Page 91 of Mixed Signals
Caleb is fixated on the three inches of skin between my belly button and the hem of my underwear, but he blinks back towards my face when he hears the hesitation in my voice. A smile starts in the lines by his eyes and he releases his neck.
“Close your eyes,” he tells me. I arch an eyebrow and he gives me a half-smile, his dimple blinking to life in his cheek. He drags two knuckles over my knee and up my thigh. Back down again. “Close your eyes, Layla.”
I huff, that damn firm tone making my insides flutter again. “You’re bossier than you let on.”
His laugh is a dark, wicked thing—warm air against my neck as he leans back over me. “You have no idea.”
He doesn’t give me time to think about that interesting little statement. He just leans forward and catches my mouth with his. He licks into me like I’m that blueberry pie I left on my coffee table. Deep. Devouring. Consuming. My eyes slip shut and I kiss him back just as hungrily.
It’s easier to follow his directions like this. To turn off the part of my brain that is still riddled with anxiety from this morning. The part that is turning over the consequences of this thing I’m doing with Caleb, examining every angle, over and over again. He kisses me and I don’t care about a single thing except his mouth on mine, his palm at the back of my neck and his warm, bare skin pressing me down into the bed.
“I thought—” Caleb moves his mouth to my neck and I arch beneath him, my fingers finding the belt loops at his hips. I tug on them and try to pull him closer. “I thought I was supposed to be touching myself.”
“You’re welcome to start whenever you’d like.” Caleb laughs, soft and warm. It feels like the first blast of heat from the oven, when I’m too impatient and I crack open the door to get a peek at what’s inside.
“You can, too,” I breathe. “Touch me, I mean.”
He nudges below my ear with his nose, his exhale long and slow. He sounds like he’s gathering himself. Like he’s barely holding the pieces of himself together, actually. “Noted. But you go ahead and start for me, yeah?”
I reach between us and drag the palm of my hand over my breast, just barely grazing my nipple through the soft material of my shirt. The almost innocent touch feels electric with Caleb’s eyes on me, a pulse of slow-rolling heat that settles between my legs with a hollow ache.
I do it again, lingering with a gentle pinch, and Caleb grunts like I’ve punched him in the chest.
“More,” he tells me.
“Greedy.” I smile and keep my eyes closed. “I’ll be going at my own pace, thank you very much.”
He huffs. “I feel like I’m the one being teased now.” His words are clipped, short.
“Mmhmm.” My left hand leaves the loop at his waist and I slip it beneath my shirt, cupping my bare breast. I drag my thumb back and forth—forgetting, almost—about my very captive audience. This is how I touch myself when I’m alone at night. When the wanting and the waiting and the loneliness get to be too much and I pretend my hand belongs to someone else. My breath hitches and Caleb shifts above me, the sheets rustling with his movement. I feel his palm at my side, his fingertips glancing along my ribs as he inches my shirt up.
“Can I see?” I nod and he drags my shirt higher. “Can I watch what you do to yourself, Layla?”
“Yes.”
I lie beneath Caleb with my eyes closed and listen to the pattern of his breathing as I touch myself. I grip my breasts just the way I like, teasing touches and light circles. I pinch at my nipple and my back arches, my knees spreading and pressing into Caleb, balanced above me. He catches my leg and holds it there, his thumb tracing a line down the back of my knee that feels like it’s right against my clit. I blink my eyes open and—oh.Oh.Watching him watching me is so much better.
He looks absolutely wrecked. His jeans are tugged down low, lower than they were before, like impatient hands were nudging them down. His body is all lean lines, smooth muscle and warm, tan skin. His zipper is undone and I can see the edge of his black boxer briefs, the crisp white band around his hips. A dusting of dark hair just below his belly button. My gaze dips lower to where he is hard and straining and a fierce tug of need grips at me.
“Touch between your legs,” he tells me, his voice low. “Show me there, too.”
I slip my hand beneath my underwear and I last one stroke, two, before I’m reaching for Caleb with my other hand. I curl my hand in the hem of his jeans and pull.
“Your mouth,” I pant. His eyes snap to mine and hold. “I want your mouth on me. Please.”
“Ah, Layla.” He practically collapses on top of me and drags his teeth over my tiny tattoo—brushes his lips from hip to hip and uses his shoulders to edge my legs further apart. My body burns liquid, velvet hot. “You never need to say please to me. But fuck. I love it when you do.”
The first touch of his mouth over me has my legs scrambling against the sheets, heels digging into the mattress as I try to ground myself. His mouth feelsincredible.Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. He catches my hips in his hands and holds me against my bed as he licks me through my underwear, slow and thorough and fucking divine.
He drops his forehead against my belly button and pants an uneven breath. “Layla,” he says, and stops there. His hands on my hips squeeze, fingers tangling in satin. “Can I take these off?”
“Yes. Yes, I want that.”
It’s a flurry of limbs and motion as Caleb tugs my underwear down my legs and twists them through his fingers. I watch as he shoves them in his back pocket—like I won’t notice later that he’s pocketed some of my most expensive underwear. But I don’t care.I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t carebecause he wraps his hand around my ankle and urges my legs wide, his big body sinking between them. I watch as his dark head bows over me, the blush along the tips of his ears. How his hands flex and retract against my skin.
He makes a low grunt of appreciation as his mouth finds me again and every particle in my body lights up. Pleasure—hot and wet and silky smooth. I clench my hands in his hair and grind myself against his greedy mouth, tiny little rocking movements that make everything feel more incredible.
My moan chokes out of me. “Oh my god, Caleb.”
