers pass my elbow and find the scar on my forearm. Then the next.
His head comes up and he lifts my arm to get a better look. His face slowly darkens. “And these scars here?”