Page 250 of Love Me Stalk Me
We're going home.
I SAY ‘I LOVE YOU’ MID-THRUST
CAL
Izzy knew.
This whole fucking time.
She knew I was Caleb, and she's not mad.
I can't wrap my head around it. Every scenario I had played out in my mind ended with her being furious, throwing lamps and books at me, calling me every name under the sun. But instead? She just... accepted it.
Said she liked talking to Caleb.
Said she enjoyed it.
And that? That fucking wrecks me.
Because I love her. I love her so much it's driving me insane.
I have to tell her. She needs to know. No secrets. Nothing between us anymore. But right now? Right now, I need to take care of her. And then? When she's ready? I'm going to pound her into every single surface she lets me. She's going to feel me so deep, for so long, that walking without remembering what I did to her will be physically impossible.
She senses it, too. I see it in how her body shifts as we pull up to her apartment, in how her fingers tighten in her lap, in how she peeks over at me like she's thinking about it, about me, about what's coming.
But she doesn't get to walk inside.
I carry her. Like the fucking princess she is. She huffs in protest, but I don't let her go, gripping her tighter, kissing the side of her head as I kick her door shut behind us.
"You're so dramatic," she mutters, her breath soft against my neck.
I chuckle, setting her down only when we're inside her kitchen. "Hydrate," I tell her, pressing a glass of water into her hands.
She rolls her eyes buttakes a sip.
"More."
She gives me a look. "Are you going to tell me to stretch next?"
"If you want to walk tomorrow? Yeah."
She chokes on her water, droplets splashing onto the granite countertop.
I lean in, brushing my lips over the shell of her ear, feeling her shiver against me. "Drink up, pretty girl."
She gulps the rest down like a good girl. Then, I take her hand, leading her into the bathroom. The yellow light makes her skin glow golden, highlighting the soft curves of her body beneath her clothes. She's been through enough. She needs to unwind, to let me take care of her.
She doesn't fight it.
She lets me.
Maybe she can sense that I need this as much as she does. I strip her out of her clothes, slowly, carefully, pressing soft kisses to her skin as I go. The bruises on her wrists, the slight marks from where those bindings dug in?
They make my fucking blood boil.
But I focus on her, on this, on now.
I guide her under the spray of the shower, rolling up my sleeves, and grab my soap.
