Page 30 of Trick of the Flesh
I let out a shaky breath, eyes burning. “You’ll regret this someday.”
“Never.” He kisses the top of my head, final and certain. “Now shut up and go to sleep. I’ve got you.”
And I believe him, just for a moment. Long enough for the noise in my head to quiet. Long enough for my body to unclench, my eyelids to droop, and my breathing to match his.
I fall asleep in his arms, still trembling, but safe.
Safe with him.
TEN
MIGUEL
The light iswrong this morning. Too pale, too gentle. It doesn’t match the night we’ve just survived—doesn’t match the way he’s sprawled across the bed, chest rising and falling, hair mussed, lips parted, looking like a thoroughly fucked god.
That’s what Caleb is in my eyes.
An Adonis.
My beautiful, broken man. One I will spend the rest of my life putting back together.
He didn’t sleep easily. His body gave him away in every twitch, every sigh, every restless roll in the sheets until I dragged him against me and made him quiet. Until I pressed my words into his skin—steady, certain—until his fight drained and he finally gave in to sleep.
Now he’s here. Fragile. Broken. Beautiful.Mine.
He doesn’t meet my eyes.Of course he doesn’t.That’s Caleb—the part of him that refuses to admit everything he wants, even when his body already has. Even after I’ve taken what’s mine.
I don’t apologize. I won’t, not now, not ever. That’s not how this works. I don’t apologize for hunger, for obsession, forknowing what I want and taking it. And I know him better than he realizes. Better than he probably wants me to.
The bedroom smells like sweat and sex and him. My chest tightens while I press a finger to his jaw, tilting his face toward me. His eyes flick up—the most beautiful blue I’ve ever seen, wide and haunted—catching mine for the briefest second before darting away.
“You’re staring,” he whispers, voice rough, like he’s afraid the sound itself might make me disappear.
“I’m remembering you like this,” I murmur. “It will be months before I get to have you like this again.”
His brow furrows slightly, confused and wary, but he doesn’t pull away. Not fully. He can’t. He doesn’t know how.
“You don’t have to—” he starts, but I cut him off, thumb brushing over his temple.
“I’m not leaving,” I tell him, my voice even and low. “Doesn’t matter if you try to run again. I’ll always be here to chase you and drag you back to what we both want. You’re mine now, Caleb.”
The words hang between us, quiet but heavy, full of dark promise and quiet finality. He swallows, trembling, staring at the sheets like they’re easier to look at than me.
I press closer, chest against his back now, hand resting lightly on his waist. He flinches slightly—instinct, I know—but he doesn’t move away. That hesitation, that tiny, defiant human flicker, is enough to make me grin.
He doesn’t understand yet. He’s not ready to admit it, not fully. But he knows, deep down, that this—what we’ve become—is unavoidable. Magnetic. Ours.
“You’re so fragile,” I murmur against his hair. “And I love… it.”
I almost say I love you.But I don’t. Not yet. We aren’t there. He’s not there.
Those words would scare him.
His spine stiffens under my touch, and I let my thumb linger on the curve of his hip. Not touching too much, not yet. I want this, yes—but more than that, I want him to know I see him. All of him. Even the parts he tries to hide.
Caleb breathes shallowly, shoulders rising and falling erratically. His body still trembles, and I can feel the tension coiling like a spring beneath my fingers. He wants me. He’s terrified of wanting me. And I… I’m content with that.
For now.
