“Whoa. You okay?”
I get my bearings and nod.
He releases me, remaining close. “You have to take it easy.” He cups my face. “I don’t want you to get hurt again on my watch.”
I glance away. “I won’t.”
“No, because I’m keeping my eyes on you.” He presses his forehead against mine.
Closing my eyes, I soak up his masculine presence and the woodsy scent of his cologne. My face warms where his hand cups it. I can’t help but wonder what the massive mitt would feel like on the rest of my body. I never knew I had a hand fetish. We stand together for a few heartbeats.
“Come on, let’s get food in your belly.” Stepping back, he pulls me flush to his side.
I look up at him.
“Can’t have you getting dizzy again.”
I go over my intense response to him as we walk to the kitchen. It’s been a while since I had a man in my bed, but this is more. It’s not just his face and magnificent physique that have me tangled into knots. It’s his way with words and how he takes care of me. The fact that I let him is a miracle. I don’t tend to be so open. After all, I was raised to be self-sufficient. The theme “it’s just the two of us” was repeated until I thought in my sleep. As an only child to divorced parents with small families, Mom and I didn’t have the luxury of a support system. Other than my best friend, Lily, I tended to be mercurial when it came to deep, long-term connections with people.
Once I was a sucker for romance. I devoured books and Rom-Coms while I waited to meet my own Mr. Right. Then I fell for a handsome, silver-tongued con man who broke my heart and my bank. Shame and anger toward the situation continue to linger. He made me distrust my discernment and sink into a deep depression. I wanted to know why I wasn’t enough. It took me back to my childhood, exasperating the issues I had with abandonment from males. The journey to loving myself adequately proved to be long and arduous.
Isn’t there a phrase for decisions made after a traumatic experience? That’s what this magnetic pull is to Caleb. The little girl in me is seeing her white knight. However, his dark hair, dark eyes, and temper are more the anthesis to the heroes in fairytales. He helps me climb onto my high back stool, and I’m back to staring at his hands as he prepares my portion of lasagna.
“Is this enough?”
I nod, unable to speak around my swollen throat. Once I get through the next twenty-four hours, things will return to normal. Is that what I really want?
“I’M SORRY, FINAL WAKE up.”
On the cusp of an intense release, I gasp as I swim to the surface, trembling as I teeter on edge. His nostrils flare. Can he smell me? I press my thighs together. The friction makes me whimper.
“What’s wrong?” He kneels beside me.
Too close.
“N-Nothing. Still waking.” I pray he mistakes my husky voice for being sleep worn. His large hands fist my crisp, white sheets. The same hands that had done deliciously dirty things to me in my sleep. I can’t get the vivid image of those pale hands running down my thigh and dwarfing my dripping cunt. I flex the walls of my pussy to try to hold off the orgasm.
“Open your eyes for me, little one.” His deep voice is an invisible touch thrumming at my swollen, needy clit.
“C-Ca—”
“Shh.”
I groan, squirming at his command.
“Eyes on me.” The deep authority has my full attention.
The light pierces my retinas, but it’s the explosion in my center that steals my sight. I grip the sheets, arching as my lips part in a soundless scream.
“Beautiful,” he whispers huskily.
Panting, I wait for embarrassment to eat me alive. It doesn’t. My lids flutter open. I gasp at the look of pure longing etched on Caleb’s features. Aftershocks continue to rocket through me. His chest rises and falls rapidly. Damn those parted, pillowy lips of his. H
is strong jaw tenses, and the nostrils on his Roman nose continue to flare.
“Romy.” He inhales sharply. “If I don’t leave right now, I’m going to taste you.” He licks his lips. “And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
“Shower,” I squeak. “I need—”