“Whit,” he says gently, his hands clutching my arms. “You’ve lost weight. Are you eating?”
I lick at my lips, and fresh tears leak from my eyes.
His face crumples, and his nostrils flare, those fingers digging into my skin.
“You need to shower. You’ll feel better. You always feel better after.”
I shake my head once and lean into him. His hands tense against me, and then he’s pulling me into him, cradling me to his muscular chest, and I clutch onto him, ugly, wretched sobs escaping my trembling lips.
“Whit,” he whispers, running his hands through my dirty hair, but he doesn’t care. My mess never bothered him.
I finally found a man who loves me for who I am, and I let him leave.
I let him hold me, soaking his shirt with my tears.
I miss him.
When my sobs turn to hiccups, he cradles my face in his hands and moves away from me. But I lean toward him, needing him to hold me. Just for a minute longer. A second. I’ll take whatever he gives me.
Then he’s undressing, pulling his clothes off, and I can’t tear my eyes away. He’s more beautiful than I remember. He hasn’t suffered and dimmed the way I have. If anything, he glows.
“Let’s wash you,” he says softly and leads me into the shower. Warm water soaks my skin, but all I can feel is the way he washes me reverently. Like he still wants me. Like he misses me, too. I turn my face into his chest and let my lips slip across his collarbone.
He exhales shakily, his cock hardening between us. For the first time this week, I feel alive.
I push into it, but he pulls his hips back. “Don’t,” he says, and I feel ashamed.
He’s right. What am I doing? He doesn’t want me. Not like this.
“Rinse,” he says, tilting my head back, and I do as he asks, those thick, strong fingers stroking through my hair.
And when he’s done, my body finally clean, he looks at me and wets his lips.
“God, Whit,” he mutters, and I blink up at him, clutching him.
I can’t let go just yet. I need more time. I need another minute. A second. A breath.
“Please,” I say. My first word in days, and I’m begging.
But I don’t care. I’ll grovel if it means I can keep him.
“Baby,” he murmurs, and then his thumb is smoothing across my bottom lip, and I tremble against him.
“I miss you,” he says, and I close my eyes, my tears mixing with the water cascading down me.
When I don’t respond, Caleb starts to move away from me, but I grab on to him, finding my strength after days of doing nothing.
“Come home,” I say, clutching him, pressing myself into him.
I’m desperate.
“I can’t.”
My breath stutters, and I hold on to his hair roughly, tilting his face toward mine, and I see how his dark pupils widen at that.
“Stay,” I say, my lips so close to his, and he shakes his head, swallowing roughly.
“Can’t.”
