Page 31 of Trick of the Flesh
I lean down, brushing my lips along the shell of his ear, careful, tender, almost soft. “You don’t have to hide,” I whisper. “You never have to with me, Caleb. I need you and you need me.”
He exhales a shaky laugh, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t even know what we are,” he admits, voice barely audible.
“Doesn’t matter.” I nuzzle closer, fingers threading lightly into his hair, just a gentle tug at the roots and I feel him melt. “It’s enough that you’re here. That you’re mine, and I’m yours. The rest… we’ll figure out later. Or never. Doesn’t matter.”
I feel him relax slightly beneath me, the tension easing, the tremor lessening. He’s not broken completely—not yet. But he’s softening enough to let me be what I am for him. Protector, predator, obsession. I’ll be whatever he needs.
Lover. Partner.
Soulmate.
We complete each other.
“You’re still scared,” I whisper against his temple. “Still thinking about every wrong way this could go.”
“I am,” he admits, voice cracking. “But… it’s different with you.”
I hum low, brushing my thumb over the curve of hisshoulder. “Yeah. It’s different because it’s real. And you’re not alone. I won’t ever let you be alone in this.”
The bed creaks slightly as he shifts again, small movements that tell me he’s trying to process. I keep my hold loose but possessive, letting him feel my weight and presence without crushing him. He needs to breathe, to think, to feel the aftermath, even if it’s terrifying.
“You think I don’t care about how you feel?” I murmur softly enough that he can only hear. “I care. More than anyone ever could. But I don’t want to scare you. I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll be what you need, Caleb. Even if that’s just… this. Just me. Watching, waiting, keeping you safe, giving you what you need and making sure you’re grounded.”
His chest rises and falls faster, but there’s a tremor of relief now. He swallows, fingers twitching at the sheet. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he admits.
“Don’t say anything,” I whisper. “You just need to feel it. Know it. That’s enough for me.”
I let my hands drift along his sides, lingering over his ribs, brushing across the curve of his back. He stiffens for a heartbeat, then relaxes under my touch. My heart clenches at the sight of him—so raw, so exposed, so willing in ways he doesn’t even admit to himself.
“You can’t hide from me,” I murmur. “I see through all the bullshit you feed everyone else. The perfect son, the star athlete, straight A college student. But I’ve been able to see through to who you really are. The hurt, abandoned boy. Who’s been neglected emotionally. Let me take care of that part of you, Caleb. Even if it’s in secret for now.”
He finally meets my eyes, blue and wide and soft, no longer just fearful. There’s trust there, buried beneath layers of shame and panic, but it’s real. He’s seen me without the mask, without the chase, and yet he still stays. He still lets me in.
Something deep inside me twists, hot and dark, protective and possessive. I press a kiss to his temple, soft but claiming. “It’s the two of us, Caleb. Whatever this is… whatever it becomes… it’s ours. You and me.”
His lips quiver. “It is?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I murmur.
And for the first time since last night, he allows himself to relax completely into me. Not hiding, not resisting. Just… here. With me.
The morning stretches long and quiet, heavy with tension, longing, and something unspoken. The world outside could burn, but in this room, in this dark, quiet aftermath, it’s just us. Caleb broken and wanting, and me content with keeping him exactly where he belongs.
He’s mine, and I am his.
ELEVEN
CALEB
The smellof coffee hits me before I even open my eyes. My head throbs, my mouth is dry, and my body is sore in ways I don’t want to think about too hard.
The sheets still smell like him.
I sit up fast, panic rushing through me—but Miguel’s side of the bed is empty. No trace of him. No proof of what we did. Just me and the ache spreading across my body, heavy and hot. For a second I think maybe I dreamed it all. But the soreness between my thighs, the faint bruises on my wrists, and the raw edge of my throat—they’re proof enough.
Last night happened.
All of it.
