Because she asked.
She wants to see where I sleep.
And all I can think about is how close she is, how soft she sounds, and how every drop of blood in my body is rushing south.
That soon, she might be inmybed.
Wearing nothing but that sweet, mischievous smile.
And I’m alreadyhard as a damn rock.
Chapter 8
Nya
Hisroomissmall,but not cold.
A bed with plain dark sheets. A wooden dresser with a mirror cracked at one corner. A worn chair by the window, where late afternoon light pours in golden and soft. It smells like pinewood and something that might be cedar soap or leather polish. Clean. Unfussy. Steady.
His cut hangs on a hook. Proud. Worn. Like it belongs there, like it’s as much a part of him as the scars I know run across his chest.
And taped to the mirror’s edge, slightly curling at one corner — a photo.
I’m drawn to it. I step closer and smile. A teenage Caleb, younger and sharper around the edges, stands with his arm slung around a grinning little girl missing her front teeth. Herpigtails are a little uneven, but she beams like she’s queen of the world.
He looked different back then — thinner, maybe — but even in that frame, he had the same quiet steadiness. That sameprotectorenergy. Strong. Grounded. Fierce.
“Is this Cassie?” I ask, turning to look at him.
He’s behind me now. Close. His chest brushes my shoulder, and the heat of him wraps around me like gravity.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s the little devil.”
There’s warmth in his voice, but also a flicker of something deeper. Pride. Grief. Maybe both.
Before I can say anything, his hand suddenly curves around my waist.
The next second, I’m off the ground with a yelp, slung over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“Caleb!” I laugh, thumping his back. “What are you—”
“You wanted the full tour, Sunshine,” he says, his voice dark with amusement. “Figured I’d show you the bed up close.”
He strides the few steps across the room and tosses me onto the bed like a prize. I land on my back, breathless and half-laughing, hair fanned across the pillow.
But when I meet his gaze again, everything shifts.
The playfulness fades.
His stare darkens, and all the air leaves the room.
His fingers slide along the hem of my dress. He draws it up, exposing inch after inch of my thighs, my hips, my belly, until it slips over my head and lands in a pool on the floor.
My bra is next. Unhooked in a smooth motion that makes me feel like I’ve always belonged under his hands.
He leans back for a breath, eyes skimming over my body like he’s taking inventory of every inch he now has access to.
Then he kneels on the bed, his hands sliding up my thighs.
