Page 46 of Caleb's Salvation
Oh shit, he was huge!
“I don’t…I’m not sure…that was fast.”
He walked toward me and wrapped his hand around my neck, in my hair. “It wasn’t fair. I’d seen you when you were sick. I wanted you to see me, too. As I am. I’m forty-two, Vivienne. Not old, but not young.”
I had no concept of what a forty-two-year-old man should look like. I only knew Caleb was beautiful. A smattering of hair on his chest, thick thighs. Strong arms that carried me around when I was ill as if I weighed nothing. And the erection pressing against my stomach wasn’t something he’d needed a pill to make happen.
I was nervous, I was intimidated, but I was also thankful. Because in that moment, I felt like his true equal. Neither one of us perhaps perfect for the other, but both of us wanting to be here. In this time and in this place.
Reaching up, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “You don’t scare me, Caleb. Now, why don’t you take me to bed?”
He bent and kissed me then. Not in the way he had like he was a man dying of thirst and I was his oasis. This was more of a coaxing kiss, an asking kiss. Letting me decide if I would let him in. Which of course, I did.
How could I not?
“Vivienne, you need to know something,” he whispered against my lips.
“What?”
“I haven’t…I haven’t fucked a woman…since Sarah. Over seven years. I don’t know how much control I’m going to have when it comes to you.”
It was strange but the revelation didn’t surprise me. Caleb had sentenced himself to prison when his wife and child were killed. Maybe understandably, but not justifiably. It had been an accident. A horrible and tragic accident, but something he would never be able to reconcile.
Self-punishment, then, was an obvious reaction.
It did raise a question, though.
“Why me?”
He pulled back then, looking into my face as if it were strange I would even ask such a question.
“You need me,” he said. “I saw it in your face when you stepped off that plane and that neediness…it’s like a drug for me. All I wanted to do was take care of you, feed you, pleasure you. And I can’t shake it loose. Haven’t been able to for months. No matter how hard I fight it. So I’m done fighting.”
He started to unbutton my heavy flannel shirt, careful not to pull them off, knowing clothes were a precious commodity. After that he pulled off my thermal Henley I’d worn underneath. I watched as his hands worked the button and zipper of my jeans.
I didn’t think to help him. I was his to undress. His to pleasure. It was strange how much power this infused me with. I felt like a queen in some court where the squire served my every need.
He slid my jeans down my legs, and I stepped out of them. I held my foot up so he could pull my socks off, but he shook his head.
“I don’t want your feet to get cold on the cabin floor.”
“You’re not wearing socks,” I pointed out.
“Baby, I’m so hot right now, I could melt steel. Trust me.”
Wrapping his arm around my waist, he lifted me against him and that sensation of us touching, skin to skin, body to body, was amazing. I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist holding onto him with all my strength. He walked us to the bed and practically tossed me on to it.
I got under the covers and lifted the blankets in invitation. He turned, though, and walked back to his jeans, pulling a strip of condoms out of the back pocket. Peeling off one of the condoms, he sheathed himself quickly, then tossed the rest of the strip on the bed.
“You understand what I mean by control?” he asked me.
Not a clue, but I nodded and welcomed him into my bed, into my arms. He was right. He was incredibly hot and, suddenly, I felt like I was stretched out under the sun. In a way that was dangerous because I was likely to get scorched, but I couldn’t care.
Then he was moving down my body smattering kisses here and there, nipping at my nipple but with a definitive goal in mind. He placed my right thigh over his broad shoulder, then my left over his other shoulder. I was completely open to him and had no understanding of what he was about to do when I felt his tongue spear me right between the folds.
“Oh gracious.”
I’d read about this in books. Understood conceptually it was supposed to feel good, but I couldn’t be prepared for the actual sensation of what his tongue was doing to me.
