Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Cal
I walk her to the bedroom meaning to say good night.
I don't say good night.
She turns in the doorway and looks at me in that considering way she has, like she's deciding whether the thing she's about to do is wise. Then she reaches up, hooks two fingers in the front of my shirt, and pulls me through.
The lamp on the dresser throws a low amber light across the room. I reach past her and turn it down further—not off, just enough that the edges soften. I want to see her.
She's still wearing my sweatshirt. I take the hem of the sweatshirt and her sweater beneath in in both hands and lift them over her head slowly, giving her time, watching her face rather than rushing to look elsewhere. Her eyes stay on mine the whole time, steady and dark.
I drop the sweatshirt on the chair and look at her. My eyes settle on the tops of her breasts spilling out of a simple cotton bra.
"You’re so beautiful,” I tell her, my voice husky.
She makes a small sound I feel in my sternum and reaches for my shirt buttons.
I let her work through them, watching her hands, the focus in her expression, the way a small line forms between her brows when the third button sticks. I cover her hands with mine and undo it, and she looks up at me with something that is almost a smile and entirely something else.
I shrug the shirt off. She puts her palms flat against my chest and just holds them there. Learning the shape of me.
Her hands are warm, and I feel each point of contact with a precision that makes it hard to think in complete sentences.
I reach around her and unhook her bra, slide the straps down her shoulders, and let it fall. And holy. She’s a goddess. It’s not just her beautiful curves. It’s the way she holds herself. The faint flush already climbing her throat.
I sit on the edge of the bed and draw her between my knees.
I start at her collarbone. Press my mouth there, feel the warmth of her skin, the slight give of it. Move to the curve of her shoulder, then the soft place below her ear. She exhales — not quite a sound yet, just a release of breath — and her fingers slide into my hair.
I take my time at her throat, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, making her turn her head to find my lips with hers.
She does, without hesitation, and when I finally kiss her properly she leans into it with her whole body, both hands framing my face.
I feel the slight scrape of her nails at my temple. It does something to my focus.
When I press my mouth to her breast she inhales sharply and her grip tightens in my hair. I suck her nipple into my mouth, learning what makes her breath stutter, what makes her shoulders drop, what makes her go up on her toes slightly as if she could get closer than she already is.
I smile against her skin. “Like that,” I whisper.
“Yes,” she murmurs, “but I’m ready for more.”
“How much more?”
“I want… everything. I want you, Cal.”
I lay her back against the mattress and move over her, bracing on one forearm.
The amber light catches the line of her collarbone, the curve of her ribs, the pale skin of her stomach.
I take that in. I want to remember it exactly.
Then I kiss her mouth again while my free hand traces a slow line from her ribs to the waistband of her hiking pants. Her stomach tightens under my palm.
I undo the button. Pull the zipper. Work the pants down over her hips and off, and her socks with them.
She giggles. “My feet are ticklish.”
"Sorry," I say.
"Don't be." She's still smiling when I kiss her again.
She's left in just a small scrap of cotton panties, and I trace the edge of them with one finger before I take them off too.
She lifts her hips to help me, cooperative and unhurried, and I sit back and look at her stretched out in the amber light.
The full length of her. The particular way she looks back at me — like she's not in any rush, like she's comfortable being seen — undoes me in a way I wasn't prepared for.
"Cal." My name in her mouth, with that specific edge on it.
"I know," I say. "I've got you."
I kiss down her stomach, trace the jut of her hip with my thumb, and take my time finding my way to her pussy.
She goes still for a moment — that sharp, held-breath stillness — and then isn't still at all.
Her hips tilt toward me. Her hands fist in the sheets.
I kiss the center of her, carefully, circling her clit with my tongue.
The sounds she makes are low and unguarded and I feel each one like a hand closing around my throbbing cock.
When she comes apart on my tongue, she comes apart completely. Her whole body, her voice, nothing held back. I stay with her until she's finished, until the tension drains out of her and she sags back against the mattress with a long exhale.
She's still catching her breath when she reaches down and pulls me up by the back of my neck. Kisses me hard. Her hands move over me with intention now — jaw, throat, shoulders, chest, like she's mapping things she plans to draw later.
I strip off what's left of my own clothes. She watches me do it with hungry eyes. Then I come back to her, and I take a moment to look at her again. Just because I can.
When I finally sink into her we both go still.
Her eyes open and find mine.
"Okay?" I ask.
"Very," she says.
I move slowly at first, watching her face, learning what makes her breath catch and what makes her pull me closer.
She is not passive about it. She tells me with her hands, with the angle of her hips, with the pressure of her heel against the back of my thigh, and once — quietly, directly — with actual words.
A specific request to go harder, deeper.
I'm only too glad to fulfill it. I adjust, and she arches up into me, and the unhurried pace we started with begins to slip.
I press my forehead to hers when it builds too high to hold.
Her hand finds my face in the dark. She says my name again, rough and certain, and I'm gone — both of us, at the same moment — which has never happened with anyone, but which feels entirely inevitable with Alice. She’s absolutely perfect in every way.
Afterward she lies with her cheek against my chest, her hand flat over my heartbeat. I stare at the ceiling while my pulse slows.
"I came here to finish a book," she says eventually.
"I know.”
"I did not anticipate this."
"No." I pause. "Neither did I."
“I’m glad you found me.”
“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”
“