It sets my already buzzing body a-freaking-blaze, the ache in my thighs throbbing unbearably as I gyrate my backside in slow circles, unknowingly looking for some relief.
“Don’t stop…” An agonized curse trails off in a whisper. “Don’t stop. Abby…”
Wait. What?
My eyes pop open, even though in my drowsy stupor I continue pulling the silky hair fisted in my palm, and I suddenly become aware of the following things:
1. The hand and erection belong to Caleb, and we’re both lying horizontally on the couch.
2. Daylight pours through the large living room windows.
3. Caleb and I are not alone.
“Bro, check it out,” a voice declares. “They’re dry humping in the middle of the living room.”
“Shut the fuck up,” another male voice demands. “You’ll wake them before they get to the good part. Shit, this is better than soft core porn.”
The first voice laughs. “Do you think Showtime will jizz in his boxers?”
“Definitely. I don’t think he’s gotten laid in a while.”
“Wait. Didn’t he get a blow job from that butch lesbian on the lacrosse team?”
“No, dude, that was me.” They both laugh and I hear them high-five.
Oh. My. Freaking. God.
Once again, I force my eyes open, the fuzzy vision clearing after I blink a few times, concentrating my focus on the other side of the room.
Cubby and Stephan Randolph are sitting on the fireplace hearth, watching us, each with a mug of steaming hot coffee in their hands. I bury my face in the couch cushion as Caleb slowly removes his hand from underneath my shirt, pulling the hem down my hips.
“Shit,” he moans. “I’m so sorry.” The low pitch of his voice so close to my ear makes me shutter. “Well, sorry we got caught.”
Unable to face his friends, I struggle with my movements, trying to flip over so my backside is presented to the guys without making eye contact, and bury my flaming-hot face in Caleb’s soft tee shirt. I maneuver this way and that, trying to balance myself and not fall off the edge of the sectional.
“Don’t move. Please,” Caleb grunts. “You’re making it worse.”
Right.
The overlooked erection is now pressed into the juncture of my thighs rather than my butt crack.
“If you don’t finish him off, Abby, you’re going to give him blue balls,” Cubby says matter-of-factly, and I can hear him slurping obnoxiously from his coffee mug.
“Shut the fuck up, Cubby. Can you give us some privacy?” Caleb talks over my shoulder, his muscular arms wrapping protectively around me—and because I can’t resist the temptation, I snuggle in deeper, giving his shirt a good whiff.
Mmmm, so, so good.
His hand timidly caresses my back.
“All I’m saying is, we weren’t hating watching you dry hump,” Cubby says, just as Stephan adds, “It gave me a giant boner just seeing you two.” I hear the shuffling of clothes as he stands. “In fact, I think I’ll go stick it inside Chelsea.”
“Jesus Christ. Unbelievable,” Caleb whispers. “Cubby, why are you still sitting there? Get the fuck out of here.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll leave—but remember kids, abstinence makes the heart grow fondler.”
“What a douchebag,” Caleb mutters, aggravated. When Cubby clears the room, he gives my back a few more strokes. “Hey. Are you okay down there?”
I pull back, tipping my chin to look at him.
I’m mortified, but I nod.
“Yes, I’m okay.” I wonder just where the heck my courage is coming from to even respond. My underpants, probably, because the sight before me is like a wet dream. Caleb’s often serious face is covered with the sexiest five o’clock shadow I’ve ever seen, and he’s gazing down at me with his aroused, storm-colored eyes.
A deep gash that I’ve never noticed before mars the corner of his eyebrow, and a new, healing scar runs down the length of his rigid jawline.
And his hair. Oh, his shaggy, beautiful black hair. It’s truly a crime against nature for this surly boy to have such thick, silky hair, and for him to hide it under a vast collection of baseball caps.
His full lips are pulled down over his teeth, and the outline of dark stubble surrounding that sexy mouth is a crazy, maddening, ovary-clenching turn-on—especially after all the rubbing, petting, and grinding we just sleepwalked through.
Our lips are but a whisper away, and morning breath be damned, I arch my back, stretching my lips toward his beautifully imperfect face, and lay a single, soft kiss on his surprised mouth. He produces a low growl as a loud, annoyed shout rings out from the kitchen. “Get a room!”
CHAPTER 15
CALEB
I’m in Hell.
Struggling through a crowd of loud, obnoxious, unsupervised kids and teenagers, I barely manage to climb in line behind our friends for the water ride we all just stood in line to buy wrist bands for.
Two little punks in front of me start a game of Tag-You’re-It, and I seriously want to punch myself. Fuck, this is aggravating.