Page 107 of To Have and to Stalk
“Am I…” I bit my bottom lip. “Did I taste okay?”
Once again, Ihatedmy insecurity. Hated that I couldn’t just be cool.
“Okay?” Calder groaned. “Baby, you’re perfect. You taste so fucking good. Especially right here.” His hand slipped to my pussy, fingering a spot near the top. “You taste really fucking good right here.”
I swallowed a breath.Oh.
Calder resumed rubbing my back, and my thoughts drifted.I traced the outlines of a swirling, spiky black tattoo that stretched across the corded muscles of abs—more of an eight-pack than a six-pack.
“Was itreallysanitized?” I asked.
It took a moment for him to realize what I meant, and then he laughed. The force of it shook my head up and down. And…wow.It was rough, like weathered stone, as if he didn’t laugh often.
“Yes,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “It was brand new, and I cleaned it.”
“And the coffin? How did you find the coffin?”
“My sister is a coroner. She was telling me about her day and let it slip about an error the funeral home had made.”
Huh.Interesting. I wanted to learn more about his family, but I still had pressing questions.
“What about the bone?”
“It wasn’t real.”
My fingers froze on his tattoo.
“Are you disappointed?” he asked, humor etching his words.
“Maybe,” I admitted, resuming my tracing.
Calder yawned, tapping my shoulder as he moved to get up. My gut plummeted as he left the bed, stretching his arms above his head in a way that delineated every groove and iron ridge of the muscles on his back, the dimples in his ass.
They could yawn and say, ‘I’m sleepy.’ It’s important you know they’re lying assholes and are trying to get you to leave.
Lithie’s words echoed in my head. I loathed the idea of Calder asking me to leave.
I didn’twantto leave.
But I’d known the deal from the start: no attachments.
I slowly sat up before he could ask me to leave, reaching for something to cover myself—his shirt. Fuck. That hurt.
“Okay…well, this was nice.”
Calder spun, arms still above his head like he’d been pulled. He looked from me to the shirt then back to me. He grabbed my hand, stopping me as I was about to put on his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving? You finished. We…finished.”
His eyes narrowed. Then, still standing, he tucked me into him. He was so tall, my head reached his stomach.
“Do you want to go?” he asked after a minute, voice gravelly, rumbling against my crown.
No. No, I want to stay.
“I don’t want to stay where I’m not wanted,” I said instead.
