Chapter 21
Roxanne
I’m still tossing and turning in bed when I hear a loud bang at my door.
At first, I thought it must just be the wind from the violent storm brewing outside, but when I hear it again, I decide the cautious thing to do is to at least go downstairs and check it out. But not before I grab my trusty baseball bat that I keep strategically placed beside my bed.
A single woman living on her own can’t be too careful.
Though I’m sure it’s nothing.
It’s most likely just my sleep deprivation playing tricks on me.
Ever since Caleb told me he had feelings for me, I haven’t been able to sleep more than a couple of hours—at best.
But that was three days ago.
Three excruciating long days and nights without any word from him.
When you’re ready to talk and admit to yourself that what I’m feeling isn’t one-sided, you know where to find me.
Those had been his last words to me at Rex’s farewell party. And to my chagrin, they have been playing in a vicious loop inside my head ever since that night.
Do I have feelings for him?
Of course I do.
But in no shape or form are they of a romantic nature.
They’re ones of concern and empathy for his plight, just like any other therapist would have for their patient.
Nothing more.
And for Caleb to suggest otherwise is not only preposterous but a real threat to my livelihood.
What if someone heard what he said to me that night?
Or even saw us out on the veranda in such a compromising position?
That’s the only reason why his words have been keeping me up at night.
It has nothing to do with the fact that I yearn to see his face again… hear his voice call out that stupid little nickname… nothing at all.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
I hear the frantic knocking at my door again, the sound reverberating through my quiet brownstone.
“Okay! Okay! I’m coming!” I yell, both frustrated by the thoughts swirling in my head and annoyed by the unexpected visitor who decided to show up at my door in the dead of night.
With my bat gripped firmly in my hand, I cautiously swing open the front door, fully prepared to confront whoever is on the other side and send them on their way.
But to my alarm, I am met by a soaked Caleb standing on my doorstep, his hands clutching the sides of the doorframe and his head hanging low.
What are you doing here?
How did you even know where I live?
Are you stalking me now?
Those would have been the first questions asked by any reasonable therapist when confronted with their patient perched on their doorstep at such a late hour.
I, however, seem to no longer be in touch with my rational side.
“Caleb? What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he explains, misery coating his every word as the rain continues to cascade off his body, forming a small puddle on my doorstep. But what strikes me the most is the utter agony and misery etched on his face when he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes filled with a turmoil I have never seen before.
Imagining the worst, I drop my bat and quickly widen the door, hurriedly ushering him inside.
He slowly walks on lead feet, his hair plastered to his forehead and droplets of water clinging to his lashes. I lead him to the living room while taking full stock of his disheveled appearance. His wet clothes cling to his body, revealing the tense muscles beneath, while his hands remain balled into fists, trembling ever so slightly. His whole being seems consumed by some invisible weight, dragging him down into a pit of despair.
His empty gaze focuses slightly as he looks around my living room, scanning for a place to sit as if only now realizing he’s drenched from head to foot.
“Wait here, Caleb. I’ll grab you a towel.”
Not wanting to leave him alone for long, I hurry to my linen closet and grab two towels, one for him to sit on and the other to dry himself with. When I return, Caleb remains frozen to the spot, too consumed with grief to even move. And when I see him starting to shiver, I know that the measly two towels I brought won’t be enough to prevent him from getting sick.
“This won’t do,” I grumble. “Come with me.”
When he doesn’t move, looking like he’s fallen into a catatonic state, I place my palm on his cheek to bring his attention to me.
“Caleb,” I whisper softly. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes, okay? Otherwise, you’ll get sick. Do you understand?”
He blinks once, then twice, before he nods his consent.
“Okay, good.” I smile tenderly at him, lacing my fingers with his so I can lead him into my guest bathroom.
“Just take those wet clothes off, and I’ll put them in the dryer for you,” I say after successfully getting him into the bathroom. “I’ll go look for something for you to wear.”
I hate how he remains oddly still as I leave him to fetch him some clean clothes.
I must be as manic as he is because I almost end up tripping up the stairs in my mad haste to avoid leaving him alone for long. But just as I reach the first floor, I’m reminded that the only clothes large enough to fit Caleb are in the main bedroom—a room I have avoided for many years.
“Get over it, Roxanne,” I mumble to myself, trying to focus on the emergency at hand and get over my own hang-ups for Caleb’s sake.
I take a deep breath before walking into the room, making a beeline to the dresser. I stare at Gregg’s top drawer for the briefest of seconds before pulling it open to retrieve a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt.
I dash back downstairs afterward and see Caleb still standing in the middle of the bathroom, drenched in the darkness that is threatening to swallow him whole.
“Caleb?” I call out his name, my voice filled with concern. I reach out to touch his arm, but he flinches away as if my touch would only intensify his pain.
“It’s me, Caleb. It’s me,” I whisper softly. “Roxie.”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath before finally meeting my eyes, and it’s at this moment that I see the raw anguish swirling within him. It’s as if he’s battling some inner demon, a war raging inside him that he can’t seem to contain, much less win.
Seeing him like this… so broken… so lost… is just too much.
The rational side of my brain orders me to call someone, anyone, to take him home, with the promise that I’d see him in the morning when he’s not so vulnerable. When the sight of his pain doesn’t make me so vulnerable.
But instead of doing the logical thing—the right thing—I find my feet walking towards him, my hands gripping the hem of his t-shirt.
“Let me help you,” I whisper, his gaze finally sparkling with some light in it, no matter how dim. He nods, and I realize that the wetness coating his face isn’t droplets of water from his wet hair but tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Tell me what happened,” I probe gently as I carefully maneuver his t-shirt over his head and drop it on the floor.
“I… I…” he struggles to say, holding onto my shoulders while looking down at me with tears in his eyes. “I… almost lost him today.”
I don’t ask him who he’s referring to since such misery could have only been provoked by something terrible happening to his brother.
“It’s okay.” I hush. “Just tell me what happened.”
His mouth opens, but no words come out at first. Then, in a hoarse and broken voice, he whispers, “I went to see him tonight, like I always do, but…”
“But?” I continue to probe in a gentle tone and begin to unbuckle his belt, my eyes trained on his.
“Halfway through my visit… Jack… he… had a seizure.”
Realization finally dawns on me why Caleb’s in this manic state. Seeing his beloved brother going through such an ordeal and being powerless to help him must have been terrifying.
“I… almost lost him,” he repeats in anguish as if reliving that nightmarish experience all over again.
“But you didn’t,” I say, staring deep into his green eyes.
“Not yet, but I will. We all know it,” he says, his grip on my shoulders tightening as if holding onto me is the only way to tether him to the present.
“Look at me, Caleb,” I order, cupping his face in my palms and tilting his head down to me.
“I can only imagine how scary tonight must have been for you. I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone. But you did not lose your brother tonight. Jack is alive. He is very much alive.”
His eyes sparkle with more unshed tears.
When he goes mute on me again, I pull down his wet pants and boxers, making sure to always look into his eyes instead of the naked man before me. I then do my best to dry his upper body and hair with a towel, leaving the bottom half for him to master. Once I’m happy that he’s dry enough to put some clothes on, I turn around to pick them up off the hamper where I placed them earlier, only to stop midway when Caleb grabs hold of my elbow.
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he admits with a sob.
“I promise you, one day you won’t,” I comfort, praying I’m telling him the truth.
“I’m not sure I’ll survive another day like this. I can’t,” he confesses. “Help me, Roxie. Please. Just help me,” he begs, his voice strangled with so much pain that fills up the room.
“I’m trying,” I reply, placing my hands on his bare chest. “But you need to let me in. You need to let the people you love in to remind you that you’re not as lost as you think you are.”
“I’ve pushed everyone away.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, Caleb,” I say, grabbing his face with my hands again. “I’m still here. I’ll never leave you.”
“Do you mean that?”
I nod.
“Then help me forget, Roxie. Help me feel something different than this pain. Make me feel anything else. Please.”
His gaze digs into mine, my chest constricting with it.
“Caleb,” I manage to say, an empty plea of caution to what I see in his eyes. “Don’t,” I whisper, dropping my hands from his cheeks.
“Don’t what?” he says, grabbing my wrists and planting my palms on his bare chest.
“I can’t help you like that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
I swallow dryly as he presses his hard chest against mine.
“I’m losing it, Roxie. I’m fucking losing it. And right now, you’re the only thing that can stop me from falling into the deep end entirely.”
“That’s not true. You can pull yourself out of this. I know you can.”
“What if I don’t want to? What if this hell I’m living in is exactly what I deserve?” he says, running his thumb over my lower lip and giving it a gentle pull. “What if I don’t deserve more than this?”
“You’re not thinking rationally,” I breathe out, pulling my wrists free from his grip and taking two steps back away from him, only for him to bridge the gap a second later.
“I’m not thinking at all,” he declares, eyes fixed on mine. “All these feelings are coming at me in full swing, and I can’t make them stop. Only you can, Roxie. Just help me… please.”
“I… I…” I stammer as my back hits the sink, leaving Caleb’s body fully pressed against mine.
“Please,” he begs, “just make it stop.”
My heart leaps out of my chest at the urgent plea in his eyes. His agony is crushing his spirit right before me, and it physically hurts to see him in such agony. I’d do just about anything for him not to feel like this.
I know that pain.
I’ve lived it.
The guilt. The remorse. The regret. The grief.
It’s all so much that sometimes you’d sell your soul to stop feeling such excruciating misery, even if only for a second. Just so you could breathe for once without the shards of glass of your broken heart slicing you open from the inside.
“Please,” he whispers, making my heart bleed out for him.
I lick my lips and place my hand on his cheek, his eyes closing of their own accord.
“Please,” he breathes again, pressing his temple to mine, his hands grabbing my waist, white-knuckling the fabric of my pajama bottoms.
I struggle to catch my breath as I study every crease of anguish on his beautiful face, the sudden ache in my heart revealing a truth I’m no longer able to deny.
When you’re ready to talk and admit to yourself that what I’m feeling isn’t one-sided, you know where to find me.
But I didn’t have to go and find him—he found me.
Even at his darkest, Caleb somehow brought the shimmer of truth into my home.
His feelings for me aren’t unrequited—they are wholeheartedly reciprocated.
Why else would it hurt this much to see him in such pain if I didn’t harbor feelings for him?
There’s only one explanation for it—one that satisfies both my rational mind as well as my aching heart.
Because somehow—and completely unknowingly—I’ve fallen in love with him.
And before that truth has me running for the hills, with two little words, I selfishly decide to give into it, craving to ease his suffering as well as my own.
“Kiss me.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, Caleb’s eyes swing open. There’s such profound gratitude swimming in their emerald depths that my heart threatens to stop beating altogether if he continues to look at me like that.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Let me help you. Kiss me, Caleb. I want you to,” I profess with resolve.
“Thank you,” he whispers as if I just handed him the keys to heaven itself.
Ever so slowly, he leans in and brushes his lips lightly on mine.
My eyelids close of their own accord as his lips mold themselves to my mouth. Time seems to stand still as he acquaints himself with my taste and touch. Our kiss is soft, warm, and tender at first, as if he’s afraid to greedily take more than I’m willing to give him. But all too soon, he opens his eyes again, the sweet sentiment of gratitude replaced by a feral hunger for more.
I let out a little shriek when he hoists me up by my hips and sits me on the edge of the sink. He grabs my chin with unspeakable force, tugging my mouth open with his thumb again. His gaze lingers on my mouth for a good ten seconds before it lifts back to my eyes.
“I’m going to need a bit more than that,” he warns before crashing his lips onto mine.
My head swarms with incoherent thoughts as his mouth begins to overpower mine in such a way that all I can do is yield to its dominance. I press my palms on his chest, my last remaining effort to put some barrier between us, but as his kiss deepens, the last of my restraint evaporates into thin air. His chest is cool to the touch, but his kiss is ardent and desperate.
I’m not sure how we got here, but I suddenly need this just as much as Caleb.
My legs wrap themselves around his hard hips, locking him in place as my ankles push him further to me. I moan into his mouth as his tongue wrestles mine for dominance. Every inch of my skin aches for his touch as his hand grabs the nape of my neck, keeping me in place.
“You taste so fucking good, Roxie,” he praises, his voice rough and hungry. His previous misery has morphed into ardent desire, and I don’t have the will to pull away. His hard girth presses against my belly, making my insides burn with the same need consuming him.
“I could fuck you right here and be happy,” he says between kisses, the head of his cock stabbing my abdomen.
His fingers grip my hips tightly as my arms wrap around his neck, allowing me to run my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. My head falls back as he peppers me with wet, hot kisses on the slope of my neck. I let out a loud wail when his mouth finds one perked nipple and sucks it into his mouth over my tank top.
“Fuck,” he groans, pulling his teeth off me. “This won’t do,” he growls, pissed. “Hold on.”
And before I know what’s happening, Caleb picks me up from the sink and carries me out the door.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
“Upstairs, but—”
Again, I’m robbed of the opportunity to say anything else because his lips are back, sucking my neck as he carries me up the flight of stairs.
But when I see him heading towards the main bedroom down the hall, I stop him before he takes another step.
“No. Not there,” I warn nervously.
His brow furrows in confusion at first, but it clears when I point to the guest bedroom on the right.
“There. Take me there.”
Not having to be told twice, he kicks the door in and then carefully places me on the bed.
Up until this point, I hadn’t dared to look at his naked body, but now, lying here in the bed with Caleb standing over me with a feral grin on his lips, how could I not?.
His toned physique is all hard edges from years of training his body to be unstoppable in the rink. My eyes greedily drink him up, lingering on every cut and hard ridge of his six-pack. And as my gaze travels south to find his cock hard and impatient, my clit throbs in expectation.
“Take it off,” he grunts, fists balled up again just to hold himself in place. “Take it all off.”
I swallow dryly at the intent in his eyes as I pull myself upright on the bed. I grab the hem of my tank top and slowly raise it over my head.
His eyes smolder at the sight of my bare, aching breasts.
It’s been so long since I’ve let anyone look at me like this.
With want.
With lust.
With utter devotion.
I forgot how good it felt to be desired like this.
Before I have a chance to take my pajama bottoms off, Caleb wraps his hands around my ankles, pulling me towards him, causing my back to hit the mattress and forcing another loud shriek to escape from my lips.
In one fell swoop, he pulls my pajama bottoms off, leaving me only in my already-drenched panties.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” he says softly, scanning every inch of my body.
Insecurity washes over me suddenly, and I cross my arms over my chest.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.
“I… It’s been a while,” I admit.
“Explain ‘a while’,” he counters patiently.
“Seven years, give or take,” I confess, uncomfortable with how my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
His perplexed look morphs into one of understanding. My heart does a double take with the tender smile cresting his lips—one of comfort, showing me that he’ll be gentle and won’t take more than I’m willing or even capable of giving tonight. He then puts his knees on the edge of the bed and crawls up until he’s hovering over me, his broad frame making me feel small and fragile by comparison.
“Do you trust me, Roxie?” he asks, searching my eyes for the answer to his question.
“I do.” I quickly reply. “I just don’t—”
“Shh, love. Let me worry about that,” he interjects before I’m able to voice all my insecurities.
He offers me another tender smile, one that reassures me I’m in good hands.
A few minutes ago, I wanted to take all his pain away, and now we find ourselves in the opposite position, him wanting to take mine.
The atmosphere in my bedroom suddenly changes. I can feel it when Caleb starts to slowly kiss me from my neck all the way down my chest, picking my leg up to his shoulder so he can kiss the inseam of my thigh. His kisses are slow and languid, a far cry from the desperation he showed downstairs in the bathroom.
He’s slowing himself down.
For me.
And somehow, that realization coaxes me to let myself just enjoy the feeling of someone else worshiping my body.
And when he gets to my apex, my breathing halts, watching him look up at me.
We don’t say anything as he pulls my panties off and throws them across the room.
Neither one of us dares say a word when he positions his head between my thighs.
It’s only when his tongue swipes over my wet slit and presses a sweet kiss on my clit, that I break the silence with a soft moan.
“That’s it, Roxie. Sing for me,” he says before sucking my clit into his mouth, his gaze never wavering from mine as his teeth graze over my sensitive nub.
“Hmm,” I moan again while grasping the cold sheet at my sides as I watch him lick my pussy. It’s only when his eyes close and his mouth latches on my clit that my back arches from the bed, the tingling feeling subsiding and giving way to a burning inferno of need that I forgot even resided in me.
His wicked tongue continues to lavish me with attention, one punishing stroke at a time. His growls become an anthem as I count them in tandem with my own loud cries. And when his digits breach my entrance, thrusting deep inside me, my vision blurs with so much color it threatens to blind me. Panicked with how my body feels like it’s about to take flight, my hand shoots out to grab his hair as his mouth and fingers fuck me into oblivion.
“Let go, Roxie,” he demands in between licks. “Come in my mouth.”
The dirty order sets me on edge, and before I can stop myself, I do just that. I shatter into a million different versions of myself. Versions that I thought I lost a long time ago. I’m still gasping for breath when Caleb towers over me, pressing his lips on mine, forcing me to taste myself on his lips.
“Fuck, that was beautiful, Roxie,” he praises as he continues to devour my mouth with his. “I want you so bad. So fucking bad,” he groans, pressing his hard cock against my belly.
I wrap my arms around his neck and give way to our ardent kiss, needing him to possess me as much as he wants to.
“Roxie… love…” he says in between kisses, sounding conflicted between wanting to say something and while also needing to keep kissing me.
“What is it?” I ask, sounding still drunk off the orgasm he just gave me.
He lets out a pained groan, forcing himself to stop kissing me long enough to say whatever he needs to say.
“I’m clean,” he finally utters.
“What?”
His eyes smolder at my confusion, running the back of his hand up and down my cheek.
“You really have been out of the game, huh?”
“Is that what this is? A game?” I ask, feeling suddenly very exposed.
“No, love. This isn’t a game to me. Having you lying naked under me is not a game,” he replies with an unfamiliar, serious tone that I’ve never heard him use before. “It’s a fucking gift. One that I refuse to squander.”
He then presses a kiss to my temple, jumps out of the bed, and leaves.
To say I’m shell-shocked is an understatement.
He just said that he wasn’t playing a game with me, and yet he’s left me naked and wanting.
I don’t have time to feel hurt or confused for long because just as quickly as he left, he returns, this time with a pack of condoms in his hand.
“I would really love to fuck you without one of these, but something tells me you’re not on the pill.”
“I’m not,” I admit, wide-eyed at the amount of condoms he’s carrying.
“I figured, love.” He smiles lovingly at me, not one bit bothered by it.
He slides back into bed, forgoing putting a condom on, and wraps his arms around me.
“Now, where were we?” he says before pulling me into another passionate kiss—one that reignites the embers inside me, fanning the flames of my desire until I’m burning from within.
“You taste so fucking sweet, Roxie. So fucking sweet,” he praises, becoming lost in our kiss too.
I pant as my fingers find their way into his lush hair, pulling at the strands so his mouth never leaves mine.
I missed this.
Kissing someone.
Having that same person kiss me back with such abandonment.
But as my mind tries to remember the last time someone kissed me like this—with such passion that it felt like the whole world was about to combust around me—I come up empty-handed.
This… this is new.
This feeling…
This desperation…
I have never experienced this type of maddening desire for more in my thirty-three years.
A craving that is bone deep.
I’m still so enthralled in his kiss that when I feel his hand slide in between my thighs, all I can do is rub myself against it, needing him to ease the merciless ache any way I can.
“You’re so fucking wet. Kind of makes me insane that you got this wet for me.”
He nibbles at my ear as his fingers stroke my slit while his thumb adds pressure to my clit.
“I really want to come inside you,” he says, or begs… I’m not sure anymore. “But it’s your call. If that is too much for you, I understand.”
My chest heaves as I stare at his face, trying to make sense of what he’s asking me.
“Roxie, what do you want?”
“This… you…” I moan, grabbing his wrist so I can rub myself against his hand.
“Fuck. You already have me, Roxie,” he growls, pain etched on his features as I continue to use his hand to bring myself pleasure. “Kind of need you to say it, love,” he orders, his teeth grazing over my lip and tugging it. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to fuck me.”
His body stills, and his green eyes turn pitch black at my words.
“Say that shit again, baby,” he demands, after turning me on my back, his large frame towering over me.
“Fuck me, Caleb. I want you to.”
Even though logic tells me that I shouldn’t even be in this position, nothing will stop me from getting what I desperately want—Caleb inside me.
Without further encouragement, he picks up the string of condoms and rips one out of its foil package. My eyes never leave his as he sheaths his large, formidable cock. And as if he knows I need the connection, he doesn’t sway his gaze from mine either.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises.
“Okay,” I rasp, not knowing if I want him to go slow or just rip off the band-aid entirely.
But when I feel his crown breach my core, I know slow is the only way I’ll survive this.
Every inch of him feels like it’s going to slice me open, but the pain is so exquisite, so profound, that I hear myself gasp for more minutes later.
“You’re so tight, Roxie. So fucking tight,” he groans, his eyelids narrowing into two fine slits of blissful misery.
“Kiss me,” I order, craving his kiss more than the air I need to breathe.
His hooded gaze smolders at the demand, his lips instantly falling back on mine.
I wrap my legs around his waist while my arms cling to his neck and shoulders.
Inch by glorious and torturous inch, I feel him make his home inside me, my protective walls coming down in one loud, thunderous crash.
“Fuck,” he growls, biting into my lower lip. “I… I…” he stammers as if no longer capable of forming words.
Not that I’m having a better time of it, either. Instead of telling him how good he’s making me feel, I let my body do the talking for me, molding itself to him and urging him on.
His low, torturous thrusts are so languid and smooth compared to the heat in his eyes.
He needs to go faster, but he won’t. Not until I tell him to.
“More,” I whisper, giving him my consent to take more from me.
He groans and releases his mouth from mine, only to pull back, raising my legs up high so they fall on his shoulders.
“Never saw a prettier sight. Look at us, Roxie. Just look.”
I follow his gaze to where our bodies unite, his cock thrusting into my pussy over and over again, the smell of our arousal heady and decadent.
His eyes then lift back to mine, and I am once again drunk off the need I see in his cool spring depths.
“Do you feel that?” he asks, his crown hitting me in ways I’ve never thought possible. “Do you feel how perfect you are? How much I want you?”
“Yes,” I pant, my back arching with each pounding force.
“You shouldn’t have let me have a taste, Roxie. Now that I know how good your pussy feels around my cock, I won’t be able to stay away.”
“Caleb,” I cry when his cock hits the one spot inside me that makes my body quiver and convulse.
“That’s it, love. Strangle my cock. Milk it dry. Jesus, fuck. That’s it!” he roars, pounding into me with reckless abandon now.
Before I know it, my hands slide up to his chest, my nails digging into his flesh, trying to hold on for dear life.
But it’s too late. I’m already coming undone. Life, as I know it, ceases to exist, and all I can feel is blinding euphoria. I let out a loud cry, uncaring who might hear me, needing to put a sound to this elated affair.
Bone-deep love.
That’s what Trent had called it.
When you feel it in your bones.
When it simultaneously touches the deepest, darkest parts of your soul and showers it with glorious light.
Bone-deep love permanently alters who you were before.
It changes your genetic code.
Your very DNA.
I never understood what that meant before—until now.
And how I wish I didn’t.