Page 94 of Mixed Signals
“Condom?” he asks.
I fling my arm towards my nightstand and the box of condoms I stocked the morning after he made me come on my couch, hoping we might—hoping something like this might happen. I drove four towns over to a 24-hour pharmacy in the dead of night, desperately worried I’d be the subject of the next phone tree message. I don’t know what I’d do if Sheriff Jones got a voicemail about my condom purchases.
Caleb tears the wrapper with his teeth and slips his hand back between my thighs, thumb nudging. He groans when he feels how wet I still am, everything we’ve already done together not nearly enough to ease the ache.
“You feel so good, Layla.” He licks a hot line up my neck and nips once at my jaw. “You’re going to make me lose my fucking mind.”
“Finally,” I mumble. Maybe then I won’t feel like the only one.
“Finally,” he agrees, voice somber and serious. I watch as he rolls the condom down his length and settles between my thighs. He helps me guide my t-shirt over my head and then it’s just us. Bare skin in the hazy light of a summer afternoon.
“Tell me you want me,” he whispers.
It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever told anyone. Truth in every syllable. “I want you so much.”
He pushes inside of me with a decadent noise buried in my neck—a thick slide of heat that has me clutching the blanket on either side of my head. He slides his hands up my body and clutches at my wrists, then threads our fingers together and squeezes. I hold onto him and arch into the pillows, welcoming him against me—inside me—as he moves with tiny, careful thrusts. He feels incredible, even like this, as he searches for the right position. The right pace. The right angle that has me clenching and curling my body around his.
“Fuck,” he slurs in my ear, his voice love drunk and low. His hips thrust against mine, a little bit harder, and I lose my breath. “Fuck, you feel—”
“—so good,” I finish. I hitch my leg at his hip and he moves faster, leveraging up on his knees, one hand planted on my headboard. Like this I can watch the way he moves between my spread legs. The clench and release of all those muscles. How the dips and divots of his abs strain and pull as he sinks into me over and over and over again. I kick out my foot and the lamp on my nightstand goes … somewhere. I lean up and nip my teeth against his chest.
“You’re gonna—” His eyes shut tight in concentration, face flushed. I stare at the fan of his eyelashes against the curve of his cheek as he chases his pleasure. “You’re gonna make me come,” he finally manages.
“That’s okay,” I smooth my hands through his hair and bite my way up his neck to the lobe of his ear. I suck it into my mouth and he makes a helpless sound. “That’s good. I want to watch you, Caleb. I’ve thought about it so much, what you look like.”
His eyes sweep open, hazy and hot. They lock on mine and he thrusts harder. The whole bed rattles. I drop my head back as he hits a spot that makes sparks dance behind my eyelids.
“You have?” he pants.
I nod. “I have.” I tilt my head against the pillow that’s moved halfway down the mattress and watch him, moving above me. His body is beautiful, his face twisted in a picture of delighted anguish. I smooth my hands down his chest and wrap my fingers around his hips. My nails sink in and he makes a ferocious sound.
“Will you show me?” I echo his words from earlier. “Can I watch?”
He comes with a gasp, his whole body bowing forward until his forehead is against my collarbone. His hips jump in uncoordinated, messy thrusts. It’s almost enough to make me come again, the rough way he pushes me down in the bed and grinds into me. But I can’t quite get there. Not as his movements slow just as my pleasure threatens to become something more. The tightness in my belly eases, my body teetering on the edge.
Caleb collapses his big body down against me and exhales, nose at my cheek.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He presses a kiss to my still hammering pulse point.
I wiggle beneath him. This is enough. My arms squeeze. This is more than enough.
“Did you come?” He mumbles the question somewhere in my neck. His voice sounds scratchy and raw and I like it very, very much. I shake my head and drag my palm down his back. His skin is warm, his chest still heaving against mine.
“No, but that’s okay. I still—”
I don’t finish my sentence before Caleb is pushing up and away from me. I frown at the loss of his weight and heat, my arm banded over my bare breasts. Is he—is he mad I didn’t finish? A flush of embarrassment rushes up my cheeks and I tilt my face to the side, into my pillow.
“Hey, no,” he whispers. “No, no. Don’t do that.”
He tilts my face back to his with his palm, a slow and lingering kiss to the pout on my lips. His nose bumps mine and I see the tilt of his smile. He brushes another kiss to the curve of my cheek, the edge of my bottom lip. His teeth nip and he props himself up on his arms, his body moving down, down, down mine.
I frown and try to snap my legs shut.
“What are you doing?”
He holds them open, a kiss pressed to my left knee and then my right. He looks up at me from beneath his lashes, framed by my open thighs and washed in warm, golden light. I can see the shine of sweat on his skin, his damp hair curling behind his ears. The strength in his arms and the cut of muscle down his abdomen. His dark eyes are locked on mine.
“This isn’t going to work like that.”
