Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(29)

“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.”

Us.

Ben’s absence is like a hole in the air, sucking all the oxygen away from us, and I hate that I want him here even after he kicked me to the curb. I hate that I miss his touch on me so much it hurts.

I hate it.

Even as I can’t deny it.

“Fuck, you taste good,” Caleb murmurs. His strong fingers dig into the soft rounds of my ass, keeping my pussy angled the way he likes, and the feeling of those almost-bruising fingertips along with the chafe of his beard drives me perilously close to orgasm. His tongue seems to be everywhere, until he gently takes my clit between his teeth and suckles at it.

My head falls back as I give a long moan. “God, Caleb, oh my God.”

But I don’t keep my head back, because he’s too delicious right now, and I never want to forget how he looks like this. On his knees in front of me, those big shoulders tucked in, his dark head below the curve of my still-clothed stomach, tilting and working…

It’s so much to feel, so much to see, even as awful questions filter through my mind.

Are you doing this out of pity?

Why doesn’t Ben want me?

How am I supposed to walk away from this?

But even the questions disappear into smoky nothing as my impending orgasm winds closer and closer and closer, and I arch against the railing, trying to push myself harder against Caleb’s wicked tongue.

He responds with a hungry, eager groan, sucking and licking like his life depends on it, and then I’m done for. I pant out his name right as my climax bursts, and then I don’t know what else I’m saying. Curses, blessings, maybe even Ben’s name leaves my mouth, but it doesn’t matter, because it feels so fucking good. Waves and waves starting in my clit and radiating out through my stomach and thighs and all the way to the tips of my fingers. It feels like it goes on for hours as I ride it out against his mouth, with one hand braced on the railing and the other hand in his hair, clutching him tight.