Page 117 of Burn

So I do, suck, and it’s sticky as hell, and when he comes in my mouth, it’s sweet.

AS YOU CAN guess, the whip cream had made us both fairly sticky and a shower was needed. But when you’re squatting in the penthouse suite, you take a fuckin’ bath because the tub alone pales in comparison to most swimming pools.

I didn’t even want to imagine the things Shade’s done in this very tub with all this leg room. I’m pressed against Caleb’s chest, my back to him. He’s got one hand holding the soap and running it over my arms, the other’s resting on the edge of the tub.

“What’s your real name?”

I twist my head to look back at him. “Huh?”

“What’s Mila short for?”

“Oh, uh, Milena Presley Wellington.”

“That’s a beautiful name.” He kisses my temple, the warmth of his mouth burning in my memory. Crap on a cracker, I’m falling, beautifully, effortlessly.

“And what’s yours?”

“Caleb.”

“Caleb what?”

There’s a rigidness taking over, I can literally see the muscles in his arms protesting to a reaction deep inside of him. “Caleb Mathew Thomas.”

I swallow. I know what’s coming. I put two and two together based on what Jacey had told me and our conversation in the truck the other night. “Thomas? I thought it was Ryan?”

He gives me a knowing look. “It is now, but I was born a Thomas.” When I twist in the tub and watch his face, I can tell by the way he’s evading my questioning eyes, he wants to forget what he’s about to say. His brow furrows, the vulnerability in his stare masked by the lack of light in the room. “My parents died when I was two. Heath, my adopted father, saved me from the fire that took them and my older brother. The Ryans adopted me, and I took on their name.”

“Do you remember your parents?”

His jaw tightens and he swallows heavily. “No, I don’t think so.”

I’m nervous when I ask, “But you have nightmares about them and Wyatt?”

He nods and turns his head toward the window. “I don’t remember the nightmares later. I have them, yes, but I don’t know what they mean or if they’re real. Just that I have them.” His words are soft, almost whispered.

I say nothing, swallowing, and look out the window.

Part of me can’t help but feel attached to him even more because we both came from a family who could no longer take care of us. Sure, his died but mine were incapable of providing for me, and they knew that.

I can see his vulnerability in his breathing, his eyes slowly moving to mine. “How old were you when your parents gave you up for adoption?”

“Just a baby. Mom said I was six months old when they adopted me from Hawaii.”

He nods. “Do you have contact with your birth parents?”

“No, but Mom said they were young. I think my birth mother was fourteen and my father was sixteen. They had no business having me, but they did and tried to make it work until they couldn’t. When I was younger, I went through a stage where I was mad they gave up on me, but now that I’m older, I appreciate it, you know?”

He nods again but gives me no indication if he agrees.

“This stuff smells good.”

Me or the soap? He’s talking about the soap, I gather that much. If it were anyone else, I’d think he was trying to be romantic. But that’s not Caleb.

“Yeah, it does,” I finally say, sighing and feeling as content as a fluffy marshmallow floating in hot chocolate. “Only the best here at the Wellington Plaza Suites.”

He laughs. “I can certainly attest to the staff’shospitality.”

“That kind of makes me feel slutty,” I tease.

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