Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Caleb
Mason reared back, his eyes widening with hurt, the warm intimacy of the moment suddenly chilled. “No?” His voice cracked slightly, vulnerability replacing desire.
I cupped his jaw gently, feeling the coarse scruff beneath my palm, the strong line of definition I’d traced in dreams for eleven years. “I’ll make love to you,” I whispered, pouring meaning into each word. “Not just fucking. Not anymore.”
Something shifted in his expression—the hurt dissolving into understanding, then tenderness. He melted into my arms, his firm body suddenly yielding as he dropped his head to my shoulder. I felt the warm dampness of his breath against my neck as he spoke.
“I love you, Caleb,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I never stopped loving you, even when we were apart. Thank you for coming back into my life.”
My heart expanded in my chest, almost painful in its fullness. I rubbed my cheek against his, our stubble rasping together in that distinctly masculine sound that always sent shivers down my spine. The familiar scent of his citrusy body wash enveloped me, grounding and intoxicating all at once.
“I love you, too,” I said, my voice thick. “I couldn’t stand to live without you. I’m so glad I came back to the US.” I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, seeing my future reflected there. “To you.”
With reverent tenderness, I took his hand in mine, our fingers intertwining naturally, and led him toward his bedroom where we would finally, truly, begin again.
Beside the bed, I unwrapped Mason like the precious gift he was, my heart thundering against my ribs as lightning coursed through my veins.
With trembling fingers, I slid my hands under his T-shirt, savoring the warm skin beneath my palms as I slowly lifted the fabric over his head and let it fall forgotten to the floor.
His chest, now bare in the afternoon light, rose and fell with quickened breaths that matched my own.
I lowered my lips to his pecs, then traced a reverent path of featherlight kisses down his torso.
Beneath my touch, his abs tightened and twitched, a small, breathless laugh escaping him at the tickling sensation—a sound that filled me with tenderness and desire in equal measure.
I dropped to my knees.
I reached for his waistband, opened his jeans, and mouthed his hard cock through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. He sucked in a breath. I slipped his briefs down and took his hot erection into my mouth. He moaned into the quiet stillness of the room, his gaze on mine.
The intense connection made my belly swoop. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to drive him wild.
I tugged his pants and underwear off completely and tossed them somewhere in the direction of his T-shirt, to be found later.
I licked a stripe up the length of his dick and then worshipped his balls.
His thighs trembled, and whimpers escaped him as if he were close to the edge.
I immediately pulled off, not wanting this to end too soon.
“Please,” he choked out, though I wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking for.
I reached into the nightstand drawer, my fingers finding the bottle of lube while my gaze never left Mason’s.
With unhurried movements that hid my inner urgency, I shed my clothing piece by piece, each garment falling away like the years that had separated us.
Mason climbed backward onto the bed, his weight making the mattress dip as he settled against the pillows.
His gaze tracked my every movement, hunger and tenderness mingling in his expression, the heat in his eyes making me even harder.
I stroked my sensitive shaft, root to tip.
“None of that,” he said, his voice husky, hands behind his head. “Wait for me.”
I opened the lube with a click and slicked my fingers. Slowly, carefully, I opened Mason, massaging his prostate, until he was a writhing, begging mess.
“Now. I need you inside me,” he panted. He pulled his legs to his chest in invitation.
And I ached with the need to be inside him.
I freed my fingers, my heart pounding. I was going to cherish him with my body, give him as much pleasure as possible. I donned a condom, bathed myself with more lube, and notched myself against his opening.
He nodded, the warmth of his brown eyes drawing me in. I pressed forward, Mason breathed through the initial breech, and I slid home.
Where I belonged.
We both moaned when I was balls deep inside him, and I set up a slow, gentle pace. The leisurely rhythm didn’t last long as I tagged his prostate with every thrust.
“Faster. Harder,” he begged. “I’m…so…close.”
I pounded into him while his dick leaked onto his stomach. He reached for himself, tugged just three times, and came in long ropes onto his abs.
His muscles pulsed around me, and I followed him over the edge, my vision blacking out and his name on my lips.
Mon coeur.
I slid out of him, collapsed onto my elbows, and dropped my perspiring head onto his heaving chest, trying to catch my breath. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me close, trapping his sticky cum between us.
I raised my head from where it rested on his chest, reluctant to break the perfect stillness between us but unable to ignore the practical reality.
“I love you,” I whispered, the words still new and precious on my tongue despite having thought them for so many years, “but we need to shower.” My voice held equal parts adoration and amused resignation.
His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, the vibration traveling through both our bodies.
After a shower of gliding, soapy hands and hot, wet kisses, we ended up nestled together on the couch.
My arm curled around his shoulders, and he lay his head against my chest, directly over the steady rhythm of my heartbeat.
A heart beating for him. The scent of his body wash wrapped around me, dear and comforting.
Outside, the hum of late Monday afternoon traffic provided a soothing backdrop to our conversation.
“When do you officially take over?” he asked, tracing lazy patterns on my stomach.
“Two weeks. Mary Anne’s staying on through the transition, then she and Joe are taking a round-the-world trip they’ve been talking about for decades.” My gut clenched with a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I already know which artists I want to approach.”
“You’re going to be amazing,” Mason said with sincerity. “I’ve seen your passion and vision for the gallery from the very beginning.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of the moment settling around us. It wasn’t just about the gallery—it was about permanence, commitment, a future together that had seemed impossible just weeks ago.
“Move in with me,” he blurted out.
I tensed and shifted to look him in the eyes, not sure I’d heard correctly. “What?”
“Move in with me,” he repeated, more certain this time. “You’re here most evenings, anyway. It seems silly to keep paying rent on the third floor when…”
“When what?” I prompted gently.
“When this is where you belong.” The words sounded both vulnerable and true.
I hesitated, torn. “But you need the rental income, don’t you? For the bookstore?”
“Cooper has been asking around about an apartment for his friend, Jack. It’s perfect timing.” He sat up to face me properly. “Besides, it’s time, don’t you think? Time we merged our lives. Time you made Seacliff Cove truly your home.”
Emotions flickered through my gut—hope, joy, a touch of lingering disbelief. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ve waited eleven years. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
My mouth spread in a smile, and my insides lit up with it. “Yes,” I said simply. “Yes, it’s time.”
The kiss that followed felt like a promise, like a blank canvas waiting for its masterpiece. His hands tangled in my hair as mine gripped his shoulders, anchoring us together.
When we finally parted, slightly breathless, the look in his eyes made my chest ache with happiness. I’d been afraid to hope, to believe I could stay. Now, with the gallery purchase confirmed and this new step ahead of us, the last of our doubts were finally falling away.
“We still have a lot to figure out,” I mused, the practical side of me coming out. “The gallery transition, fitting into your apartment, what to do with my belongings in Paris…”
“We’ll figure it out. Together.” He rested his forehead against mine. “We have time now.”
The simple truth of that statement settled between us, profound in its ordinariness. We had time. Weeks, months, and years stretching before us. No deadlines, no imminent departures, no countdown clocks.
Just us, and the life we would build together in this small coastal town where we’d found our way back to each other for a second chance.