Page 48 of Forgotten Dreams
“I’ll tell you where I’m not taking you,” he states, turning when he gets to the end of the street, “and that is somewhere is where people can’t see what’s mine and only mine.”
“Caleb.” I shake my head, trying to laugh off his comment, but nothing comes out, except for the heaviness of my breath.
I look out the window at the trees going by. “In case I forget to tell you later”—I turn to him—“you know, because I’m going to be busy getting into your pants…” I laugh nervously. “This is the best first date I’ve ever been on.”
He pulls to a stop. “There is more of that to come, baby.” He puts the truck in park, and I’m so mesmerized by his gaze, I can’t look away. “The way you feel right now, I’m going to make you feel it all the time.” I nod, not sure my words would come out without my voice quivering.
He gets out of the truck, and I look out my window at a house. My eyes go big as I open my own door, and I’m about to step down when he’s there to hold my hand while I do it. Nothing would ruin this date like me falling flat on my face. “I know I said I would take you on a date. And this is a date. But I wanted it to be intimate and, let’s face it, no matter where we went, someone we know would be there, and I wanted it to be just about you tonight.”
I shake my head. “You just want to make sure that your mouth doesn’t ruin this date.”
“Baby”—he wraps his arm around my waist—“my mouth is going to be so busy making you moan, there is no way it’s going to ruin this date.” He kisses me, and I want to bypass all the things he has planned and go straight to the bedroom.
He slides his hand in mine as we walk down the concrete pathway to his house. We walk up the three steps to his tan double door with two big windows. Its blinds are closed so you can’t see in, but you can see a glow from the light he must have left on. I look to the left while he gets his keys out and see two rocking chairs in front of massive windows, their shades also closed, but you see darkness coming from them. He opens the door. “Welcome to my home.” He holds out his hand for me to go in, and I smile as I step up and into his house and stop when I see what the glow was.
All along the right side of the wall are different-sized glass vases filled with candles. “Oh my,” I say when he steps in behind me and closes the door.
His hand goes around my waist, pulling me to him as he bends his head and whispers in my ear, “I wanted it to be romantic for you.” He buries his face in my neck, and I put my hand on his arm around my waist, turning to look at him. The way the candles light up the entranceway makes his eyes feel like home. “I wanted you to feel how honored I am that you went out on a date with me.”
“I kind of didn’t have a choice.” I smile at him, trying to tame the way my heart is beating and not letting him see this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. No one has ever gone to the trouble with me. Sure, I’ve been on first dates, but no one has done this.
He slides his hand in mine. “You always have a choice.” He moves my hand to his mouth, bringing it to his lips before he leans over and kisses me on the lips. He pulls me down the hallway, and we step into the great room, and I can’t help but gasp.
On every available surface is flowers. All different shades of white, all kinds of flowers. It smells like a flower shop. The lights are very dim, but it’s also the candles scattered around the room that gives it the romantic glow while soft music plays in the background. “This is a little bit of a—” I start, trying not to allow my voice to quiver as I let go of his hand and do a circle in the room with a big U-shaped couch. It looks cozy as fuck as it faces the fireplace that has flowers draped across it and hanging down on the sides, vases of water and candles mixed in. The big television over the fireplace is off, but you can just picture sitting down and watching a movie while you snuggle on the couch.
“It’s too much, right?” He laughs, and I just shake my head. “I thought it was, but then I was like, maybe it isn’t enough.”
“It’s enough.” I smile. “It’s perfect.”
“The only thing perfect in this room is you,” he states. He comes over to me and pushes the hair away from the side of my face, his fingertips trailing up my cheekbone. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
I put my hands on his hips, more to steady myself than anything else. “You say that to all the girls,” I joke with him and try to laugh, but the way my heart is beating and the way my chest tightens, it comes out in pants.
“I haven’t said that to any other person than you,” he assures me. His eyes stare into mine as he licks his lips, and I want him to kiss me more than I want anything else. “Are you hungry?”
I nod, and he turns and walks with me to the table set up between the couch and the big island in the kitchen. “Sit.” He pulls out a chair. “Would you like some wine or champagne?”
“I think we should do champagne, don’t you?” I ask. “Celebrate me getting the D, finally, after stringing me along all week long.”
He throws his head back and laughs. I get up on my feet because I want to kiss the side of his neck that is exposed. His eyes widen when I stand and kiss him. “All week long, Caleb,” I mumble, turning and pushing him back into the chair I just got out of. “It was torture.” He falls into the chair, and his legs open for me to stand between them.
“You aren’t the only one who was tortured,” he replies as he looks up at me. I put my hands on the side of my thighs, moving my skirt up a bit so I can straddle him. His hands go to my ass when I sit down on him. I can feel his hard cock under me, and I’m done waiting.
“How much torture was it?” I ask before I put my hand on the side of his face and open my mouth to kiss him and swallow his words. My tongue slides in with his as we kiss. The kiss starts off slow, but then heats up about two seconds later just like it always does. His hands go from my ass and roam up to my back, pulling the shirt that is tucked in it out. His warm hands touch my back, making my hips press down into him.
He groans as I let go of his lips, moving my hand from his face, crisscrossing it in front of me and peeling the shirt off me. Leaving me in a white lace half-cup bra that really doesn’t hide anything. “Fuck,” he hisses, one of his hands going to my ass while the other one pushes the cup down, and he holds my tit before bending his head and taking a nipple into his mouth. I place my hand behind me on his thigh before I grind into him. “I wanted to take my time,” he says when he lets go of my nipple to roll it.
I put my forehead on his. “I think we’ve gone slow enough, don’t you?”
His hand moves from my ass to the other side as he pulls the other cup down, holding my tits on the sides as his thumbs move over my nipples softly, making them achy. “I don’t want to rush you.”
I pant out as I grind up and down on his covered cock. “You aren’t rushing me.”
I run my hands up and down his chest, feeling his heart beating as fast as mine. “I don’t think you understand this, Sierra. There will be no one else after me.” His words drain the air from my lungs. “Not one other person will touch you like this again.”
The back of my neck tingles, as well as my whole body, when I grip his shirt in my hands. I move it up his chest and pull it over his head, tossing it to the side where my shirt is. “I’ve never seen you without your shirt,” I tell him, ignoring what he just said, “but my fingers know every inch of you.” I kiss down his chest, then slowly move off his lap. “Stand up for me,” I ask, and he does, and I finally take in all that is Caleb, all the ridges of his body. The way his chest is defined, but not too much. It’s just fucking perfect, like him. His arms are covered in tattoos all interconnected. An angel on his forearm and then, on the other side, the picture of a football from when he was in college. His tattoo on the right side of his chest with the saying, “A man is not finished when he is defeated. He is finished when he quits.” My nails drag down his chest to his belt. He takes a step back. “Caleb,” I say, “do you want me?”
“More than I want my next breath,” he whispers, and I stare at him as my fingers work his belt. Our chests rise and fall as if we are racing. “I don’t think?—”
