Chapter 13
I wake up sore in places I didn’t even know could ache.
My thighs, my hips, my throat—every inch of me feels used, stretched, alive in a way that makes my chest flutter and my stomach clench at the same time.
Caleb is sprawled beside me on the bed, one heavy arm wrapped around my waist, his leg thrown over mine, under the covers, like I’m some kind of body pillow he refuses to give up.
His breath is warm against my neck, steady, unhurried, while he’s sleeping soundly.
I stare at the ceiling, heat prickling at the back of my neck. What the hell did I do?
I should never have said yes, should never have let it get that far.
I was sobering up after Luis, and clearly Caleb had, too.
And yet—God—the things he did to me. The way he kissed me like he wanted to eat me, the way his tongue, his fingers, his cock had pulled me apart until I didn’t recognize myself.
My face burns hot, my thighs clenching as the memory flashes through me, making me ache all over again.
And then his hand moves.
At first, I don’t even notice it. His palm is splayed against my stomach, thumb brushing lazily against my skin. But then it dips lower. Lower. Until his finger is against my clit, pressing slow, deliberate circles.
My body jerks, breath catches. My eyes fly wide open. “You’re awake!” I hiss, my voice a mixture of shock and arousal. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
His lips brush the back of my ear, his voice low, rough with sleep but smug all the same. “Just checking something.”
“Checking what?”
“How wet you get when you think about me.”
Before I can snap back, two of his fingers push inside me with infuriating ease. I gasp, clutching at his wrist, but he just chuckles, rolling us so I’m flat on my back, pinned beneath him.
One of his hands grips my wrists and pulls them above my head, holding it there easily, his weight caging me in. His knees straddle my thighs, keeping me open as his other hand works between my legs, thrusting his fingers deep, curling them slowly, deliberately.
“Caleb—” I writhe beneath him, hating how good it feels, hating how slow he’s going. “Stop—”
“Not a chance.” His voice is dark silk, his thumb stroking my clit as his fingers curl inside me again. “I want to watch you. Watch you come undone for me while you glare at me like you’d rather kill me.”
“You’re insane,” I whisper, my hips bucking despite my words, chasing the rhythm he’s setting.
His grin is wicked as his gaze fixes on my face, on every twitch and whimper I can’t hold back. “You’re so fucking hot like this. Writhing, trying not to admit how bad you need me.”
The orgasm builds slow and sharp, twisting my insides until I’m trembling beneath him, clenching desperately around his fingers.
“Caleb—” My voice cracks, my eyes squeezing shut.
“Open your eyes,” he orders. “I want you looking at me when you come.”
And when I obey—when his gaze locks on mine and I finally shatter, crying out beneath him, my whole body convulsing—he smiles like the devil himself.
He doesn’t give me a chance to recover. He pulls his fingers free, dripping, and shifts forward, bracing himself over me. With one smooth thrust, he slides into me, stretching me all over again, and I choke on a moan.
“Fuck,” he groans, grinding deep, holding himself still inside me. “You feel even better in the morning.”
I dig my nails into his shoulders, glaring through the haze of pleasure. “Slow? You’re going slow?”
He smirks, rolling his hips deliberately, dragging his cock in and out at a pace that makes me whimper. “I want you to feel every inch of me, Princess. I want you to remember this the next time you swear you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I pant, though my body arches into his, desperate for more. “I just find you incredibly annoying.”
His lips brush mine, mocking laughter in his voice. “Now that hurts my feelings.”
He thrusts again, slow and deep, each roll of his hips hitting me in places that make my vision blur. With my wrists still pinned above my head, my body straining against his weight, caught between defiance and surrender.
“You love this,” he growls, releasing my wrists, his hand sliding along my breasts, the flat expanse of my stomach till he finds my clit. His thumb drags lazy circles around the wet, hardened nub that make me squirm. “Say it.”
“No,” I gasp, though my hips betray me, grinding up against him.
His lips find the corner of my mouth and his eyes meet mine. There’s something in his gaze, something wild and untamed that makes my heart stutter. His pace is unrelenting, and he stretches the torture out until I’m shaking all over again. “Then I’ll make your body say it for you.”
And when I finally break—moaning his name as the orgasm rips through me, clenching hard around him—his groan makes me quiver, his thrusts rougher as he follows me over the edge, spilling hot inside me.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but our ragged breathing, his weight heavy over me, his forehead pressed to mine.
Finally, he pulls back, a smirk curving his lips. “Told you, Princess. You feel even better in the morning.”
I shove at his chest, trying to push him off, but my arms feel like jelly, my body still trembling. “Don’t get smug. That… That didn’t mean anything,” I add.
His eyes narrow slightly, studying me, then his grin sharpens. “Why not? We’re good in bed. You can’t deny that.”
“I don’t shit where I eat,” I snap, yanking the blanket over myself.
He props himself up on one elbow, looking irritatingly casual. “We don’t have to tell anyone. No one has to know.”
I sit up, grab his jaw in my hand, and force him to look at me. “Listen carefully, Wilder. This was a one-time thing. I still find you just as annoying as I did yesterday.”
Caleb just rolls his eyes, completely unfazed. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.” Then, before I can move, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me flat on the mattress again, sliding his body over mine and pinning me beneath him.
His smirk is infuriating as he braces on his arms above me. “Let me change your mind.”
I glare up at him, refusing to let him see how fast my pulse is racing. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”
He sighs dramatically, like I’m exhausting him. “God, you’re impossible.”
“Glad we agree,” I bite back, shoving at his shoulder.
I glance at the clock on my nightstand and groan. It’s past nine in the morning, and I have a splitting headache that feels like someone took a sledgehammer to my skull. “I need a shower,” I mutter, pushing at his chest until he finally rolls off me. “And you need to leave.”
Caleb stretches like a lazy cat, completely unbothered by my dismissal. His arms extend above his head, muscles rippling under tanned skin, and I have to force myself to look away. “Sure thing, Princess.”
I need clothes first. Clean clothes that don’t smell like whiskey and bad decisions.
Grabbing one of the blankets from the foot of the bed, I wrap it around myself.
Moving toward my dresser, I can practically feel his attention like a physical weight.
When I glance back over my shoulder, he’s propped up on one elbow, head tilted, watching me with the kind of lazy appreciation that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
His blue eyes are deep, satisfied, traveling slowly from my bare shoulders down to where the blanket barely covers my hips.
“Stop that,” I snap, yanking open my underwear drawer.
“Stop what?” His voice is all innocence, but there’s something predatory in the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something he’s already claimed.
“You know exactly what.” I grab the first bra and panties I find—black lace that I immediately regret choosing because of the way his eyes darken when he catches a glimpse of them. “The staring.”
“Can’t help it.” He shifts on the bed, the sheet sliding lower on his hips, and I have to actively resist the urge to look. “You’re giving me quite a show.”
My face burns as I move to my closet, acutely aware of how exposed I am, how his gaze follows every movement. I can feel it tracking the sway of my hips, the line of my spine, the places his hands and mouth have been.
“I’m getting dressed,” I say through gritted teeth, grabbing a pair of jeans and a cream sweater. “That’s not a show. That’s a basic human function.”
“If you say so.” But his chuckle is low and knowing, and when I risk another glance back, he’s got that insufferable smirk on his face. The one that says he knows exactly what effect he’s having on me.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, clutching my clean clothes to my chest, trying to ignore the uncomfortable reminder between my thighs of everything we did.
The sticky evidence of him, of us, of how completely I let him unravel me.
My face burns with embarrassment over how much I let him get away with. “I have to shower.”
“I could help with that,” Caleb offers lazily. “Clean you up properly.” The suggestion hits me like lightning, sending heat racing through my veins despite my better judgment. The memory of his mouth on me, his tongue, the way he’d worshipped me with such devastating thoroughness—
“Absolutely not!” I snap.
“Your loss, Princess.” He settles back against my pillows as if he’s planning to stay there all day, arms folded behind his head, showing off the lean muscle of his upper body.
“I’m serious, Caleb. Let yourself out.”
“Whatever you say,” he replies, but there’s something in his tone that makes me pause. Too agreeable. Too easy.
I don’t have time to analyze it. The hot spray of the shower is calling my name, promising to wash away the whiskey haze and the lingering scent of his cologne on my skin.
I storm toward the bathroom, clutching my clean clothes against my chest like armor.
At the doorway, I turn back to glare at him one more time.
He’s still sprawled across my bed like he owns it, all lazy satisfaction and morning-after smugness.