Chapter 16 #2
“I need to check your legs now,” he says, and then he gently tugs my pants down, exposing my thighs. He’s careful not to touch my skin, and I notice. Notice how disgusted he must be with me. I’m rotting from the inside out. A shell of who I once was.
His eyes sweep over my scars, but when he discovers nothing new, he pulls my pants back up, rubbing a hand over his face in relief.
“Good. That’s good.”
I watch him, drinking him up. God. I need him.
How can I live without him?
He looks around the apartment and then stands, moving to pick up the trash littering the counters, and I watch him do it. Watch as he runs the dishwasher, wipes down the counters, and then runs a load of laundry.
I’m gasping for breath now, still lying on the couch, tears streaming down my face. How is there anything left inside of me? I’m empty. Hollow.
Caleb stops in front of me and crouches down next to me, his fists clutched tightly as if he’s preventing himself from reaching out and touching me.
Don’t blame him. I wouldn’t touch me either.
“Let’s clean you up.”
He helps me sit up, and I lean into his touch, though it’s fleeting and cold.
Then he tugs me into him, walking me to the shower. I sag against the wall as he turns on the water and tests it.
How can this man even care about me after everything I’ve done?
I don’t deserve him. I never did.
He hands me a toothbrush, and I weakly scrub at my teeth before swallowing the paste, not even bothering to spit it out.
He watches me and then steps toward me, helping me undress, first my shirt and then my pants. When I’m completely nude, I’m shaking so badly that my teeth clatter noisily in the quiet room.
“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.”
I brush my lips against his, and he moans brokenly at the contact, and then our mouths collide, like two comets meeting in space, and my entire body explodes from the feel of him.
From the taste of him. My teeth knock against his as we tilt our heads and try to consume each other. I need more, more.
It’s not enough.
I press him into the shower wall and tangle my tongue with his, my cock hardening between us.
He groans beneath me, and I gasp as he bites down roughly on my bottom lip before licking the sting away.
His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me to him.
I’m not going to stop him. He can do whatever he wants to me.
I’d even let him fuck me. If that’s what he wanted. If that’s what got him to stay.
This is the first time I’ve felt anything since he left. I’m helpless to do anything but continue.
He fucks my mouth with his tongue, plundering it, ravishing it, and I let him hold my head roughly while he does what he wants with me. I’ll let him do anything. Anything. Just need him. Need him.
And then he wrenches his face away from mine, and his breath stutters, his chest heaving.
“No,” he says, and those strong fingers loosen against me, freeing my head from his grasp, moving me gently away. “No, Whit.”
I bite my swollen lip to hold back a whimper as he turns off the water and steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my trembling body. Then he pulls on his clothes. His cock is still hard as he tucks himself away, his hands shaking slightly.
He still wants me.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. Did I…did I hurt you?”
He glances at my swollen lip, and I shake my head.
He lets out a relieved breath. “Good. Let’s get you dressed.”
I let him take the towel from me and dry my still-wet legs, and then he helps me into clean underwear, my shirt, and track pants.
“Better.”
I just stand there, my hands hanging loosely by my sides, as he rubs at his chest.
“Hate seeing you like this, Whit,” he finally says, his voice breaking.
“Then come home,” I manage to croak out.
His eyes close, and he turns his face from me. “I can’t be here when I know you’re getting married. I can’t do that to myself.”
When his eyes open, he looks at me. “Are you still going through with it?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, and he moves toward me, his knuckles brushing my cheek. I don’t know because I haven’t had the strength to answer my phone.
His face falls, and he gives me a clipped nod.
“Charge your phone, please.”
I blink up at him, leaning into his hand.
Don’t go!
“Take care, Whit.”
And then, just like my soul, he’s gone.