Chapter 8
Nya
His room is small, 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. Her pigtails 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 same protector energy. 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.
“Still so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, like it’s a truth he’s been holding in too long.
I can feel my heart pounding, my breath quickening as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my leggings. He drags them down, taking my panties with them. The fabric slides over my skin in a whisper. My bare thighs. My calves. My feet.
His mouth follows the line of skin he reveals. Heat and breath and little kisses that make my whole body shiver.
“Every inch of you…” His voice is hoarse, reverent. “…mine.”
I tremble, aching under the weight of his stare. I can feel how much he wants me. How close he is to breaking.
But he’s still fully clothed. I reach up and press my hand against his chest.
“Take it off,” I whisper. “All of it.”
His breath catches. Then he moves.
Shirt first, pulled over his head in one fluid motion. The tattoos. The scars. The strength. All of it now bare in front of me.
His jeans follow. Unbuckled, then eased down with his boxers. He steps out of them, and I swear my mouth goes dry.
He’s cock is gorgeous.
Hard. Thick. Aching. For me.
He climbs back onto the bed, nudging my thighs apart with his knee. His hands return to my body like magnets, and he kisses me. Deep, consuming, a little desperate.
“I’ve wanted you like this since the second I came into this town,” he growls against my mouth, voice rough with need. “Why do you think I kept buying sweets from Murphy? Just to catch a glimpse of you.”
His lips brush mine again, hungry and reverent.
“I wanted you spread out. Sweet. Soft. Fucking mine. For a long, long time.”
I gasp, already slick, already so far gone.
“Well,” I whisper, lifting my hips toward him, “you’ve got me.”
He watches me for a long, breathless beat. Then he flips me gently onto my stomach.
I bury my face in the sheets, breath caught.
“Ass up, Sunshine,” he murmurs, and there’s nothing teasing in his voice now. Just need.
My whole body obeys.
I rise onto my knees, heart hammering, skin flushed, completely bare. I feel his hands smoothing down my back, mapping every line of me. He grips my hips, pulls me back against him, and I can feel how hard he is.
“You have no fucking idea what you do to me.”
Then he slides in. Slow, deep, a groan ripping from his chest.
I gasp into the mattress. His size stretches me, fills me, pushes me right to the edge of pleasure and pain and back again.
“You take me so damn well,” he growls, setting a pace that’s deliberate and overwhelming.
He moves inside me like he’s branding me with every thrust.
One hand holds my hip. The other slides beneath me, between my legs, his fingers circling the place that already pulses for him.
“Come for me, Sunshine.”
His words break something open in me.
I cry out, my body tightening around him as I shatter. Wave after wave crashing through me. He doesn’t stop. He holds me steady as I come undone.
Then he lets go.
His hips slam into mine, harder now, deeper, chasing his own release. The sound of our bodies, the heat, the breathless groans. All of it builds to a fever pitch.
“Fuck,” he grits out as he spills inside me. One final thrust. One final groan.
And then we’re still.
He collapses beside me, breath ragged. One arm pulls me into his chest like he never plans to let go. And maybe he won’t.
My heart’s still pounding when I whisper against his skin.
“Your room’s nice.”
He huffs a soft laugh.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pause, then tilt my head to look at him. “Mind if I sleep here tonight?”
His eyes flare with something deeper than lust. Something permanent.
“You’re not just sleeping here,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine. “You’re staying.”