15. Caleb
Caleb
M y driver is already standing by the town car when we exit Georgio’s, holding the back door open like always.
"Evening, Mr. Kingsley. Ma'am."
I look at the open door. Look at Serena beside me, her hand in mine, pulse visible at her throat. Look at the Four Seasons literally across the street.
"Take the rest of the night off."
His professional expression doesn't change, but I swear I catch something knowing in his eyes. "Sir?"
"Go home. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Very good, sir."
He closes the door, gets in the driver's seat, and pulls away. Serena watches the car disappear.
"Your driver thinks we're?—"
"I don't give a fuck what he thinks." I turn her to face me, hands on her waist. "I can't sit in a car for fifteen minutes pretending I'm not dying to touch you."
"Caleb—"
"The Four Seasons is right there. Or we can wait, call my driver back, do this properly?—"
She grabs my tie and pulls me down.
The first touch of her lips shorts out my brain entirely.
Months of wanting, of imagining, of jerking off to the memory of her in my arms at the gala—none of it prepared me for this.
She tastes like wine and possibility and every bad decision I want to make.
Her mouth is soft but her kiss isn't. It's demanding, desperate, six months of regret compressed into the slide of lips and tongue.
I groan against her mouth, spinning her so her back hits the brick wall of Georgio’s exterior. My hands frame her face, holding her still so I can kiss her the way I've been dying to, deep and thorough. A fucking claiming right here on the street where anyone can see she's mine.
She makes a sound that goes straight to my cock, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.
Her tongue meets mine and I swear I see stars.
Every professional thought, every boundary, every reason this is complicated—gone.
There's just Serena, warm and willing and kissing me like the world is ending.
"Fuck," I breathe when we finally break apart. Her lipstick is smeared, her pupils blown wide. "Serena?—"
"Hotel," she gasps. "Now. Before I let you take me against this wall."
The image that puts in my head nearly brings me to my knees. "Christ."
"Can you make it across the street, or should I?—"
I kiss her again, quick and hard. "Move. Now. While I still have some control."
"Control is overrated," she says, but she's already pulling me toward the Four Seasons.
"You say that now. Wait until we're in that room."
The Four Seasons lobby is a blur of marble and concerned concierge faces. I slam my black card on the counter hard enough to make the clerk jump.
"Room. Now. Whatever you have."
"Of course, Mr. Kingsley." The desk clerk's fingers fly over the keyboard, professionally ignoring how Serena's pressed against my back, her breath hot through my shirt. "We have a suite available on the?—"
"Perfect. Key."
"Sir, I need to?—"
"Bill whatever. Add twenty percent for the urgency." I'm already pulling Serena toward the elevators. "Send the key to my phone."
The elevator doors close and I have her against the wall before she can breathe. My mouth finds her neck, teeth grazing a spot below her ear that makes her whole body shiver and moan.
"Caleb," she gasps, arching against me. "There might be cameras?—"
"They can watch me worship you." I bite down gently and she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. "Do you know what you've done to me? Six months, Serena. Six fucking months of cold showers and my own hand and waking up hard just from dreaming about you."
"I know," she breathes. "Me too. Vibrators and regret and—oh God, do that again."
I do, sucking at her pulse point while my hands explore the curve of her waist through the dress. The elevator dings and I practically carry her to the suite, my phone buzzing with the digital key.
The door clicks shut and I'm on her, walking her backward into the room. My hands are everywhere—her hair, her face, her perfect fucking ass in this dress that's been torturing me all night.
"Wait," she says suddenly, and I freeze.
"What's wrong?"
"The lights. Can we..." She gestures vaguely at the bright overhead fixtures.
I don't ask why. I can see the vulnerability in her eyes, the way she's holding herself.
Instead, I step back and hit the master switch, plunging us into darkness.
Then I move through the suite, finding the bedside lamps, clicking them on their lowest setting.
Just enough to see her outline, the red of her dress, the way she's watching me with something like gratitude.
"Better?"
"Perfect."
"Good. Now come here."
She does, meeting me at the foot of the massive bed. I cup her face, kissing her soft and slow this time, trying to tell her with my mouth what I can't seem to say. That she's beautiful, that I want her, that the lights don't fucking matter as long as she's here.
My hands find the tie of her wrap dress, starting to pull, but she catches my wrists.
"No." Her voice is breathless but firm. "The dress stays on."
I pause, searching her face in the dim light. There’s a flash of panic, the way her body tenses. Whatever she's protecting herself from, it's bigger than just modesty.
"OK," I say immediately. "Whatever you need."
"But these..." She reaches under her dress and I hear three distinct snapping sounds, followed by rustling fabric. "These can go."
She wiggles her hips, shimmying her panties down her legs until she steps out of them and straightens back up, dangling black lace from her finger with a smirk that goes straight to my cock.
"Fuck," I breathe. "That's...the hottest thing I've ever seen." My voice comes out jagged, nearly a growl. "But if we're leaving the dress on, the heels stay too." I push her back onto the bed, making her laugh.
"Caleb—"
"Non-negotiable." I catch her ankle, running my hand up her calf to her thigh. "These shoes have been destroying me all night. They stay."
"Bossy."
"You have no idea." I push the dress up just enough, spreading her thighs. "I've been thinking about this for so long. What you'd taste like. What sounds you'd make."
"Less talking, more—oh my God."
I bury my face between her thighs, and the taste of her is so sweet and perfect that I groan against her. She cries out, her hands immediately tangling in my hair, holding me there like it’s where I belong. Nowhere else.
"Caleb, fuck, your mouth?—"
I work her with my tongue, finding the rhythm that makes her shake, the pressure that has her grinding against my face. The dress is pooled around her waist, the red fabric framing her perfectly, and those fucking heels are digging into my back as she wraps her legs around me.
"I need—please, I need?—"
I slide two fingers inside her while my tongue focuses on her clit and fuck if she's not dripping for me, clutching the comforter in both fists like it's the only thing tethering her to earth.
A part of me wants to slow it down, savor every gasped ‘oh God’ and roll of her hips, but tonight isn't about teasing.
Tonight is about making her feel so desired, so fully fucking wanted, that it burns through every last scrap of doubt she's ever had.
I work her with my mouth, my fingers, matching her every shudder with a low groan of my own.
She's so responsive, needy and so goddamn real, that it takes everything I have not to lose it myself.
I keep at her, relentless, until her moans pitch up and she shatters against me, heels digging into my back with gratifying force.
" Caleeeeeb! "
She screams my name loud enough that the entire floor definitely knows what we're doing.
I don't stop. I work her through it, then keep going, making her curse and beg and pull my hair hard enough to hurt.
"Too much," she gasps. "I can't?—"
"You can." I curl my fingers, massaging that spot that I know will make her see even more stars. "One more. Give me one more."
"Caleb—"
"Come on, beautiful. Show me how good I make you feel."
Her nails bite into my shoulders, her whole body arching off the mattress as I keep my mouth locked on her, working her with ruthless precision.
I don't let up, not even when her thighs start to tremble around my head and her breath comes in squealing, helpless little rushes.
Not until she breaks again, her back bowing off the bed as she grinds her hips into the press of my tongue and then collapses, spent and shaking, heels still hooked over my back like she'll drown if she lets go.
"Holy fuck, Caleb!"
I crawl up the bed, bracing myself over her, my lips trailing a line of kisses from her cleavage, up her sternum, over the pulse jackhammering in her throat.
She's still flushed, sweating, her dress clinging to her skin in a way that's going to ruin me for every other article of clothing in existence.
She grabs my face, yanks me into a kiss.
Her taste is everywhere, wine and want and her own sweetness, her tongue urgent and greedy.
I let her have it, let her bite down hard enough to make me hiss, let her pull at my hair and grind her hips up into mine even though she's still spasming from the last orgasm.
"Your turn," she breathes, flipping me onto my back—which takes me by utter surprise—and she straddling me, still in her fuck-you-red dress and perfect fuck-me heels.
Her hands go to my belt with a confidence that makes my blood pressure spike, and she has my pants halfway off before I realize she's taken over the pace of this.
"God," she says, voice thick and shaky, "I want to see your face when you come."
"Is that so?" My mouth is dry, and my hands are shaking as I help her strip me down, tossing my tie and shirt to the floor while she takes charge from above.
She grinds down against me, bare skin under satin, eyes black with wanting as her hands explore my chest, nails dragging down my abs in a way that makes my cock twitch. "Someone's been hitting the gym."