Page 116 of A Temporary Forever

A mature person would have tried to have aconversation. Why would I guess if he feels the same when I can just ask him?

Well, why would I ask him if I can pretend that my attraction is still purely physical?

Why would I do any of it if I can just flush it down with wine?

Because I’m scared.

I never had a ballerina’s body, and yet I pursued dancing.

I came to New York, broken emotionally and financially, and I made it.

But now, for the first time in my life, I want something, and I’m too scared to reach for it.

Caleb puts his hand on my wrist gently to stop my guzzling. “Let’s go home.”

We don’t say our goodbyes. We don’t talk in the car or in the elevator. We just execute the exit strategy like we’re running.

Away from these feelings, or toward them?

My head is swimming with alcohol, and my heart is galloping like a spooked horse as Caleb leads me up the stairs.

He opens the door to my room. This is the first time he’s come in here. He’s never once set foot in here before.

The energy between us is charged, but I’m not sure what drives it. I stumble and he studies me.

Merde. I’m drunk.

Caleb kisses my forehead, and I sway a bit. It’s funny how I’m completely aware of the new energy between us, but equally unable to stand on my own feet.

He slides my dress down my shoulders and unzips the skirt part. The silk pools by my ankles. He kisses my temple and my shoulder. There is no urgency or heat in his touch or his kiss. His attention is similar to that peck on my lips at the gala.

Reverent.

Caring.

Affectionate.

He unfastens my corset, because I might have not worn panties, but that dress needed some control over my curves.

And it occurs to me that, while I’ve had sex with Caleb—a lot of mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex—and he saw my pussy or my breasts, he’s never seen me naked.

I’m glad I’m drunk, and I wish I wasn’t. Suddenly I’m self-conscious. I reach for his belt, just to occupy my foggy, unhelpful mind.

He circles his palm around my wrist and pulls it away. Gently.

Stepping back, he studies me, his gaze roaming around my body. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

A gasp forms but comes out as a hiccup, and Caleb chuckles. It’s then that my drunken mind tilts my axis and I stumble again.

Strong arms grab me, but instead of steadying me, Caleb hoists me bridal-style and takes me to bed. Effortlessly.

“I’m swooning here, pretty boy.”

He laughs, lowers me to my bed, takes off my shoes, and throws the comforter over my naked body. What is happening?

“Good night, black swan.” He kisses my forehead and leaves.

What the actual fuck?

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