Chapter 8
Emily
We arrived back at the house late, the moonlight glinting off the numerous windows.
"You know," Cal said as he pulled to a stop in the drive. "It's not a bad house."
It wasn't. It just wasn't home.
"True," I muttered, unbuckling. "But I just… it doesn't feel happy."
It was late, but he still emptied the car, piling the cans of paint and various items in the entry.
"Come on," he said, grunting as he lifted the rug. "Grab the bedding and your shower curtain."
"Wait, now?"
"Yeah," he called over his shoulder, heading for the stairs.
"You're not gonna let me fuck you in a white bed or in the shower while that mirror is there.
" He paused halfway up the stairs, turning to look at me, the rug slung over one shoulder.
"Wanna be inside you, baby, more than anything else in this fucking life. "
With that, Cal turned, striding up the stairs and leaving me weak-kneed and wet at his words.
"Well," I cleared my throat and stooped to scoop up the packaged bedding and curtain. "I guess I'm getting luckier tonight."
In the bedroom, I found Cal rolling out the rug, placing it just so by the bed. I'd chosen a watercolour print, the vibrant blues, pinks, and purples faded into each other. The splash of colour was a welcome intrusion against the stark white.
Without thinking, I knelt on it, running my fingers through the thick weave.
"Fuck it," Cal said, dropping to his knees and reaching for me. "I can't wait."
I squeaked as he pulled me down, hovering over me. His hands ran over my body, pushing my sweater and camisole off and immediately going to my pants to pull them off.
In but a second, he had me naked and withering as he kissed his way down my body.
"Cal," I panted, his head dipping further to my abdomen. "Cal…."
"Need a taste."
His tongue dipped, and I jerked as his mouth tasted my wet need.
We both groaned, desperate and throbbing.
"More," he demanded, pushing my legs open and taking what I offered.
I fisted his hair, holding him to my core as he played me like an expert conductor, my body singing with need under his mouth.
"Cal—" I bit off my protest, body clenching and writhing as the orgasm broke, unexpected but welcome.
"Yes!" He surged up, giving me no space to recover. His cock bridged my entrance, and I welcomed him, arching up.
He paused for a moment, then slammed into me, forcing my body to accommodate him.
I loved it, I hated it, I wanted more, I wanted… I needed… I…
I lost all sense of self, giving in to him, letting him control my reactions and responses. Letting him lead.
"Fuck," he barked. "Gonna come. You feel too goddamned good."
His admission drove me over the edge, and I came again, losing myself as he roared his pleasure, bottoming out and emptying his cum into me.
We crashed to the floor, a wet patch soaking our new rug.
I tried to catch my breath while my body shuddered with aftershocks. I'd never come so quickly or consistently before. It was as if he had discovered a secret switch in the years between then and now.
And to be honest, maybe he had. And who was I to complain when five years of additional experience, Cal was a superb lover.
Eventually, the chill of the room set in, forcing us to redress. I cleaned up, finding him remaking the bed with the colourful sheet set we'd purchased.
"It could have waited 'til morning," I told him, leaning against the door jamb and enjoying the view.
"Told you, not gonna fuck you on anything that you hate."
I tsked. "You're really missing out on some serious hate sex, then."
He paused in his sheet-tucking efforts. "Angry sex?"
I shrugged, amused at his hopeful expression. "You'll never know now."
He looked so forlorn that I took pity on the poor man.
"Tell you what. Next week, swap out the sheets for the white ones for a day. I'll be a naughty girl then."
"You're always a naughty girl," he told me, walking around the bed to straighten the top sheet.
"Never."
"Always."
We grinned at each other, the argument familiar and comfortable.
When he was finished, I climbed in, facing him, our hands finding each other under the covers.
"So, tell me more about this marina deal," I said, wanting to prolong the night.
"I haven't figured anything out yet," Cal replied. "I just know in my gut this is the right thing to do. I want us to be independent again. Financially and emotionally."
"Money always comes with strings."
"Yeah. And family money more than most."
I drew circles on his palm. "Will you leaving the company be an issue?"
"Dad won't be happy. Mom will likely have things to say but no. There are immensely talented people who can step straight in. If anything, my leaving is a good thing."
"Will you miss this house?"
Cal didn't answer right away, his gaze distant as he considered my question. "Not for the traditional reasons. Not because it holds good memories. But I'll miss this view."
Even I had to admit that we'd be hard-pressed to find a view quite this good.
"But a view doesn't make up for years of emptiness. I want our next house to be filled with memories like tonight."
"What, having sex on the rug?" I asked, amused.
"Yeah. But also being together and joking. Of dinners and painting and all the things I wish we'd had before."
I stopped tracing his palm and instead pressed mine to his. "Today was a good memory."
"Mm," he agreed. “The best."
"How quickly could they put it on the market?"
"Tomorrow, if I ask."
I nodded. "Then let's do it."
"You sure?"
"Completely." I glanced around. "This house will be perfect for someone. It's just that someone isn't us."
Cal laughed; the sound surprised.
"Well, fuck,” he muttered, squeezing my hand. "Guess we're doing this."
"Hundred percent."