Page 23 of Trick of the Flesh
He groans, half a whimper, head tipping back against the tree. Caleb grew up hearing Spanish every day once my mom and I moved in, so he knows exactly what I said. “Miguel?—”
Hearing my name from his lips now?The sweetest sin.
I drop to a squat in front of him, brushing my mouth just over his jaw, teasing. “Say it again.”
“Miguel.”
“Louder.”
“Miguel.” This time it’s ragged, desperate, and cracking down the middle.
I could devour him right here. I could drag him down intothe dirt and make sure he never forgets the feeling of me inside him. And he’d take it, trembling but willing, because he already said the words.
He already gave himself over to me.
But I want it branded deeper. Not just his body—I want his soul intertwined with mine.
I kiss the hollow of his throat, slow and calculated.OnlyI know what he needs.He shivers hard, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know whether to push me away or clutch me closer.
“Mine,” I whisper against his skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses. “God, you even taste like you’re mine, Caleb.”
“Yes,” he breathes it this time, less shaky, more certain. “Only yours, Miguel.”
That’s all I need.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes again. He’s flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted. Ruined already, and I haven’t even given him what he wants.
What he needs.
My grin is sharp enough to cut. “Good boy. Come on, I need you in bed. Now.”
NINE
CALEB
I try to breathe,but the air in my chest feels thick, like it’s trying to suffocate me.Maybe it is.Miguel’s behind me before I even realize I’ve stopped moving. His hand curls around my arm, iron-strong, dragging me in the direction of the house. My hands are still bound and I almost want to ask him to take the rope off.
I don’t fight him.
Even the thought of running feels foolish.
“You’re all mine now,” he says, low and sharp, almost a growl. “Even when you go back to school.Mine.Understand?”
I glance back at him. Masked or unmasked, it doesn’t matter—he owns the night, the yard, the woods, and even me. “It’s not like we can be together, Miggy.”
He chuckles, dark and slow. “You think I give two shits about other people? Fuck what everyone thinks. We don’t need labels. And it’s not like I’m asking you to marry me or some stupid shit, Caleb. You belong to me. End of story.”
Heat blooms low in my abdomen. I press my thighs together instinctively, knowing I’m already undone. The words themselves hum through me, pulling me toward him. My handsclench uselessly, and I hate how much I want him. Hate that part of me is finally submitting to him.
“If you’re going to ruin me,” I dare him, voice trembling but defiant, “do it without hiding. I deserve to be wanted in the open.”
What the fuck am I saying?
His grin is sharp enough to cut. “You like being seen, huh?” He presses a finger under my chin, tilting my head up. “You want everyone knowing who you belong to?”
I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me. “Yes,” I whisper, though the word tastes like shame and craving all at once.
The way he studies me—slow, predatory—makes my stomach tighten. He’s not just looking at me.He’s consuming me.Measuring exactly how much he can take from me, how far he can push me. Every nerve in my body hums with anticipation and dread.
