Page 40 of Careless Hope

“Good. Now show me how you touch yourself.”

13

Caroline

The words hungin the air like a lasso suspended mid-throw, and I found myself caught in their loop, bewildered. Walker Anderson, with his ocean blue eyes and casual cowboy charm that could send half of Whittier Falls’ population into a swoon, was asking me to do what? My heart pounded, a staccato rhythm against my ribs, as anticipation tickled my skin.

“Show you . . . how I . . . ” My voice trailed off, confusion muddling my thoughts.

“Caroline,” he said, his voice a deep drawl that somehow sounded dripped in pleasure, “In order for us to do this, I need to understand you. Really see you. And you need to understand yourself.”

My cheeks flushed hot, betraying my nerves. This was uncharted territory, a field beyond the safe fences of discussion and note-taking. But I had asked for sex. I’d wanted him to teach me. And there was something about Walker’s gaze, earnest and patient, that made me want to step over the line.

“Okay,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. The wordfelt like a key turning in a lock, a decision to explore the landscape of my desire, to cultivate my own patch of confidence.

As I sat there, my mind wrestled with the intimacy of the moment. To bare myself this way felt like standing on Main Street during the Founder’s Day Parade, utterly exposed. But wasn’t this why I asked him to help me? To reconnect with myself and finally allow myself to bloom?

I inhaled deeply, the scent of leather and pine from Walker’s well-worn boots mingling with the memories of shy glances exchanged over high school textbooks. My hands trembled slightly, not from the chill of the evening but from a budding determination.

Walker’s gaze didn’t falter, and in the stillness of my living room, his voice was a low rumble, strong as the foundation below our feet. “Caroline, I’m not here to rush you or to watch some show. I want to learn about you—every part of what makes you feel good. This is about you finding your way, and I’m just here to support that journey.”

“Okay, Walker,” I began again, steadier now, “I’ll show you.” And with that, I reached for the hem of my sweater, fingers brushing against the soft fabric, ready to reveal the truths of my body, my longing—to him, and perhaps more importantly, to myself.

My hands paused, the sweater half-lifted. The vulnerability swirling within me seemed to ease, like a wild horse gradually trusting the hand offering it a treat. Walker had always been an enigma, wrapped in his easy smiles and flannel shirts, but now I saw something else—a depth of desire flashed in his eyes. It emboldened me.

His large hands reached out slowly, as if he were taming one of his skittish foals, fingers brushing against mine before sliding beneath the fabric of my sweater. The warmth of his touchsparked a trail of goosebumps across my skin as he gently lifted the garment over my head.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, not in the hungry way I’d heard men use that word, but with an appreciation that felt like a sunrise touching the tips of the mountains surrounding Whittier Falls—reverent and full of awe.

The cool air kissed my exposed skin, but Walker’s lips were warmer as they followed the path of his hands, pressing feather-light kisses along the column of my throat. It was as if he were imprinting every inch of me to memory, honoring each hidden part of myself I was revealing to him.

“Is this okay?” His voice was husky, laced with concern as he looked up at me, seeking permission to continue.

I nodded, the flutter in my chest a mix of nerves and yearning. There was something profoundly intimate about being undressed by Walker, like he was peeling back layers of my past insecurities, uncovering the woman I wanted to be—one who stood her ground, who owned her desires as proudly as a cowboy wore his hat.

“More than okay,” I whispered back, feeling all my recent troubles and concerns melting away under the tender exploration of Walker’s touch.

He gripped my skirt and pulled it down, letting it pool at my feet. Kneeling, he dropped kisses along my stomach and hipbone, right down to the top of my panties. His hands coasted along my thighs and came up to grasp my ass. His grip was rough, but the slight pain was intriguingly sensual. I felt a moan escape my throat.

“Take your time, darlin’,” Walker encouraged, his light blue eyes reflecting a sincerity that rooted me in place.

Walker stood and stepped back, his hands falling to his sides with a restraint that must’ve cost him. I felt strangely bare, moreexposed than I had when he was touching me. His gaze was a tangible thing, warm and electric, as it traveled over me.

“Caroline,” he murmured, the word a gentle caress that matched the tenderness of his previous touch. His eyes never left mine, but I could feel them memorizing every reaction flickering across my face. The intensity of his blue gaze was like the open sky above the ranch—limitless, enveloping, drawing out my secrets without even asking.

I swallowed, trying to find my voice. “Yes?” It came out a breathy whisper, betraying the whirlwind of emotions his proximity spurred within me.

“Just look at you,” he said softly, admiration lacing his tone, and something in those words sparked a flame deep inside. It was lustful, but it was also something more.

A shiver ran down my spine, not from cold but from anticipation, as I let myself bask in the warmth of his approval. There was a crackle in the air, an energy that pulsed between us, reminding me of summer storms rolling in over the plains, lightning ready to strike and set the world ablaze.

“Darlin’,” Walker’s voice was a low drawl now, “You don’t realize how beautiful you are, do you? Like a wildflower stubborn enough to grow through the cracks in the pavement.”

I laughed softly, the sound mingling with the faint rustle of trees in the wind outside the window. Wildflower. I liked that. Maybe I wasn’t the delicate rose I’d always imagined I should be, but there was strength in being a wildflower—the resilience to thrive against the odds.

Walker sat back in the armchair, his legs casually draped wide open, a sculpture of masculine appreciation. He looked every bit the cowboy—relaxed yet poised. And yet, there was an undercurrent of need in his expression.

“Go on,” he encouraged, nodding to me with a small smilethat was all charm and no arrogance. It was new territory for both of us, this dance of desire and discovery, but somehow, under his gaze, I found a strength I didn’t know I possessed.

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