Page 28 of Misadventures of a Curvy Girl
But he doesn’t tell me that.
“Yes,” he replies. “I’m not letting you walk all the way back to the farm. Or to your car. And I’ve already talked to them on the phone, but I’d like to check on Mrs. Parry and Mrs. Harthcock, so I’m headed that direction anyway.”
Ah, how gentlemanly, I think bitterly. A real gentleman should always give last night’s trollop a ride back to her car, especially if it’s on his way to do other things.
Caleb trots off to fetch his truck, and within a few minutes, I’m inside the cab as the ancient air conditioning roars hot air in our faces and as I try to wipe as much of the sheetrock dust off my face as I can. My hair is a lost cause—I look like I took a shower with grit instead of water—but I still pick out the bigger pieces of gypsum and flick them out the window. I’m examining the scrape on my thigh as we pull onto the gravel driveway of the farm.
Caleb parks the truck and then looks over at me for a minute.
“Get on the porch,” he says gruffly. “I’ll get something for that scrape.”
“I don’t need—”
He cuts me a glance that brooks no argument. “On the porch, Ireland. Before I haul you there myself.” And then he slides out of the truck and slams the door behind him, stalking toward the house.
Sitting on the hot vinyl seat for a moment longer, I consider my options…and then decide it would be stupid to refuse a bandage just because my feelings are hurt. I’ll get the scrape taken care of, and then I’ll get my things, and then I’ll go. Back to my empty apartment and my stable, safe job and my fridge full of whatever new diet shake my sister wants me to try.
And maybe I’m going to take a break from adventures.
Turns out they hurt a lot when they end.
I finally get out of the truck and sit on one of the old chairs clustered into a corner of the porch. Caleb emerges from the house with a first aid kit in hand. He drops to his knees in front of me, and he’s so tall that even when he kneels, he’s eye-level with me in the chair.
He clicks open the kit, reaches for my leg, and then hesitates. “May I?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say. Grumpily.
The scrape starts near the outside of my knee and angles inward to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Caleb gently parts my legs in order to reach it, and my entire body lights up like a Christmas tree.
I suck in a breath.
So does he.
There’s no denying the charge between us, despite what just happened, despite the fact that I’m going to leave. Despite the fact that he and Ben want me to leave.
No, feeling the warm brush of his torso and arms as he settles between my legs still affects me. Still makes my belly tighten low around the lingering soreness he left inside me last night.
And I can tell he feels it too. His hands shake the slightest bit as he grabs the antiseptic spray and a gauze pad, and when he looks back up at me before he sprays the scrape, I can see his pulse hammering in his neck.
“This may sting,” he whispers.
“It can’t hurt more than anything else that’s happened today,” I tell him, initially meaning the ceiling collapse but then realizing he may think I mean Ben’s ugly words instead.
Well. Maybe I do.
His eyes look sad, and there’s no trace of that amazing dimple under his beard. With an acknowledging nod, he bends low over my leg and sprays the scrape.
“Ouch!” I hiss, but my hiss turns into a moan as he leans close to my thigh and blows over the parts that sting. “Oh. Oh. Caleb.”
He shudders at the sound of his name on my lips, blowing a little harder and then kissing all around the scrape, careful not to touch it, not to hurt me more. And then his mouth is moving up and up and up, right to the hem of my shorts, with licks and nibbles that have me squirming.
“Let me taste you,” he begs. “Please. Let me taste you again.”
And all of my hurt irritation vanishes in a puff of pure lust at the thought of Caleb’s mouth on my pussy, at the promise of even more beard-burn, and suddenly I’m wriggling out of my shorts, half standing, half hopping, reaching over to the porch railing for balance.
I manage to kick them off, but before I can sit back down, I’m pushed against the railing and my panties are yanked to the side, and then Caleb’s hot mouth is on me, sowing sweet fire everywhere he touches.
“God, you’re already so wet,” he mumbles against me, giving my pussy another openmouthed kiss, followed by a long lick with the flat of his tongue. “Always so wet for us.”
