“You’re just so beautiful,” he says.
“I have soy sauce all over me.”
“No,” he says, taking me by the chin and turning my face toward him, even though I can’t see. “No, I’m not going to let you brush it off. Not this time.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
“Every time I look at you,” Calder continues, “I—I just feel like I want to be better. I want to do better. For you.”
“You’re doing fine,” I assure him.
“No, I’m a mess. My life is falling apart around me, and every day everything becomes more complicated.”
I lean into his touch, place my hand over his on my cheek. He’s frightening me.
“You don’t have to deal with this alone,” I tell him. “I’m here. I can help you.”
“I’m not going to drag you into any of this.”
“But I want you to. I want to be there for you.”
“And what made some poor financial decisionsto10 about you? You’re just as lost and afraid as I am, only you don’t admit it to yourself.”
I pull away from him. “What do you think I’m afraid of?”
“This. Us.”
It sounds so much like an argument we had long ago, back on his estate. Right before I realized he’d lied about having any money. Right before Garrett arrived and I stormed off the property, praying I’d never see either of them again.
But things have changed.
“If I’m afraid of this,” I counter, “then why am I here? Why did I get so upset when you told me you needed space?”
Before he can respond, I pull him toward me. I don’t want to talk about the things that may or may not frighten us. I want him to forget about it all, forget about everything he fears is wrong with him or me or us. There’s nothing wrong with the way his skin feels against mine, with the way he tastes on my tongue.
I kiss him, softly, and for a moment he’s still. I’m afraid he’s going to pull away. But then he slips his hands around my neck and draws me closer. He kisses me sweetly, gently, again and again like he’ll never have enough of me. His hands move slowly down my body, and my skin prickles beneath his fingers. With every touch of his hands or lips I burn brighter.
“You’re so warm,” he comments.
I’m more than warm. I’m on fire. Heat races up and down my spine.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, releasing me. The sudden absence of his touch is physically jarring.
He doesn’t go far. Only to the fridge. I hear the door to the freezer open, the shuffling of ice. What is he doing?
He sinks back into the chair next to me. “Tilt back your head.”
I obey. He presses something against my neck, and I nearly leap out of the chair at the sudden shock of cold against my skin.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “It’s only an ice cube.”
I shiver but make no protestIf I recall correctly,it10.
Calder moves the ice slowly down my chest. It burns in a completely different way than his hands. Beads of water dribble down across my breasts, and Calder leans down and catches one with his tongue. When he moves the ice across my nipple, I gasp.
The sensation is like nothing I’ve ever felt. It’s heightened, I’m sure, by my lack of sight, and by the desire and emotion coursing through me. But I’m still no match for that little piece of ice. The next time he slides it across that delicate point, I nearly sob. I can’t take it.
Calder moves forward and takes my nipple between his lips. It’s so sensitive that even the softest graze of his teeth is painful. But it doesn’t matter. I’m too overwhelmed by the feeling of his warm mouth around my cold flesh. It sends a fresh wave of goose bumps across my skin.
How could he think I’d ever be afraid of this? Of us?
“Calder,” I whisper, “take me to bed.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He throws down the ice before standing and scooping me up in his arms. This time we actually make it to the bed. He lays me down gently and then lowers himself beside me.
This time he’s slow, patient, practiced. He starts by licking up the last wet trails left by the ice cube before making his way back to my lips. His mouth moves against mine with a slow intensity that makes me feel like I’m drowning. I want him to drown in me, too. I want to chase away all of his fears.
I wrap my arms around him, holding him against me, and I arch my back until there’s no possible way for us to be closer without joining. I want him to take strength in that connection, in the comforts of physical intimacy.
“Lily,” he rasps between his kisses. “Lily, Lily, Lily…”
He says it over and over again, like a mantra. His hands are roaming, dancing, and I twine my legs around his. He buries his face in my hair.
“God, you’re perfect,” he says. His voice breaks on the last word like he can’t bear the weight of it.
I pull in a shaky breath. It terrifies me, the anguish in his voice. Like this is some breaking point.
I don’t want him to break. I want to save him.
I arch my back again, and this time he reacts, pressing his body back down against mine. When he finally slides into me, I feel his shoulders relax beneath my hands. This is where he belongs.
His face is still in my hair, and he moves slowly. I imagine he’s savoring, as I am, the way our bodies move so easily together. I want to see his face. I want to look into his eyes as he makes love to me. But I’m afraid that reaching for the blindfold will break the spell. Maybe the reason I feel so vulnerable and emotional right now all goes back to this bit of fabric across my eyes.
Instead I tighten my grip on his back, ensuring we’re pressed as fully against each other as we could possibly be. I whisper his name into the darkness, and he responds by capturing my mouth again, tugging my lips between his teeth as if he could pull the very breath from me.
And then I’m crying. I’m not sure why. But I’m suddenly grateful for the blindfold. I don’t want him to see this, to think that anything is wrong.
He realizes eventually, of course. Maybe he senses it, or maybe he tastes the salt on my cheeks. He murmurs soft things, sweet things, but that only makes it worse.
“Please,” he says. “Please, just a little longer. I need you.”
He thinks I want him to stop. He doesn’t realize that I’m not upset, that I’m just overwhelmed by it all.
“I need you, too,” I whisper. “Don’t let me go.”