Page 60 of Redemption

Determined not to lose control and shake him the way I’m tempted to, I take a deep breath before I answer. “I get what you’re saying, but that’s not what’s happening here.Ushas been going on a long time before these past weeks. We’ve beenusfor years.Usdidn’t happen because we were in danger. I don’t thinkusis going to go away anytime soon.”

His jaw relaxes, and he gives me a little smile.

For a moment, I think I’ve gotten through to him.

So I go on. “I know I was not in a good place in the past, and you were right to keep me at arm’s length back then. But I’m an adult now, Caleb. I’m not under the influence of drugs or alcohol or a desperate need for attention. I can decide what’s best for me. And you’re what’s best for me.”

I see him exhale—an odd, shuddering release of breath. I’m not sure what it means, but it gives me hope.

“Baby—”

“You don’t get to call me that unless you’re prepared to mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

“Enough to act on it? Because I’ve got to tell you, this noble resistance of yours is getting kind of old.”

“I know it is. It feels old to me too. But I’ve spent years—years—shaping my life around the fact that I wasn’t allowed to have you. So many years living with the knowledge that what I most wanted could never be mine. It’s not something I can easily shake off. I think we just need… some more time.”

His face is still composed, but his eyes are open, naked. I can see everything he’s feeling. All the way inside.

And I understand.

I understand why he’s still clinging to my being forbidden. I understand why he can’t just let go, let himself be happy.

I understand everything I need to know about him.

It’s fundamental. Human. True of everyone who has ever really loved another person.

He’s afraid.

Afraid that if he lets go, if he trusts, if he gives himself to me, that it won’t last, that he’ll get hurt, that I’ll get taken away from him eventually.

He might be strong and brave and always competent. He might act like he’s as invulnerable as a granite statue. But he’s not. At heart, he isn’t any different from me. This is new to him. He’s never done it before.

It’s as scary to him as it has always been to me.

It’s just as much a risk.

And I know now what I need to do.

“Okay,” I murmur, leaning over so I can press a soft kiss on his jaw and then his lips. “So let’s give it some time.”

His hand moves up immediately to tangle in my hair. As I let my mouth rub gently against his, his fingers fist, holding my head more firmly in place as his tongue slips out to explore.

“This doesn’t feel like giving it time,” he says against my lips.

“We can stop anytime you want.” I’m leaning over awkwardly, so I readjust my body, moving onto the bed beside him, bracing myself on the mattress, careful not to put any pressure on his bandaged wound on the opposite side.

His hand is now sliding down my back. He finds the bottom of my nightgown and strokes his palm back up my thigh until he’s rubbing my bottom possessively.

I’m still kissing him. I’ve opened my mouth to his tongue, and we’re now deep, sensual, urgent. Without thinking, I readjust my weight so I can slide one hand under the sheet that covers him and feel my way down to his groin.

He’s hard. All the way. Already. I stroke the length of his erection through his cotton shorts, and he groans into my mouth.

“Baby,” he rasps, his back arching up slightly from the bed. “Baby, this is torture.”

“Why is it torture?”

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