Chapter 18
18
Valerie
When our driver drops us off at the hotel, my pulse is still roaring in my ears from the force of that kiss, the recent memory a brand on my skin.
We walk inside through the revolving door, fingers twined together—and even though we’ve entered this way dozens of times throughout the summer, everything is different. I’m not scanning the lobby for cameras or journalists. I’m not worried someone will catch me off guard. Because for the first time in six years, I don’t feel alone.
I’m all too aware of Caleb’s presence at my side. It’s as if just by being close to him, I’m safe. Still, we’re careful. Maybe it’s the awareness of public eyes and security cameras, but we manage to stay decent in the elevator. We’re almost stoic as we walk down the same carpeted hallway to our familiar rooms.
Everything up here feels different too. Charged. Like a fuse about to ignite. He turns to me when we reach my door.
“I had a great time tonight,” he says softly, the weight of his words foreshadowing what might happen next, like there’s no reason for the night to end.
“Me too,” I say, waiting for his next move.
And it surprises me alright.
Because then he presses a chaste kiss to my forehead and heads over to his own door. “I’ll see you later, Val.”
What the hell?
I just stand there in the hall, stunned, as he flashes his key and slips inside. Finally, I collect myself enough to grab my own key from my bag and enter my room, completely confused.
I lean against the door, trying to catch my breath and make sense of what just happened. That kiss on the beach didn’t feel like just a kiss. It felt like a prelude, warming our bodies up to what they do best, falling into sync in every way. Damn it, I was ready to come back here and re-chart that perfect map of his body. Now I’m completely unmoored.
Mind reeling, I start to tidy my room. I grab a laundry bag from my suitcase and ball up the used socks and underwear that need to be washed. I carefully fold the jeans, flannel, and hoodies I can wear again. I even make my bed, smoothing out the duvet and fluffing the pillows.
Because I don’t know what to do with myself.
Caleb and I didn’t have sex for the first time after our senior prom—we weren’t that much of a cliché—but we did plan it, the way teenagers who can’t keep their hands off each other do. We’d locked down protection and were just waiting for the right moment.
The moment presented itself in the strangest of ways. It was my eighteenth birthday, and we were playing a gig that night to celebrate the release of our first album, Wanderlust . We hadn’t played in a venue that large before, especially not as headliners, and I was so nervous that it wouldn’t live up to our expectations. What if no one came? What if the crowd was tough? What if I choked?
To keep from spiraling into the nerves of the moment, Caleb had suggested we plan something to look forward to after the show.
He wasn’t even talking about sex—that was purely my idea—but as soon as I suggested it, he was in. I’ve always hated the concept of virginity, and all the heteronormativity that treats things like touching and oral as stops along the way instead of actual sex, but Caleb was a great person to experience my firsts with. He got us a hotel room and we took our time. We didn’t know what we were doing, but we both went into it without expectations other than trying to make each other feel good, and that made the night perfect in its awkward, messy, imperfect way.
Sex made us feel closer than ever. We trusted each other so implicitly. And I thought after everything we’ve been through…we were heading there again.
Maybe he’s wanting to take things slow. That’s a rational way to handle this. We haven’t been together in six years, so it’s probably not the best idea to go from zero to orgasm in one night.
But god , I thought that’s what all the loaded glances were for. And that comment about breath control? How was I supposed to take that as anything else but a come-on?
Wondering about this is going to keep me up all night. So instead of obsessing, I decide to just go talk to him. Without bothering to change, I march over to the door adjoining our rooms. It’s still unlocked from earlier. I don’t even bother to knock; I just yank it open.
Only to see Caleb with his fist raised, as if about to knock himself. He’s still wearing the jeans and T-shirt from tonight, along with a sly smirk.
“Hi.” He bites his lip, and my skin tingles with the memory of that perfect mouth on mine.
“Hi.”
Instead of stepping through, he leans against the doorframe, filling the space with languid ease. “Can I come in?”
I cross my arms. “You implied the evening was over.”
“Not at all. Really, I just…” he trails off, the heat in his gaze cooling a bit. “I needed a minute. When you’re next to me, I can barely think straight. I wanted to be sure I was ready for this. Once we cross that line again…we can’t take it back.”
Caleb’s right. Even though my skin is on fire and I’m practically buzzing with the need to worship his body, there’s nothing casual about us sleeping together—nothing about our relationship has ever been casual. It almost feels like we’re picking up right where we left off…or, at least, from the last time things were good between us.
And because of how it all ended, I never could have dreamed we’d get a second chance. I’m ready to grab his hand and jump off the edge.
But Caleb needs to be ready too.
“Do you need us to take a step back?” I ask.
“Well…” Caleb clears his throat and pulls a long strip of condoms out of his pocket, chuckling. “No.”
A surprised laugh escapes from my lips. “ Oh .”
“That’s why I came prepared,” he says. Then his face sobers. “But if going slow is what you want, I’ll leave.” He glances down at the foil. “Shit, this is too much.”
Desire rushes down my spine. I lock my gaze onto his. “Not at all. One definitely wouldn’t have been enough, with everything I have in mind.”
“ Thank god .”
As I grab him by the shirt and tug him toward me, any last hesitation goes out the window. We collide, leaving fireworks in our wake. Pressing me against the doorframe, he kisses me deeply, his hard edges pressing deliciously into my curves. I press into him, walking him backward in the direction of the bed.
Before we can even reach it, we’ve lost our shoes, his shirt is on the floor, and his fingers are working at the button of my shorts.
And then he pulls back, lips red, pupils blown wide.
“You alright?” I ask, breathless.
He nods. “I may not be sure of a lot of things, but I’m sure about this. I need you, Valerie Quinn.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “We don’t have to figure anything else out tonight. But if you’ll let me, I desperately want to make you feel good.”
My skin sparks with anticipation. For tonight, we can just do this. Be Valerie and Caleb. Two people so entwined in each other that nothing else matters.
“I’m going to hold you to it,” I say. And then I draw his mouth to mine.
He kisses me back with tender care and wild abandon, a delicious paradox in every heartbeat. His kisses are soft yet forceful, gentle yet demanding, the heat of fire and the bite of ice, and soon we’re falling onto the impossibly-high-thread-count sheets in a tangle of need.
When his fingers travel back down to my shorts, I arch my back so he can shimmy them off.
“ Fuck ,” he groans. I’m wearing a maroon lace thong. It’s the color you’re supposed to wear under white according to every stylist I’ve known, but it also makes me feel empowered as fuck, and I needed that boost. “Holy hell, this is better than any of my dirtiest fantasies.”
I bite my lip, overcome by the truth that we’ve both been desperate for this for years. “Is this a good time to tell you I’m not wearing a bra, or…”
“ Jesus Christ, Val ,” he says. “Why the hell are you still wearing that top, then?”
He climbs up my body, sliding the crop top off my shoulders, freeing my breasts to the cool air of the room. Even through his jeans, I can feel his hard length against the softest parts of me, and I can’t help it—I grind wantonly against him, like I did when we were desperate teenagers doing our best to keep our clothes on. The friction is good, but it’s not enough.
And he knows it, because he knows me. He knows every sound I make, every whimper. Just like I know by the look in his eyes that he’s barely holding it together. But there’s also amusement there.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Impatient much?”
“Caleb, I’ve been waiting for this for six years. Of course I’m impatient.”
He freezes. “You’ve been waiting for me?”
Despite the urgency of the moment, I roll my eyes. “I mean, I haven’t been a nun , but it was never as good. Not with anyone else.”
Caleb’s green eyes sober in the lamplight. “Same. No one has ever compared to how I felt with you.”
I stare up at him, smirking. “You’ve been pining after me, haven’t you?”
“Hey, clearly, so have you,” he gestures at my nearly naked body, practically writhing for his touch, and heat rushes all the way down to my toes. “Now, can I touch you already? I’m dying here.”
“ Please. Anywhere ,” I practically beg. And then his fingers are wandering everywhere: grazing my throat, cupping my breasts, grasping my hips. Even with those bass-string calluses, his touch is tender, sweet, and full of so much care it makes my eyes sting. I can’t believe we’re doing this.
As if sensing my emotion, he pauses, rising up to brush his lips against mine again.
“You still with me?” he murmurs, his hand stilling on my waist.
“Yes,” I say hoarsely. “I just…I really missed you. I never thought we’d be back here again.”
“I’m glad we are.” He presses light kisses to my temple, my cheekbone, my nose, and I giggle.
“Well, don’t stop now,” I say through a laugh.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” And then he continues his exploration, slowly and deliberately caressing every exposed inch of my skin except the place I most desperately need. Finally, once he’s charted the map of every single curve, he palms me through the thin lace of my underwear. “I can already feel how much you want me.”
“I’ve wanted you all night,” I admit.
He hisses under his breath, like he’s holding himself back. “That is so fucking hot, Val.”
But he still doesn’t move his hand right away. Instead, he brushes more kisses across my skin, this time down my collarbone, light and teasing.
“Caleb, I swear to god…” I trail off with a sigh as he draws my nipple into his mouth, just a teasing taste, a tender flick of his tongue, but not enough. It sends a jolt of pleasure down my spine, and I let out an involuntary moan.
“Oh, you like that?” he asks.
“I love your mouth,” I say. He should always be doing this with his tongue. Anything else is time wasted.
“I can think of better ways to use it.”
And then he’s drawing his mouth down past my navel, wet and hot, stopping at the last scraps of thin fabric still covering me. Like a fantasy, he grabs the red lace carefully with his teeth and drags it down my thighs, his evening scruff scratching tantalizingly against my sensitive skin.
Instead of taking them off completely, he draws my panties off just far enough, and then he buries his head between my legs.
“Fucking hell, Caleb,” I hiss, throwing my head back against the pillows.
Gone are those teasing touches. He finds my clit immediately, remembering exactly where to kiss me, brushing his lips and tongue against my most sensitive spot in long, languid strokes. After a few minutes, he finds the perfect rhythm to work me into a panting, desperate frenzy, strumming me like a guitar string.
I’m nearly vibrating with need, but it’s not enough to get me there. “More,” I gasp.
He glances up at me, his gaze dark and heavy under that smudged eyeliner, and grins. “If you insist.”
And then he sucks my clit into his mouth and slides two fingers inside me. Tension builds deep in my core and I don’t know if it’s the anticipation of tonight or the literal years fantasizing about being with him again, but I lose all sense of time until I’m hovering over that sweet edge of oblivion, faster than I thought possible.
“God, Val, you’re so fucking sweet.” He raises his head slightly as he murmurs, before burying it between my legs once more with a moan of pleasure, like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.
And then I’m falling in earnest. I cry out, and I don’t even try to muffle the sound. He doesn’t relent, kissing and touching me until I’ve ridden out the last wave of my orgasm on his tongue. Only when I let out a shaky breath does he pull away, climbing back up to me.
When he reaches my shoulder he hovers, like he’s not sure if I’ll want to kiss him after that, but I reach up and grasp the back of his head, drawing his mouth to mine. He tastes like me and him and still the lingering sugar from the dessert, and I’m undone.
And so, so not done .
He’s still in his jeans, but his erection is hot and hard at my hip. I draw my fingers down the tattoos on his pecs, down the smooth planes of his stomach, and palm him through the denim.
“We can stop—believe me, that was as fun for me as it was for you,” he says. Oh, this sweet, sweet man. Always so giving.
“I want to make you feel good too, Caleb.”
He exhales sharply. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you.”
So I keep touching him. I flip him onto his back, unbuckle his belt, slide his jeans and boxers down his hips all in one go. Now that he’s naked beneath me, I let my eyes linger. Finally, I memorize every inch of him, like I’m relearning the words to my old favorite song.
“Please,” he breathes.
And then he stops talking entirely, because I give as good as I get.