Tell Me a Story (The Story Series Book 1) (5 page)

“
W
ow
,” Caleb said.

I could have said the same thing about him. He was dressed so effortlessly, in a white linen shirt casually rolled up at the sleeves and faded jeans. He was barefoot.

I stepped out of the elevator and into what was apparently his living room. “Wow good, or wow bad?”

“Wow good, of course. Wow stunning. Now I feel underdressed. I can change into something more formal if you’d like. Maybe I should at least put on shoes.”

I laughed. “No. That’s okay. I felt like dressing up.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Oh, here.” I dug in my purse and found his watch. It was a Patek Philippe and probably worth more than I owed in small business loans. Taking his hand in mine, I slipped the platinum watch over his wide hand and buckled it around his wrist.

“Thank you. I’ve never done that before, left a watch behind.” His eyes studied my face as I made sure the watch was snug.

“You were distracted.”

“I was. I still am.” He pushed out a breath and rubbed a hand over his short hair. I could have sworn he was nervous.

“Let me show you around.” He slipped an arm around my waist and steered me into the sleek condo.

He kept his hand on the small of my back as he led me through his house. Each room was sparse, with modern accents in shades of cream and blonde wood. It was a bit too sterile and calculated for my taste—I loved colors, coziness, and found objects. He’d never like my house. Christ. What was I thinking, planning ahead? This was a one-night stand. A man like him would never want me as a long-term partner.

“And the bedroom,” he said, opening a door to reveal an all-white room with near-black wood accents. One wall was lined floor-to-ceiling with books, which was impressive. He hadn’t been bullshitting about being a reader, like so many guys did.

“Are those windows behind the curtains?” I asked, pointing to the heavy, white drapes lining two walls.

He nodded and walked in, pausing at the nightstand and flashing me an intense stare. “Come.”

Wow, this
was
only a hookup. Maybe he didn’t even intend to have dinner. My smile faded. Sex
was
all he wanted. Sure, it was what I assumed I’d wanted, too. Now, I was a tangle of double standards and mixed emotions as I made my way toward the bed. Why did I care so much about what he wanted?

The blood whooshed in my ears as I eyed the large platform bed, covered in a simple white duvet. He touched a button on a remote and the curtains on both walls parted to reveal a bank of glass and a sliding door on one end. I pressed my hand to my chest when I saw the view. “Oh! My goodness.”

“Here,” he said, sliding open one side of the glass. I stepped outside, and a warm wind caressed my skin. I stared, open-mouthed, at the miles of twinkling lights that stretched before us in the darkness. It was as if all of Florida was below, the entire flat state at our feet.

“The balcony wraps all the way around the condo. I thought we’d eat outside, it’s so warm out.”

I mumbled in agreement, still stunned by the view. “There’s the big Ferris wheel,” I said, pointing at the Orlando Eye and leaning onto the balcony rail. “So Disney must be west…” I searched in the distance.

“There.” He stood behind me and pointed, his body pressed against mine. I leaned back into the hard wall of his chest and shivered from the heat emanating from him. He rested one big hand on the balcony railing next to mine, and with his other hand, swept my hair away from my neck. A pleasurable shudder traveled through my body.

“Look. What do you see?” His murmur was like a kiss, one I desperately craved.

“Um, I see lights and darkness and…” The feel of his lips along the outer edge of my ear short-circuited my thoughts.

His hand went to my chin, and he tilted it a few inches to the right. I was shocked how he’d just taken charge of my body, and my thoughts, with a single motion.

“There.” His hand slowly caressed my neck. Every inch of my skin sparkled like the lights that carpeted our view.

I gasped when I saw the magical bursts of blue and red and green in the air. “The fireworks! You can see Disney’s nightly fireworks show from here.”

I realized I sounded unnatural—at least for me. A little breathless and giddy. Because I was.

I
t was
after Caleb sat me at the balcony table, poured wine, and served a delicious bowl of fresh pasta with tomatoes, capers, and mozzarella that I finally relaxed a little. The condo, the view, him—it was overwhelming. Almost too luxurious, way more than I was used to. And despite his obvious wealth, he didn’t seem arrogant or oblivious to his privilege. Or if he was, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it.

He seemed more interested in talking about me, asking questions about my life and my work. I tried to keep the conversation light and didn’t tell him about my underemployed father who worked as a theme park janitor, my uncle who went to prison for dealing drugs, how I was the first in my family to go to college. How my mother died of heart disease because she hadn’t gotten proper treatment because she lacked insurance. How, as a teenager, I was forced to learn to love retro fashion because it was cheaper to assemble a cool wardrobe from Goodwill than shop for new clothes at Wal-Mart.

Was I ashamed of my background? Or angry because of it? Maybe a little. Maybe around people like Caleb. These weren’t noble traits, and I was working to overcome them. My attitude toward rich people was complicated, and I didn’t feel like unpacking it over a dinner conversation.

Not on his balcony while the candles flickered and Miles Davis songs played softly in the background. Not as he fed me little bites of pasta and not while he laughed when I told him stories about the quirky customers at the bookstore. I didn’t reveal the store’s problems because I only wanted to exude pure, positive energy.

For one night, this night, I wanted to be the glamorous, sultry woman holding her own with a worldly, gorgeous man on a penthouse condo terrace. Tonight I wanted a fairytale. Tomorrow, when I unlocked the door to my shop, I’d have plenty of opportunities to wallow in the complexities and struggles of real life.

“Caleb, why are you staring?” I teased. He’d leaned back in his chair and smiled, watching me drink wine.

“I thought your eyes were my favorite thing about you until I heard you laugh, really laugh. Your laugh turns me on.”

“Stop. I sound like a dolphin.”

“You do not sound like a dolphin. You sound sexy. I can’t quite describe it. It’s breathy. Did you know you make little noises when you laugh? Little mmms and ohhhs in between the giggles?” He reached out and playfully tugged a lock of my hair.

This, of course, made me laugh more.

I discovered a lot about him, too, the superficial stuff that you learn on a first date. How he went to an exclusive private high school in New England, then the University of Florida on a soccer scholarship. How his parents were retired and living in southwest Florida on an island. In addition to his sister, he also had a younger brother who was close to my age. All three worked in the family business, and Caleb was in charge of the entire company. He said he often spent twelve or more hours at the office each day.

“But you must do something other than work. What do you do for fun?”

“Hold that thought.” He rose from the table and squeezed my arm as he slipped past my chair. After a few moments, he returned carrying two small bowls.

“I’m not all that interesting, Emma. I work too much. I push papers around and lobby politicians to get permission to build things. I’m really focused on a couple of big projects now—one in Sao Paulo that I told you about and another in Miami. Everything else, I let my brother and sister handle. I’m so consumed with these two buildings that I don’t know what’s going on anywhere else in the world. That night at Story Brothel, then the coloring night at your bookstore were the first times I’d been out in months. It felt good.”

Caleb set a bowl down in front of me. “Dessert, like I promised. It’s strawberry basil sorbet.”

“Now you’re really going out of your way to impress me. First the delicious pasta and now sorbet? You made sorbet?”

He laughed. “I confess. No. I didn’t. It’s from Whole Foods.”

I let out a mock sigh. “Okay. Whew. I was thinking you were perfect there for a minute.” He smiled, tight-lipped.

“Seriously. I’m shocked you’re single. Why aren’t you taken?” I dug into my dessert.

“I was,” he said softly.

The cold mouthful of sorbet melted on my tongue, and I swallowed hard. “You…were?”

“I was married for ten years. My wife died of cancer when we were both thirty-three. Seven years ago.”

I stared at him, my mouth open and the spoon in mid-air. “Oh! I’m—I’m sorry.” I rested my spoon on the table and wiped my mouth with a napkin. God, I could be an idiot sometimes. That was why he wasn’t taken. He was pining after his dead wife.

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, and then he smiled. It looked like a sad smirk, and I wondered if I’d ruined the night.

“I haven’t been in a real relationship since she died. I occasionally take women out, have fun, but nothing serious.”

Nothing serious
. Just as I figured. I took the last bite of my sorbet, which had been tart and sweet and sparkled from the unusual taste of basil. Now it tasted muted and flat.

“And you?” he asked, his sad look replaced with a curious one. “I’m surprised you’re not married.”

I shook my head. “I had a boyfriend for a long time in my twenties, but I felt like I was too young to get married. We eventually broke up when I was twenty-eight. Since then, I’ve had casual relationships. Nothing serious, as you say. I’m not sure I’m wife material.”

Now wasn’t the time to tell him about how I’d fallen hard and quick for a secretive man who’d led me to believe he was single. Who really had lived at a Residence Inn during the week and claimed to visit his dying mother every weekend. Whose wife had called me one sweltering summer day and told me that she had two little kids and that her husband was a pathological liar and that I could have him if I really wanted. I’d considered it, briefly, because that’s how much I liked him. Then I said no thanks and changed my number.

“Then we sound perfectly suited for each other,” he said, resting his hand on my knee.

As I guessed. One night. It’s all good, I told myself.

We finished our wine in near-silence, smiling at each other, making little remarks about the unusually warm Florida winter weather. He told me that the building—Blu—was one of his.

I giggled.

“What?” he asked.

“Why did you name it Blu, without the E? That’s—”

“Stupid?” he offered.

I nodded, then burst out laughing.

“It was my brother’s idea. I handle projects in South Florida and Latin America. He does the rest. And I was on the losing end of a bet.”

“What did you bet?”

“Colin went to FSU. He’s a ‘Nole. I’m a Gator, of course. We had a bet on the game a couple of years ago, and whoever won got to name the next building.”

I grinned. Football wasn’t my thing, but seeing the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughed and talked about the bet was charming. I could tell that he loved his brother a lot.

“What were you going to name it had you won?”

“O.”

“O?”

“Yeah, O. As in Orange. Or Osceola. Orlando. Good Florida names.”

“I like that better than Blu. A lot better than Blu. O is a good letter.”

A wicked smile spread across his face. “O is an excellent letter. And speaking of letters and words, why don’t you read to me?”

“Out here? It’s kinda dark.”

He stood. “No, let’s go into the living room.”

I followed him inside, and he pointed to a sofa. “Get comfortable. I’ll refill our wine.”

I
eased
onto the dove-gray modern sofa, smoothing my skirt behind me. I primly crossed my legs at the ankles and tapped at my tablet screen. He walked in, grinning.

“Where did we leave off in
Consume Me
? That’s what you want me to read?” Of course, I knew exactly where I’d stopped reading the night of Story Brothel, but I wanted to see if he remembered.

“Of course it’s what I want you to read. We left off when Trent and Arianna had rough sex in the garden, and then they were on their way to the shower because she’d gotten dirt everywhere.”

He
remembered
.

Caleb sank next to me and held up a glass of the Cabernet we’d been drinking all evening.

“Mind if we share the glass? I’ll hold it while you read.”

“Sure. We can share.” I scooted a little closer to him and began, holding my tablet in one hand and resting my other on the rock-solid surface of his thigh. My mind wandered, thinking about what his workout routine must be like if his leg was that muscular. I stuttered over a few words, and he squeezed my hand, then held it tight.

The sight of our fingers intertwined made my stomach clench.

After a few moments, he leaned forward. “Here,” he murmured. Carefully, he tipped the glass to my lips, and I took a tentative sip, not wanting to dribble. “Easy, Emma, I won’t spill. Trust me.”

Caleb lowered the glass and I continued reading.

Trent folded Arianna forward in the shower, his fingers raking down the crack of her ass until they slid into her slick, shaved pussy. Then, to her surprise, she felt his mouth on her ass, and his tongue traveled the path where his fingers had been. No man had ever licked her there, like that, and she shuddered in a breath.

I looked up, and Caleb had a huge smile on his face. He bent to remove my heels and allowed each shoe to drop to the tile floor with a soft clatter. I smiled and kept reading as he sat back and put his hand on my knee.

Trent was on his knees now, licking and tonguing her as if he was parched and only she could alleviate thirst. That was when he spanked her, hard, right on the full of her ass cheek. She cried out, her voice echoing against the marble walls of the shower.

Once again Caleb held the wine glass in front of me and I reached for it. He shook his head and touched it to my lips. I kept my eyes on him as he tipped the glass, and his gaze was on my mouth. I’d allowed a trickle of wine to escape my lips, and it trailed down my chin. I raised my finger to wipe it away.

“Stop,” he whispered, setting the glass on a table behind the sofa. Leaning toward me, he put his mouth to the tender skin under my lips and licked the drop of wine. Relief and lust flooded me. I shifted my head, seeking his lips.
Finally
. He was going to kiss me. I don’t think I’d ever been this wet by the time a man kissed me.

But he pulled back, grinning. I must have looked shocked—maybe it was my open mouth or equally wide-open eyes—because he laughed softly.

“I told you, Emma. I’ll kiss you plenty when the time’s right. Not yet. I’m enjoying this tension too much. Keep reading.”

As I read the rest of the chapter, Caleb ran his hands up and down my legs, starting with my knees and working upward, which made my heart hammer disconcertingly. With each upward glide of his fingers, a fresh rush of wetness surged between my legs.

He was driving me mad, and he hadn’t even kissed me.

His hands were underneath my skirt and found my garter belt. When his fingertips traced at the lingerie and the bare skin above my stockings, I stopped, nearly breathless.

“Why aren’t you reading?” he murmured, glancing from my legs to my face.

“I’m distracted.”

“Read.”

“You’re bossy.”

His laugh was languid, expansive. God, he was gorgeous when he smiled, the lines near his eyes crinkling in a seasoned, suggestive way. Like he knew exactly what he was doing with me.

I read on as he explored every inch of my stocking-covered legs. He gently parted them by moving one a few inches from the other. Shiver after shiver rippled through me as his large hands sensually traced the skin of my inner thighs. I wanted to beg, make him kiss me, demand that he fuck me.

“Emma. Stop for a moment.”

I looked up, hopeful that this was it, that our time had come. It was a near obsession now, feeling his lips on mine. I love kissing, and I was eager to find out how he’d feel.

He gazed at me, his eyes burning with craving. One hand rested on my upper thigh. He’d hiked up my dress so that the garter and stocking top were exposed, and he squeezed around the lacy band.

“Take off your dress.”

“You don’t want to kiss me first?” I moved closer to him, my body straining to be next to his.

The corners of his lips turned up, and he shook his head.

Okay then.

I turned so my back was to him and tapped at my neck, then at my waist. “Can you undo me here and here?”

I could feel the warmth of his body as he moved closer. His hands untied the halter that was holding my dress around my neck, and he lifted my hair, pressing his lips against my neck somewhere south of my ear. All the pleasure neurons in my brain lit up like neon signs. I wanted to indulge in him, to taste skin and sin and sweetness and make time stop.

He bit my neck, just enough to give me a frisson of pain, and I gasped.

“I love that when I touch you, your breathing becomes heavier,” he murmured. “I’ve noticed that happens.”

“I have, too.” My voice was drowned out by the sound of my zipper and of him groaning softly as he peeled my dress away from my corset. His mouth was no longer on my neck, and I was unsteady from its absence.

“I’ve also noticed that when I touch you, you get red here.” He traced the side of my neck. “And here.” He traced the other side.

“I flush easily…around you.”

“Look at you. Look at this. You dressed up for me.” His fingers fluttered down the ribbons on the corset that snaked down my back. “So fucking pretty.”

I spun around so he could see the front. My nipples were hard against the rose-colored lace, and he traced my collarbone. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life, and I was prepared to beg.

“Kiss me? Please?”

“Not yet. Stand up and take off your dress so I can see all of your pretty corset.”

I obeyed, turning to stand before him and allowing my black dress to fall and puddle at my feet. I expected him to get up, to kiss me, to rip off my corset and garter and panties, to fuck me hard and tear my stockings in the process. That’s what most men would do. Instead, he sat back and sprawled his arms on the back of the sofa. He stared at me with those blue eyes, taking his damn sweet time as he took in every inch of my body. I was on display. For him.

Which was somehow almost as carnal as if he’d spread my legs and thrust his cock into my core.

“Come.” He patted the sofa next to me. “Keep reading.”

Well, this was ridiculous. And hot. He was teasing me. Clearly, I had to take this situation into my own hands. Unlike the character in my novel, I was not a good submissive.

“I’ve an idea,” I purred, leaning over to pick my tablet off the sofa. “How about I make myself even more comfortable to read? It’s better if I face you. So you can hear me and feel me.”

I straddled him and shimmied into his lap, holding my tablet. He grinned.

I looked to the screen, then at him. “Is this…comfortable for you, Caleb?” My eyes were wide on purpose, and I gyrated my hips a little as I settled into the perfect spot. Oh, yes, he had an erection. Being on his lap and enveloped in his scent made me want to tear my clothes off, curve my back, and offer myself to him.

But I’d wait. He liked the tease. I liked it, too. Leaning toward him so my nipples almost touched his chest, I let out a little, pleasurable sigh. Despite the tension, Caleb’s body fit well into mine. Even though he was a lot bigger, it just felt good.
Right
.

Huh. This was a puzzling development.

“If you’re comfortable, Emma baby, I’m definitely comfortable.” His hands slid up my thighs, then around to my ass. I read and grinned and then read some more. I tried to ignore his hands raking over my hips and up my waist and then cupping my breasts. I tried to ignore when he groaned. I tried to ignore my own racing heartbeat when I began rocking, slowly on his hard cock underneath me.

“Look at how tiny you are on my lap.” It was true. Now that I was on top of him, he loomed bigger, more masculine, than I’d anticipated. His hands slowly roamed everywhere on my body, pausing to squeeze my ass.

“I’m worried I’m going to break you.”

This made me smile. “I’m sure you’ll be gentle.”

“I might not be able to control myself enough to be gentle.”

“I think I can handle it.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you reading?”

“So demanding,” I whispered and tried not to pay attention when I saw his thick fingers pluck at my garter straps. I was doing pretty well at ignoring everything while reading, but when he slipped the lace bra cups of my corset down my breasts and took a nipple into his mouth, I stopped reading the story of my characters and wrapped my hand around the back of his head, pressing hard into his mouth.

“Caleb? I want you to kiss me,” I whispered.

He looked up and his eyes burned into mine. “You don’t like this?”

“I do, but—” I gasped as he trapped my nipple in between his teeth. “Do you want me to stop reading?”

He shook his head and smiled into my skin as his tongue softly licked my nipple, easing the sting of the bite. He paused, then blew on it, and I gasped again.

“Do you want me to stop kissing you here? Or would you rather I kiss you here…” He drew me closer and pressed his lips to my collarbone. “Or here…” His mouth went to my other nipple.

“Um…they’re all good.” I stroked his sharp cheekbone with my thumb. He grinned against my nipple and squeezed the top of my thigh. My voice was shaky as I continued.

“A blindfold is not an obstacle,” Trent said, slowly wrapping the fabric around Arianna’s eyes. “It’s a portal to a different dimension.” He tied the knot tight along the back of her head and…

I trailed off because Caleb was not only sucking on my nipple, but he was now twirling the other nipple in between his thumb and forefinger, sending streams of electricity right to my clit and my brain. He cupped both breasts and squeezed them together and shot me another devastatingly lustful look.

“I don’t know what’s turning me on more—your words or your body.”

Dingdingdingdingding!
My brain blazed like the fireworks that had exploded in the dark Florida sky hours earlier. Had I even a shred of doubt about sleeping with him, it had evaporated with that one statement.

I tossed the tablet onto the sofa and took his face in my hands. When I tilted his head up, all I could see was the carnal need in his eyes, probably reflecting my own.

He took my tablet and set it on the table in back of him, then with a quick motion, flipped me onto the sofa. He’d caged me under his arms, and my chest was actually heaving because I was breathing so hard.

“I want you,” he said hoarsely. Then he brought his mouth on mine. Everything dropped away in the moment of that first, needy kiss. It was clear within seconds that he was a fucking incredible kisser. From the way his lips teased mine apart to the way his hand possessively held the side of my face, fingers threading in my hair, Caleb knew exactly how to capture me with his mouth. He bit my bottom lip hard enough to make me gasp. Yes, this was why I was here.

“God, you’re stunning. I want to worship you,” he said against my skin, then trailed his lips over my jaw, my throat, and to my nipples, which had puckered into hard peaks.

Instinctually, I opened my legs wide and wrapped them around his hips. He responded by grinding into me. I tugged on his head, pulling him up from my breast so I could have easier access to strip off his shirt. As I unbuttoned, I stared at his skin underneath the linen. It was smooth, slightly olive-toned, and more muscular than I’d anticipated. I slipped the shirt over his shoulders but didn’t take it all the way off.

Holy crap, his shoulders. They were cut and chiseled and one of many masculine details on his body. He dipped to kiss me again, hungry, his tongue scorching mine. When his bare chest brushed against my exposed nipples, I shuddered from arousal. His chest only had a sprinkling of dark hair, and I fluttered my fingers over the ridges of his muscles.

He let out a low, guttural groan. Sitting up, he quickly stripped off his shirt and flung it to the floor. Then he went to work on my garters, freeing the stockings from their elastic bands, pausing to run a thumb between my legs over the fabric of my lace panties.

“They’re soaked,” he murmured.

I responded by shivering and raising my arms over my head. “You’re free to take them off and see how wet I really am.”

I closed my legs as he hooked his thumbs into the lacy bands at my hips. Slowly, too slowly, he eased them down my legs and then tossed the panties to the floor. My stockings were disheveled but still high on my thighs, and the corset still covered my entire torso—except for my breasts, which he’d freed from the lace. They’d grown heavy, seeking his touch.

I spread my legs again, offering myself to him.

“Emma,” he whispered, then repeated my name several times as he looked at me. His hands ran up my thighs and stopped when his thumbs reached my labia. Spreading me open, he inhaled sharply. He brushed his thumb the length of my slit.

I whimpered and turned my head to the side. A huge lock of hair fell over my face.

“There?” he asked, his thumb circling softly around my folds. Teasing me.

I nodded and whimpered again, then groaned when he removed his thumb and stuck it in my mouth. I sucked, seeking release somehow, somewhere, because I pulsed with primal need.

“Caleb, I’m so turned on it won’t take me long to…” I trailed off because his hands were back between my legs. His thumb circled my clit, and with his other hand he’d slid a finger into my wet core. Then two fingers, curling them upward to my G-spot. I’d never been so coiled tight and primed to come or so wet. Like Florida-summer-rainstorm wet.