Chapter 16 #2
There’s nothing rushed about it. Nothing careless. Every movement feels deliberate, like he’s paying attention to me in a way that makes it impossible to pretend this is casual or temporary or anything less than what it is.
I tip my head back against the couch, eyes closing as his hand steadies at my waist, grounding, anchoring. My breathing stutters, then steadies again as I reach for him, threading my fingers through his hair this time, holding him there.
“Still for science?” I whisper, breath hitching as he drives me closer, to the edge.
He huffs a quiet laugh against me, warm and a little unsteady. “At this point? Probably not.”
I smile, slow and helpless, my hand softening where it rests against his hair.
“Good,” I say, and it comes out high, needy.
Because this doesn’t feel like practice. It feels like coming back to something that was never really gone.
Before long, I’m crying out his name as his tongue and fingers makes fervent, worshipful circles, and I’m left panting and worn out.
“Was it a successful experiment?” He sounds infinitely pleased with himself.
“Your methods are highly questionable,” I answer, still breathless.
“I don’t know, I think results seem promising.”
“You could say that,” I say, completely dazed, trying to collect my thoughts, trying to collect any semblance of composure whatsoever. Hell, trying to even remember my name after that. Guess that’s what two orgasms from a very competent partner will do to a girl.
“What do you think? Enough data to work from?” he asks, grinning up at me smugly from between my legs.
He kisses the inside of my thigh again, and I shiver as he pulls my skirt down then stands up.
I still can’t get over how much muscle he’s packed on, and how good he looks with silver hair.
And I just gawk at him for a long moment, trying to recover my brain, which has temporarily vacated the premises.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s permanently vacated the premises, but we’re going to hope for temporary for now.
My stomach growls.
“Oh no, the experiment is hungry,” he says.
I laugh at that, swatting at him and his super smug expression.
“I’ve worked up an appetite, I think. I didn’t eat dinner last night after Nonna stuffed us at lunch.”
“You didn’t eat dinner last night and you didn’t tell me?” he says.
“Dude, I was stuffed. Besides, you gave me hot cocoa and then we had whiskey and then I fell asleep again.”
My stomach growls again.
“That will not do,” he says. “But first we better get your teeth brushed so you don’t manage to make anybody throw up.”
“We could just eat here,” I say. “I don’t have to get dressed to eat here. I definitely want to brush my teeth, though.”
For some reason, even though he just went down on me for the last thirty minutes, made me feel better than I felt in actual years — actual years, human years, not dog years, even — the thought of him feeling like he has to make me food makes me feel uncomfortable, which is silly.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need therapy.
“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours, Ivy Romantic?” he says. “You don’t regret that, do you?”
“Hell no,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t think I’ll ever regret that.”
“Well, did I pass your test?” he asks.
I force my lips into a thin line and look up at him.
“Seriously, I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, it was — it was good, but what if it was just a one-off?”
“Excuse me, a one-off?”
“Exactly,” I say. “A one-off. We don’t know if that’s replicable. The only way to really test if this is still good chemistry”— I motion between us and pretend like I don’t see the glimmering of my own release on his lips— “is to do it again. Don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” he says with a sigh, “I fear in the name of science the only way to guarantee a positive outcome is to test again.”
I reach up to him, wanting to pull him back down on top of me, wanting to see if maybe we could go for three or four, or heck, maybe all the way to home base. I’m a grown woman. Why shouldn’t I? There’s nothing to stop me.
My stomach growls.
“We need to get some food in you, Lead Research Assistant. We don’t want your stomach making you turn into the Wicked Witch of the West or something.”
“Wicked Witch of the West isn’t real.”
“Good. She better not be,” he says. “Come on, get up. Let’s brush your teeth so you don’t manage to make anyone throw up when I take you down to Saltline for brunch.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.
“We’re dating now. Why shouldn’t I do that?”
“Oh, are we dating? Is that what this is?” I say, laughing.
“Well.” He scratches his beard, looking confused, feigning it though, I can tell from the slight way that his lips curve up.
I always could tell when he was joking around versus being serious.
It’s nice to see that some things don’t change, even if the package that they’re in has changed completely — and for the better.
“I don’t know. I guess if it’s a weird way to ask someone to be their boyfriend. But yeah, I mean, I guess. I guess I’ll be your boyfriend, Ivy Romantic.”
“That is not what I was doing at all,” I say, scandalized. I sit up and throw one of the couch cushions at him. He catches it and laughs.
“Straight from your boyfriend to throwing things at me. It’s a hard job, Ivy Romantic, but I guess I’m the one for it.”
I sigh, completely exasperated and amused. Exasperated, amused, and yet utterly, completely delighted.
“We said last night we were going to move slow,” I remind him.
He offers up a hand and I let him pull me to my feet.
His grin is contagious, just like it always has been.
“Well, if this morning was taking it slow, then I’m a huge fan of it.
But if you want to get any further with me, you need to respect the fact that we have to be boyfriend and girlfriend at the very least. You can’t keep taking advantage of me. ”
“What do you mean, at the very least?” I say, laughing, shoving him playfully.
He tugs me up the stairs and I hold on to the rail with one hand and clutch his, because I like the feel of it, with the other.
“Yeah, I’m old fashioned like that, Ivy Romantic. You can’t take advantage of me. Nope. If you want anything else from me physically, you’re going to have to be my girlfriend. And since you’ve already asked me, there’s no backing out of it now.”
“Caleb,” I say, swallowing a laugh and trying to be serious, “we’re just barely back in each other’s lives. Don’t you think we should take it slow?”
“We’ve been taking it slow since we were fifteen, Ivy. That’s taking it slow. I know what I want, and what I want is holding my hand and walking into my bedroom right now.”
“What if you decide that you don’t want to live here anymore?” I say.
“This is my home. You’re my home, Ivy. And I’m done pretending like you’re not.
You’re it for me. You always have been. And if you’re not serious about me the way that I am about you, or at least willing to try to be serious, then I mean it.
I can’t do this. I can’t just date you. I can’t be casual. ”
He takes my face in both hands, staring deeply into my eyes. It’s hard to breathe. Not in a bad way. In a way that I’m afraid if I do take too deep of a breath, I’m going to startle him away and this entire thing will evaporate, like a dream, like a vision.
“I want you to, Caleb,” I tell him. “But I’m scared.”
“You’re allowed to be scared,” he says. “But you’re not allowed to stay that way. Don’t worry. I’ll prove it to you.”
He gives me a kiss, a sweet, gentle brush of our lips against each other.
“But first, you really need to brush your teeth. You taste like whiskey and hot cocoa and garlic knots and something truly awful.”
“I told you so,” Gunner says.
My familiar’s curled up on top of Caleb’s bed, his body completely wagging as we walk into the bathroom.
“Don’t worry, I seriously buy in bulk.”
“I actually really like the fact that you’re a penny pincher,” I tell him. “Really soothes my control freak tendencies to know that you also appreciate a good deal.”
Still, when he hands me a pack of thirty toothbrushes, I give him a look.
“They were like thirty cents apiece,” he says. “It was such a good deal.
“This is enough toothbrushes to last you for the next ten years.”
“At thirty cents apiece,” he repeats, “that’s a deal.”
“You’re not wrong,” I tell him. “Maybe I should be the one having you make all my supply orders.”
“What my girlfriend wants, my girlfriend gets,” he says solemnly, holding his hands up like he’s doing some sort of Scouts honor thing.
“You weren’t even a Boy Scout,” I tell him.
“I know, but it was really good for the effect, wasn’t it? Please brush your teeth before I throw up.”
I huff a laugh, roll my eyes, and squirt some toothpaste onto my toothbrush.
“We’re not gonna—” I say, the words coming out all garbled from brushing my teeth.
“I’m in the same clothes I was yesterday,” I finally say after I spit.“Everyone’s going to know.”
“Ivy, no one’s gonna know if you have the same clothes on.
And if you’re that worried about it, just put on some of my clothes.
Honestly, though, if the rest of you smells as bad as your breath — which it doesn’t, by the way, I did a very close sniff test a minute ago, one that escalated to a taste test—”
“Caleb!” I scrub a hand down my face, feeling my cheeks turn bright read.
“You can just borrow something of mine.” He shrugs.
“Your clothes won’t fit me,” I tell him.
“Well, I’m sorry to say that I didn’t keep any of my ex-girlfriend’s things.”
“Are you trying to get me all riled up again?” I ask.
“Just goes to show that I really do like my girlfriend riled up. I like what happens after,” he says conspiratorially.
“You are too much,” I tell him.
“No, I’m not,” he says. “And I’m only like this with you.”
That hits me straight to the heart, because I know it’s true. I know this playful side of Caleb doesn’t come out — not with anybody else. Sometimes with my sisters. But I don’t think anyone else in the town has seen him as silly as he is right now.
And I love that it’s for me.
I love that he trusts me enough to be the goofball that he’s always been and not the serious coastal conservation guy.
I feel lucky.
“Well, what’s it going to be, Mrs. Bad Breath?” he says.
“That’s Miss Bad Breath to you.” I poke him in the chest.
“Not if I have my way,” he says.
My jaw drops at that bombshell and he lurches out the door, teeth freshly brushed as well, before rummaging around in his closet while I process that.
What does that mean?
He wants to marry me?
We literally have been back together for fifteen minutes and now he’s thinking about marriage.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
And to my surprise, she’s smiling back at me.