“No—it’s sublime, your neck.” His lips lock over my flesh just below the earlobe as Caleb forms his mouth to me. “I want to have my way with it.” He murmurs through his kisses. Caleb latches on. I can feel the intense pull of pressure as he sucks me down, his mouth demanding my blood vessels burst for him in a show of glory, like bloody sparklers on the Fourth of July. I remember him wanting to do this during those face-sucking fests we held down at the swampy end of the lake. I told him no way no how—no evidence, and, now, here he is, marking me in that adolescent way he’s wanted to all along. I won’t stop him. I want it. I crave it. I want to make him mine in some special way, too. Tonight we leave marks and claim territory. I very much approve of where this is headed.
Caleb inhales me—absorbing me right down to the marrow. His heated affection, his determination is something outside the bounds of erotic. Caleb nurses my flesh as if it were an exotic elixir. My hands glide down his body, pulling and tearing at his shirt, his belt.
Caleb dips his hands into the back of my jeans and gives a mean squeeze. This is a different Caleb than the softer, let’s-make-love version I’ve grown accustomed to. This one is up for something more impromptu, something far more cutthroat and dangerous. This one demands to fuck.
A lazy smile drifts to my lips as I sway my head back and forth.
“Take my clothes off,” I gravel out the words. “Right now.”
My blouse is torn off so violently, not only do the buttons ping across the room, but the sound of fabric ripping peals through the air like thunder.
“A little wild tonight, are we?” I pull back, dislodging him from project Super Hickey. My neck already feels singed—branded—in that location. I’m betting a scarf will be a required accouterment for the next several weeks. Caleb has really done some damage tonight, and I’m more than impressed. I give a dirty grin. “What’s gotten into you, McCarthy? Not that I’m complaining.”
Caleb pulls back, stoned with lust, his eyes glowing like a glacier. I love the way his dark hair frames those illuminated orbs. It’s haunting in a way.
“You got into me,” he says it sad like some morbid confession. “You always get into me. You’re in my head, my bones, my blood. I can’t escape you, Kennedy. You’re a part of me, and I don’t ever want that to change—no matter what.” His eyes widen as if there were a “what” dancing right there on the tip of his tongue. Caleb is skirting an issue, and this makes my stomach clench with fear. I hate fear. I’d much rather channel the energy toward something far more useful.
I take off my jeans achingly slow—twirling my hips, riding my body up and down his like a skilled pole dancer.
“I’ve been to strip clubs before, Caleb,” I whisper over his lips, denying him the kiss. “I’ve seen women grind their hips, shake their junk while men stuff their panties with dollar bills. Is that what you want me to be for you? A dancing dollar whore?” I shimmy down his body one more time, rubbing my lips over his erection through his pants. “I can do it. I really don’t mind.” I turn around, bottom pushed out, still looking at him—I would never deny myself the pleasure of watching his jaw drop. My fingers dip into my panties, and I glide them down an inch. “Why don’t you do the honors?” I arch my back, projecting myself toward him just a little bit more.
Caleb groans, already too far-gone with lust as his hands land over my thighs. He swipes my panties off in one aggressive move, his finger penetrating me, deep, without warning.
“There you go.” I push back into him. “Let’s see you let go of that aggression.” I lean over the cool granite of the island as Caleb takes me from behind rough and greedy. This isn’t the charming lover of days past, this is the bad boy version, the I’m-pissed-off-at-you-right-now, the I’m-going-to-punish-you version, something intense is happening—makeup sex without the proper fight.
Caleb rockets into me, mercilessly, like a prizefighter defending his glory. He pounds in, over and over, until his body collides one last time in a fit of marked aggression and then he freezes. Caleb shudders into me, letting me know the show is over for now, my body, my needs unmet until later. No, this isn’t like Caleb—the generous lover, the let’s-get-you-there-first hero that my orgasms have come to appreciate (pun intended.) This is greedy sex. Caleb is sending me a message, a pornographic Morse code I can’t quite decipher.
He presses his hand over my shoulder. His moist flesh still adhered onto my back. I wait for him to pull out before twisting into him. Our panting mouths unsmiling for the first time.
“Now tell me what has you so worked up”—I breathe the words heavy into his chest—“that you were afraid to tell me to begin with.” My gaze presses into his just shy of rage. “What has you on edge, Caleb? What do you know?” It’s my turn to latch on and start sucking for blood. I’m not letting up. I don’t care how many vessels get broken—I can break every bone in his body—I want the truth dammit. I’m already certain it involves me in the most unforgiving way.
He gives a lazy grimace, dimples no smile. “Let’s take a shower.”
“We’re taking a bath.” It’s in my nature to be difficult. I secretly think he loves it. After all, that’s what he signed up for, the complicated girl, the challenge, the wild one who doesn’t understand the simplicity of boredom. He wants it all, but what he doesn’t realize is, that, it comes with a price.
Caleb scoops me into his arms, stepping out of his pants on the way upstairs. He stubbornly turns on the shower and finishes disrobing as if his clothes were doused in flames. He pulls me into the hot, hot, steam, kissing me soft and lithe, proving that all of the aggression has been worked out of his system.
“Tell me, Caleb. What’s happened? What has you so worried for me?” There, I’m calling him out.
Steam rises between us in thick, vaporous billows, white as smoke. We were in proverbial flames, our relationship evaporating right before us.
“Something did happen today.” Tiny globes of water latch onto his hair like frost. Caleb is enchanting this way. He is his own universe, the only one in this world who ever truly cares about me.
A knot builds in my throat. A swell of emotion takes over, and I desperately want to abort the topic but can’t. I stepped on this train, fuelled it with my insatiable curiosity, and now he’s confirmed my worst theory, something has happened.
His brows dip into a V formation, his sorrow already manifesting for me.
“The results came back from Keith’s polygraph.” He takes in a solid breath, pacing himself, pacing me. “He didn’t upload your videos, Kennedy. He didn’t pull any of those pranks to turn the accusations back on you.” He bears into me unblinking. “But then you already knew that.”
I don’t say a word. I don’t blink, swallow, or move. Here I am naked, adhering to Caleb’s body like wet paper, and all I want to do is run.
“There’s more,” he says, his hands steadying me by the waist in the event I decide to dive headfirst out the glass wall. “You’re taking the test tomorrow.”
And there it is. Ground zero, right here—Caleb saved the grenade for last.
My mouth opens, but the words get locked in my throat, unable to swim to the surface.
Caleb touches his finger to my lips and shakes his head. “Not tonight—not around anyone else. I am your mouthpiece, Kennedy. Don’t you forget that,” he says it stern like a warning. “I am your judicial supporter, your helpmate. I am your fucking attorney.” There’s a sadness in his eyes, veiled only slightly under his constant evergreen longing for me. “I am your servant.” Caleb gets down on his knees, parting my thighs with his hands, then with his shoulder as he takes a gentle bite of my hip. He moves the hot trail of his mouth down the inside of my leg, landing his lips, his roaming tongue right over the wettest part of me.
