Chapter 12 Maddy
Maddy
Ialmost thought Caleb being in my apartment was just a fever dream.
But nope. He’s really here. Still.
I breathe in the scent of his cologne, which is a mix of cedar and something else and it smells delicious.
It takes a heroic effort to pry myself upright. The comforter clings to my back like it’s plotting to suffocate me. I’m a gross, sweaty mess.
God, this is disgusting.
Caleb doesn’t stir, though, not even as I shake my arm to try to get some blood back into it.
He’s collapsed in the corner of the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, head slumped against a throw pillow that’s seen better days.
He’s snoring gently, lips parted, and looking like the most handsome thing that’s ever been in my apartment.
I’m about to stand up when his eyes open and laser focus on me.
“You’re awake,” he groans, voice rusty and lower than usual. “How do you feel?”
“Like I just spent the last eight hours baking in a sauna,” I mutter.
He grins, the dimples in his cheeks so fucking sexy it hurts. “I’m glad the fever broke. You look better, Maddy.”
I blink, confused as to how those words could possibly be true. My hair is glued to my temples. My mouth feels like sandpaper. My nose is still running. But I guess I’m no longer feeling feverish, so that’s at least something.
I actually feel… okay.
“I guess I do feel better.”
He reaches over to me, using the back of his hand to press against my forehead. “Your temp seems normal,” he says, relief obvious in his voice. “Maybe you should take a shower? I always feel better when I do that when I’ve had a fever.”
Mortification detonates in my mind, as I quickly smell my pits, horrified at what he’s insinuating. “You could’ve just told me I reeked.”
“Maddy, you don’t smell.” He shakes his head, as if the mere thought is ridiculous. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“You didn’t have to stay last night,” I protest, which is maybe the dumbest thing I’ve ever uttered, because if there’s one thing I secretly, desperately wanted last night, it was someone to just be here. Even if it meant having him see me look so disgusting this morning.
Caleb shrugs. “I was worried about you.”
He stands and stretches, once again looking effortlessly hot. He’s still in slacks and yesterday’s shirt. “Want me to start the shower for you?”
I choke out a laugh. “Um… like in my bathroom?” I want to facepalm myself for sounding so stupid.
He raises his eyebrows. “Unless you prefer to marinate on the couch a bit longer?”
No. I do not. I want to peel this crusty comforter off me and start over.
“I’d actually rather take a bath—I’m not sure standing up in a hot shower is such a great idea right now. But the bathtub is pretty finicky. Sometimes the faucet just doesn’t work,” I warn, but Caleb is already halfway to the bathroom, sleeves rolled, whistling some unidentifiable song.
My apartment is tiny and the walls are thin, so I can hear him as he works—the squeal of the hot water handle, the thud of a towel getting yanked off the shelf, and the muttered commentary as he tests the water with his finger.
Ugh. Why is this man so perfect? I’ve never had anyone take care of me like this. I didn’t even think it existed in real life.
I pull the comforter off me and try to forget the fact that I probably smell like a compost bin. Then I take inventory. My head is clear. My skin is still gross but not on fire. My chest doesn’t ache when I breathe. The only thing that hurts is my dignity.
Cool. This is totally not weird.
Caleb pops his head out of the bathroom. “You ready? Because I’m not sure how long I can keep this damn faucet jammed in place.”
“I told you it’s finicky.” I stand, instantly dizzy, but before I can even say “whoa,” he’s at my side, one hand steadying my elbow while the other holds a glass of water and Tylenol. His concern is so sweet, I literally might die from it.
“Drink,” he orders, but it’s soft, like he’s talking to a wounded animal.
I take the pill, drink the water, and try not to notice how warm his fingers are on my arm. I’m suddenly hyperaware of every place his body is touching mine, and I do not want him to pull away.
He peers down at me. “Can you walk?”
“I’m not crippled,” I protest, but my knees almost buckle on the way to the bathroom. Caleb catches me by the waist and we do a weird two-step shuffle the rest of the way. I still lean into him, feeling his body pressed against mine.
And I like it. I like it way too much.
The bathroom is full of steam, and the mirror is already fogged up. Caleb has set a folded towel and washcloth on the closed toilet lid and my bottle of body wash on the edge of the tub.
“I’ll be in the other room,” he says, but he lingers in the doorway, scanning me from head to foot. “Yell if you feel faint. I can help you…”
“I got it,” I ignore the heat creeping up my neck. I close the door behind him and then peel myself out of my sweaty pajamas.
I carefully step in, my body relaxing the minute I sink down. The bath is the perfect temperature—warm but not too hot, and it feels incredible.
For a few minutes, I just lie there, letting myself feel like a limp noodle. Then I wash my hair, shave my legs because why the hell not, and pretend for five seconds that I am a pampered trophy wife in a much nicer zip code.
But eventually, I can’t stand how wrinkly my fingers are, and I’m pretty sure Caleb is still here. So, I towel off, wriggle into fresh pajamas, and feel satisfied that I no longer smell like week-old fish.
When I open the door, Caleb is sitting on the couch, flipping through his phone. He doesn’t say anything at first, scanning my face with approval. “Your color’s back,” he says, smiling wide. “How do you feel?”
“Clean,” I laugh lightly, feeling the press of my nipples against my pajama top.
He steps closer, hands in his pockets. “You know, nobody’s going to revoke your independent-woman badge if you ask for help occasionally.” There’s a weird intensity to his gaze.
But maybe I’m just reading this wrong.
“Well…” I let out a sigh. “I can’t help myself sometimes.”
“Hmm…” He shrugs. “I know you’re tough, but it’s nice to have a little help.” His lips curl into a smirk. “C’mon, you can admit it.”
“Never will I ever admit it,” I shoot back, and that makes him laugh.
The sound is so warm that I don’t even realize I’ve taken another step toward him, my hand resting on his forearm.
“Maddy…” His voice trails off, growing husky.
“Sorry,” I breathe out, instantly feeling a rush of embarrassment. But before I can step away, his hands are on my hips.
“Do you think you’re still contagious?” he asks, voice a little rough.
“Probably not,” I lie, and he grins again, like he knows I’m full of shit. “You definitely don’t want to get too close.”
“But I really want to kiss you,” he murmurs. His lips land on my temple. Then my cheekbone. Then the hollow just below my ear, where the skin is so sensitive it sends sparks through my whole body.
Holy shit. What is happening right now?
He is deliberately not kissing my mouth, and I want to ask if he’s being a gentleman or if he just doesn’t want to risk the plague. But I clamp my mouth shut. I do not want this moment to end.
And clearly, he doesn’t either.
Caleb shifts me, so I’m pressed against the wall, the tile cool against my spine. His hands move up, and I shiver, not from cold, but from the way his fingertips skate along the slope of my waist.
“Are you okay with this?” His breath is hot on the skin of my neck.
I nod, unable to summon actual words, my body arching to be closer to his. My fingers reach for him, twisting up in his shirt.
He kisses his way to my collarbone, stopping to trace the line of it with his tongue in a way that makes my knees weak.
I gasp. “Caleb.”
He pauses, putting a little distance between us. “Want to stop?” He leans back, catching my gaze.
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper, my body aching for his.
He chuckles and then closes the distance between us again.
He pins my hands above my head with one hand, the other sliding up the back of my thigh, fingers digging in but not enough to hurt. He continues to kiss along my jaw, still avoiding my mouth, but every other inch of skin is fair game…
And it’s driving me crazy.
I arch into him, not even caring that my hair is soaking his shirt. The press of his body is intoxicating. He grinds against me, and I feel how hard he is.
“I want you so fucking bad, Maddy,” he growls, pressing his cock against me. I rock back into him, and he moans.
He lifts me effortlessly onto the bathroom counter. The surface is cold, and I yelp, but his hands are already tugging at the waistband of my pajama pants.
“Can I?” he asks, and I nod.
Yes. Fuck yes. Please yes.
He peels them off, dragging them down my thighs. He palms the outside of my leg, slides up, and then presses against my pussy through my underwear. The friction is enough to drive me wild.
He runs his fingers along the seam, slow and patient, and I whimper, desperate for more.
He lets out an exhale. “I like that sound.”
He moves my panties to the side, exposing my pussy. His fingers slip inside, so careful, so deliberate, and my whole body feels weak as his thumb aligns with my clit. I clutch at his shoulders and then reach for his cock, but he stops me.
“Let me take care of you,” Caleb whispers before kissing my jaw again.
I tip my head back against the mirror as he moves his hand in slow, steady circles against my clit, pressing, then releasing. It is so fucking good. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And I am melting into him, already so close.
“That’s it,” he coaxes me, as I start to grind against him, moans slipping from my lips.
He brings his mouth to my neck again, sucking and nipping. I grip his bicep for leverage, and he flexes, showing off, and I almost laugh, but then his fingers crook inside me, and all I can do is moan again.
“Caleb,” I whine his name again, and then squeeze my eyes shut as his free hand slips up my shirt and palms my breast. The moment his fingers find my nipple, that’s it.
I come embarrassingly fast. I feel the tension build, crest, and then it’s a full-body convulsion. I let out an animalistic cry that doesn’t even sound like me, and Caleb strokes me through it, and slows only when my legs stop shaking.
I slump against him, and he presses his head to mine. “You good?”
“So fucking good,” I sigh, though I can’t think about anything other than his hard cock.
And then he moves away.
What the fuck? I shake my head. “Don’t go anywhere. It’s your turn.”
He laughs, holding my gaze with a warmth that reaches right into my heart. “It’s not a competition, Maddy. This was about taking care of you. Not me.”
My brow furrows, frustration building. “But I want you.”
He tilts his head and then leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Not today. You need to rest. I’ll see you Monday.”
And just like that, he steps completely away, reaching for my pajama pants from off the floor. He hands them to me, leaving me stunned and confused…
Maybe even angry.
I pull them on quickly and fold my arms across my chest as he makes his way through my living room, picking up his suit jacket and sliding on his shoes.
I don’t even know what to say.
“Thank you for this,” Caleb turns to me as he reaches the door. “I really enjoyed it.”
But did you?
I stare at the door as he slips out and closes it behind him. Confusion, dread, and guilt funnel into my body in one suffocating wave.
“Oh shit,” I mumble under my breath.
I just went to second base with my second boss.
That makes two out of three.