50. CHLOE
50
CHLOE
How am I supposed to be reading about a fictional cowboy when a 6’3” blond Adonis is getting out of the shower feet from where I’m lying?
I was already giggling and kicking my feet at the cowboy giving his nanny a mustache ride when the bathroom door opened, steam billowing out. My jaw fell open as Cal emerged, a white terry cloth towel hanging low on his hips. His thigh tattoo peeking out with each step toward the bed.
His right thigh has two. A crest is on the upper part, but just above his knee is a quote from his favorite book, Wurthington Heights, “Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same.”
He’s standing over me and runs a hand through his hair. A few water droplets sprinkle onto me.
“Chloe, what are you doing here?”
“I came in here to ask you a question, but you were in the shower, so I decided to lay in your bed and read till you got out.” That sounds completely logical.
“I should start locking my door, huh?”
“Warned ya.”
Cal stalks back into the bathroom, leaving the door open. “What’s up?”
“Uh. . .” Why am I suddenly nervous to bring up to Cal when he went down on me in the kitchen? “Remember when you, uh, went—” Seriously, Chloe?
“Down on you in the kitchen? Yeah. I do.” His tone is sharp.
“After. The texts from Seth. You know I’m not speaking to him, right?”
He peeps his head around the frame.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been trying to give you space—” Outside of those thirty-six hours last week, we’ve barely spoken. We returned to passively living with each other, and I hate it. I miss him.
“By laying in my bed?”
I roll my eyes playfully, then repeat my comment. “I’ve been trying to give you space, but I keep thinking about it. I keep trying to decipher why those texts would upset you if you know I’m not talking to him or have zero intention to get back together.”
Cal drags a hand down his face. He’s leaning against the frame, body still only in a towel.
“Why did they upset you?”
I sit up, butt on the edge of the bed.
He shuts his eyes. “I don’t want to be second place when it comes to you.”
“You aren’t?”
“It might not appear that way to you, but from my perspective, I am. You won’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Walking over to the bathroom door, I lean against the opposite frame and try to hold his hand. He shakes me off.
“Cal, we’re friends.” Probably my best friend if we are admitting truths. “If I did something, you can—”
“We aren’t friends.” He cuts me off. “We can’t be friends.” He raises his voice, not to yell at me, but passionately, frustratedly. His chest rises and falls, eye flipping from mine to my lips.
Stupidity smacks me across the face.
I’m so confused.
“We. Can’t. Be. Friends.” He enunciates each word, teeth grinding, jaw tight. Highlighter blue eyes are wild, pupils dilated .
“Why?” It’s breathy. Scared. Anticipation laced, but it feels like I’m screaming. Trying to hold on tighter to the lifeboat that I’ve found our relationship to be—if that’s even what this was—to be.
There’s a pause. The surrounding space slowly closing in.
“Because we’ve never been friends, Chloe.” He pauses again. “I’ve only ever been yours.”
“Mine?” I can barely ask as his words root themselves inside of me.
“Yours.”
“What about me, Callum?”
“God, I want you to be mine.” He runs his hand through his hair again. “But that’s up to you. I can’t force you to be mine. I can’t force you to see me the way I see you, Dais. I can hope, wish, beg, but it’s your choice.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” I shrug my shoulders as if this is the easiest decision. As easy as breathing. Which it is. Being his, it’s never been a question I realize. I think I’ve always known since we met. The way he saw right through me. It might have taken me some time to fully grasp it, but I’ve always felt it.
My heart has been sitting in a lost and found box, waiting for someone to want it. He does. It’s been his. Is his. He’s found it, stitched it back together, and I know will take care of it.
“That settles it. I’m yours,” I add.
His body hunches back in surprise, eyes widen, and roam over my face. I don’t think Cal suspected me to feel the same way about him, but I do.
Pushing off the frame, I stalk toward him. Granted, it’s barely three steps, but I take my time, dragging each one out like a runway.
“I’m not a quick sell, Pretty Boy, but you’re an excellent salesman. Sold me on a friendship when I was reluctant. Sold me on how terrible my ex was. Sold me on becoming your roommate. Sold me on you along the way. Sold me a while ago. I think I stopped pretending and avoiding my feelings for you those weeks before Christmas.
“You make me happy. You make me feel seen. There hasn’t been a day since last summer that I haven’t thought about you, Callum. I know every girl wants their man to fall at their feet for them, worship them—”
“Chloe, it’s like I’m at the altar on Sunday when I’m with you.”
“As it should be.” My eyebrows raise. “I know you said we can’t, but I want to be friends. Best friends. Because you are mine.” It’s clear in my mind, a north star directing me to him. “In so many ways, and I want to be that for you too.”
“You have no idea how much I want that.”
“I think I do.”
My hands dip into the towel, fiddling with fabric before my hand runs over him. I palm him, needing to feel him. My throat goes dry, but I manage to continue.
“Letting me live with you, learning how to make my coffee, taking Tucker on runs. You’ve broken a lot of your rules.” Tugging the fabric where he has it secured on his hip, I glance up at him a silent question passing between us.
“Please, Chloe.”
The towel drops to the floor. Cal’s completely naked in front of me.
I take a step back to look at him. “Wow.” I swallow. “I don’t know if I can call you Pretty Boy anymore. . .”
He’s not just pretty—I already knew that—but wow.
I sink to my knees in front of him. Kissing the tattoos on his right leg, I move to kiss his other thigh. My eyes do a double take to find another one. On his left, higher, where no one could see it, is a bouquet of flowers. I run a finger over the daisies.
“When did you get this?”
“When I was in London.”
“Why?”
“You know why. ”
“I want to hear it.”
“You are the soul that fits mine. Even if I couldn’t have you, I needed a part of you for the rest of my life. I’d be incomplete without you.”
My cheeks warm under his admittance.
I kiss the tattoo. One hand splayed across his abs, the other trailing up his other thigh. I alternate between kissing and licking his warm skin, moving across his body.
Cal wraps my hair in his fists, pulling my head back. His need to control is apparent. Looking up at him I shake my head no.
Taking him into my mouth, hands gripping his waist, I show him exactly how badly I want him. How badly I want to be his. And how he doesn’t have to always be in control.
“Chloe, I’m going to—I need to be inside of you. Now.” Cal pulls me off him, gently yanking my hair up so I stand. He seizes my mouth in a kiss, hands coming to my waist. Then, all over my body.
Walking us backward, my clothes are off my body. His T-shirt I found on my bed earlier, tossed over the lamp on his nightstand, and my lounge shorts on the ground. Naked, I collapse onto the bed. The weight of Cal’s body on top of me is wanted and feels right.
Cal leans on his elbows, shaking his head.
“What?”
“You’re so beautiful. Perfect, Chloe.”
My hips buck, searching for him.
Cal traces my jawline with his pointer finger. Trailing it down my chest and over one of my nipples. “These are in my dreams every night. Since that afternoon at Emerson’s, I haven’t stopped thinking about your perfect tits.” Cal pinches my nipple and I whimper. “Sensitive?”
I nod.
“Tell me. Are they sensitive enough that I could get you off by only playing with them. ”
“Yes.” It’s breathy. My heart rate is already speeding up, and he’s barely laid a hand on me.
“We’ll try that another night. Tonight, you are getting off on my tongue then on me. Okay?”
I nod.
“No, Chloe. I told you I’m a words guy. I need you to tell me I can have you in all the ways I’ve wanted to since you came into my life. Walking around my place in those shirts, taunting me with the only body I’ve ever wanted to claim. Can I have you, beautiful girl?”
“Please,” I beg.
Cal’s response is a kiss. Lips locking, tongues knocking. There’s nothing controlled about this, and I love it. I love having Cal come undone.
He flips our positions, his body under mine.
“Sit on my face, Henry. I know what you were reading about in that book.” My eyes narrow down at him and he smirks. “I read it last week.”
“I’ve never. . . What if I suffocate you?”
“Then put on my grave, death by pussy, because there isn't any other way I’d want to go than like this caused by you.” Cal pulls my hips down, mouth on me. “So good.”
He works his tongue in and out of me. Mixing in attention to my most sensitive places.
I’m withering, hips moving against his face. Gripping the headboard for stability, Cal works my body up to the edge. He kneads one of my breasts with his hand, and I mirror the sensation on the other with one of mine.
Words are lost and muffled between my moans. “Close. Cal, I’m—”
Gone. Sprinted past close and jumped head first off the edge. Cal nurses my release, his hands move to my hips to keep me seated while he helps me ride out the pleasure.
Sated and breathing back to semi-regular, Cal lifts me off him .
My back hits the bed.
Cal stands, circling my ankles and pulling me to the edge of the bed. In his bedside table drawer, he pulls out a condom.
“Put it on me,” he demands.
Sitting up, I pinch the top of the condom and roll it down Cal’s erection. He’s heavy in my hand—he was in my mouth. . . which barely could take him.
It’s like Cal can read my mind.
“I’ll go slow, but you’ll take it.” He holds my chin as I reach the base.
“Is that right?” I smirk at him. “Are you going to be a good boy and make sure of it?”
He blushes and I can see how even though he wants control, he wants to be praised more.
“You’ll take anything I give you. Now, lay back. Butt on the edge and spread your legs.”
Cal licks his lips, and I wish I were his tongue. Tasting myself on him.
“You want to taste?”
“Mhmm.”
He crawls over my body to kiss me. Letting me taste myself on him. I cup my hands on his cheek, holding him. I love kissing him. I love being around him.
Being around Callum, getting to know him—falling for him—has been the anticipation leading to the big drop on a rollercoaster. Flying over the hill into a comfortable, safe, exciting freefall. Everything with him is safe and when my stomach cartwheels it’s not out of fear, it’s knowing that nothing has ever been like this before.
I don’t need this, having sex with him. I want it, but if we were to put our clothes back on and lay here passing secrets and kisses, it’d be enough.
He’s enough .
I kiss him again, trying to convey everything I’m thinking and feeling into it. A smile tugs on his mouth, kissing me back with the same conviction.
Standing back up, Cal dips two fingers inside of me, coating the condom, before positioning himself between my legs. Cal rubs his tip over my clit, and my body clenches. Barely down from its high, it's already begging for another.
I take a breath, and Cal pushes into me. Barely a quarter of the way, I don’t think I can take any more. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve had my fair share of sex, but no one has ever barely been inside of me and made my body automatically feel as if it’s going to let go.
“Relax.” Cal fans his hand on my stomach right above my waist. He slowly keeps pushing inside of me. Each inch of him is more satisfying and filling than the next. Cal hisses. “You’re so tight, Chloe.”
My shoulders crunch, flicking my gaze between where we are connected and his face.
“Tight and beautiful and mine.” He sucks in a shallow breath. “I can feel myself inside of you.”
“Describe it to me.”
“I wish I could, baby. There are no words except for that it’s perfect. You’re perfect. You were made perfect for me. Your body is stretching to fit me so well. I’m going to keep going. You okay?”
“I’m perfect,” I parrot his words.
Cal pauses once he bottoms out, and there is a fullness and completeness that I’ve never felt before.
“You have no idea how often I’ve thought about this. Wanting you in ways I didn’t think I deserved, or you’d ever want.”
I roll my eyes, my mouth tugging into a smirk. My cheeks and body are warm. “Shoulda asked, Pretty Boy. You know it’s improper to assume what a woman wants.”
“And what is it that you want?”
“You to move. I’m dying here.” My nails dig into his shoulders .
Cal moves in and out of me, finding a rhythm and learning my body. He talks to me, asking questions to understand exactly what I need and like. Picking up his pace, his hips snap into me, and I can feel his pelvis hitting my clit. The spurts of pressure are teasing.
I reach my hand between us, applying constant pressure, pinching and rubbing the sensitive spot.
“That’s my girl. Take whatever you need. In here, out there, wherever.”
My brain shuts out the rest of his words, murmurs that are probably as sexual as they are sweet. All that echoes in my brain is my girl .
A hand grips my right knee, pushing it up to my chest. I gasp, the position deepening his reach.
He does some sort of snap-and-swivel that has my hips thrusting upward to meet his, begging for him to do it again. My foot slips off the bed, and Cal returns it with his free hand.
“I’m never going to be able to leave your bed now.”
“You say that like it’s a punishment.”
“If I’m a brat, can it be?”
Cal clenches the comforter next to my head, pulling out and jerking hard back into me. “Mess around and find out.”
He brings my other knee up to my chest, my body inching up the bed, he now has one knee bracing his weight. Snaking a hand between us, Cal removes the guardrails I put up.
“Come on, Henry. You know you want to come on me.”
“I do.” I nod frantically, any witty, bratty remark nowhere to be found.
Cal drops his mouth to mine. Our names on each other’s lips as my second tsunami of pleasure hits me. Cal is right behind me, his hip movements like a bucking bull.
“Holy hell.” He wraps his arms around me, flipping us. My head falls to his chest.
“Never been like that for you either?”
“Never. ”
“You’re one in a million, Pretty Boy.”
“I only want to be your one.” He kisses the top of my head, twirling my hair.
A few minutes later, he gets up and cradles me into his arms. Walking me into the bathroom, he turns on the shower testing the water. Once it’s warm, my hand in his, he pulls me under the rainfall to clean us up. Cal lathers a loofa, running it up my legs and over my torso, sneaking a few kisses between suds.
Inhaling, I catch a whiff of peaches. “Is that my body wash?” Cal has been in his bedroom or bathroom this entire time, so there’s no way he could have snuck to my bathroom to get it. “Did you steal it?”
“No. I bought duplicates of all your products to keep in here.”
“Manifesting this?”
“You’re pretty nosy, coming into my room whenever you want. Figured you’d sneak into my bathroom at some point, too.”
I swat at his shoulder.
“Hope. Manifesting. Call it whatever you want, Dais.”
Cal stands, squeezing my shampoo into his hands, and lathers my hair. Digging his hands into my scalp, tension in my body evaporates.
How have I gone twenty-eight years without being noticed like this? How have I gone nine years without letting someone in?
“Cal,” I exhale.
“Yeah, Daisy?”
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never felt seen before. Not in a way that is intentional and kind and—I don’t know.” I close my eyes, his hands rinsing my hair. Delicately, he combs the strands with his fingers. My body instinctively leans into him. “When you look at me, there isn’t the accident. There isn’t the girl who ran from home. There isn’t a need to put on my mask, I don’t have to pretend with you. You don’t see the broken girl. ”
Cal tugs on my chin, turning my head to him over my shoulder. “You’ve never been broken. Never to me.”
I spin in his arms, head turned up. “Which one’s yours?” I point to the shelf of soaps. Cal hands me his shampoo, my turn to take care of him—at first, I thought our relationship was him taking care of me. But I think we’ve been taking care of each other. A gentle, slow, and soft (maybe some teasing) love burning between us. Slowly becoming what the other needed without ever needing to ask. “I see you too, Callum.”
***
Cal kissed my forehead, whispering that he would take Tucker out as I lay in his bed. Encouraging me to sleep in, I did the opposite. Downstairs, I attempted to make food.
Thankfully, Cal returned with Tucker—his new waist leash for running hooked onto him.
In one hand, Cal held a brown bag with breakfast and a tray with drinks. The other hand was a bouquet similar to the ones he bought me months ago.
There’s been fresh flowers in the kitchen every week. I tried to catch him cutting and putting the daisies or wildflowers into a vase, but he’s quick. Sneaky. This is the first time I’ve seen them in his hands.
“Close your eyes real quick.”
“Okay,” I say wearily. Slowly bringing my hands to my face.
There is a rattling of a drawer and the smell of Sharpie.
“Open them.”
Removing one hand, then the other, Cal’s face is glowing. Both dimples bookend his smile. In front of his chest, the plastic cup says, ‘will you be my real girlfriend?’
“I had to give you books to check you could read.”
“You ass.”
“That didn’t sound like a yes.”
“Whatever, boyfriend.”