Page 37 of Dial L for Lawyer (Curves & Capital #2)

“You don’t like toys?”

“I do. But I don’t know where that thing has been.”

He chuckles as he produces a silk tie, sliding it through his fingers. "Not a toy."

"You want to tie me up?"

"I want to worship you." His eyes are serious. "To show you exactly how perfect you are when you let go of your control."

My breath catches. "That's playing dirty."

"That's playing to win." He trails the silk along my arm. "Yes or no?"

I stare at the tie, my pulse pounding. Everything in me wants to say no—to keep control, to keep full agency. But there's something in his eyes that promises safety even in surrender.

"Yes," I whisper.

He moves slowly, tying my wrists to the headboard.

Not tight, but secure enough that I can't cover myself or pull away.

My arms are pinned above my head, and I'm completely exposed, but only because I chose it.

The difference between giving in and giving up is small, and right now I feel it humming in every nerve.

I test the restraints—there's just enough slack to feel safe, just enough resistance to make my heart race.

Caleb runs his hand up my arm, soothing any doubts. "If you want me to stop, you say it. Understood?"

"Understood," I whisper.

He looks at me, stretched out and trembling, and for a moment he looks almost nervous, lips parted like he's afraid he’s pushing too hard.

That hint of vulnerability makes my whole body tingle.

Then the nervousness vanishes, replaced by a look of such profound, possessive reverence that it steals the air from my lungs.

He doesn’t touch my breasts or between my legs.

Instead, he starts at my wrist, lips pressing a slow trail down my inner arm, then across each curve and dip, memorizing my body like he's making a map.

His mouth lingers at my elbow, warm and ticklish, and I'm suddenly aware of every part of me that's usually hidden by sleeves and good posture.

I want to cover my face, so I turn my head and squeeze my eyes shut.

But he won't let me hide—he touches my cheek gently, bringing my attention back.

"Don't go," he says softly. "Stay with me."

He kisses his way down. The soft skin of my underarm, the side of my breast, ribs and the softer spots between.

He's thorough, like he's proving a point.

By the time his tongue traces the stretch marks on my belly, my skin is tingling everywhere and my heart feels so full it might burst. Not because I'm exposed, but because I'm being seen—every mark, every imperfection, every uneven line—and somehow, it's OK. More than OK. It's beautiful.

I'm shaking now, not from nerves but from a strange, terrifying freedom.

His mouth moves lower, past my soft stomach where I've always carried shame, and I can't look away even though I want to.

The restraints keep me from hiding, from covering, from running.

I'm completely exposed, and yet I've never felt more powerful.

"Caleb," I whisper, my voice breaking.

He looks up, eyes dark with desire. "You're so beautiful when you let yourself be seen."

A small, wounded sound escapes me—half-laugh, half-sob. "You're the only one who's ever wanted to look."

"Then everyone else was blind." His hands slide under my thighs, lifting slightly as he settles between my legs. "I see you, Serena. All of you. And I'm never looking away."

His mouth is on me then, and I lose all coherent thought.

My back arches as far as the restraints allow, a moan tearing from my throat.

I'm completely at his mercy, unable to guide him or push him away or do anything but feel.

And God, do I feel. Every swipe of his tongue, every gentle scrape of teeth, every hot breath. It's all magnified by my helplessness.

I'm panting, twisting, pulling against the silk. Not to escape, but because my body can't contain what he's creating. He holds my thighs apart, thumbs pressing into soft flesh, and I can't even close my legs to manage the intensity.

"Caleb, please," I gasp, but he doesn't stop. If anything, he becomes more determined, more thorough, like every sound I make just encourages him.

"That's it," he murmurs against me. "Let me hear you."

The orgasm builds slowly, steadily, something I can't control or rush.

My wrists strain against the silk. I want to touch him, need to ground myself.

But there's nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to make it smaller.

It crashes over me in waves, and I cry out his name, my body arching as much as the restraints allow.

He doesn't stop until I'm boneless, shaking, tears streaming down my cheeks from the intensity. Only then does he kiss his way back up my body, untying my wrists with gentle fingers.

"You OK?" he asks, checking my wrists for any real damage.

I nod, unable to speak yet. My wrists are tender where the silk held them, but it's a good ache, like proof of something important. He rubs them gently, and I feel so cared for it makes my chest tight.

"That was..." I start, then trail off because there aren't words for what just happened. It wasn't just sex, it was transformation. Like he stripped away every defense I've ever built and showed me I didn't need them.

"Intense?" he suggests, gathering me against his chest.

"Life-changing," I whisper, and I mean it. Something deep inside has shifted. The voice that always whispered I wasn't enough, wasn't worthy, wasn't beautiful, it's quieter now. I don’t need to listen.

He strokes my hair, pressing kisses to my temple. "I love you," he says again, and this time it doesn't scare me.

The words sink into me, warm and real. Words I've always wanted to hear. Words that still terrify me a little, despite everything. I can't say them back yet—they tangle in my throat with years of fear and doubt.

But something has changed. The restraints are gone, but I feel more free than ever.

"Show me," I whisper against his skin. "Show me again."

His eyes darken with understanding. He doesn't need me to say the words to know what I mean. He shifts above me, his body covering mine like a promise.

This time when he enters me, it's different. Slower, deeper, like he's trying to reach something beyond physical. I wrap my arms around him, finally free to touch, to explore the muscles of his back, the width of his shoulders.

"I need you to know something," he says, voice rough as he moves inside me.

I can only nod, overwhelmed by the feeling of him filling me completely.

"This isn't just sex for me. It's never been just sex." His forehead presses against mine, our breath mixing. "From that night at the gala, when you relaxed enough to let me see past your walls—I knew I was done for."

My heart pounds against my ribs. I want to tell him I feel it too, that somewhere between pretending to hate him and trying to protect myself from him, I fell completely.

Part of me wants to break the moment, push him away, make some awful joke to keep us in our old pattern.

But I don't. I just surrender, matching his slow rhythm, letting him see every flicker of pleasure and vulnerability on my face.

He comes with a shudder that shakes the bed, our bodies pressed together. He buries his face in my neck instead of letting me see his own moment of falling apart. For all his confidence, Caleb is as scared of being soft as I am. Somehow knowing that makes me want to laugh and cry and never let go.

We come down together, lying tangled and sweaty, neither of us speaking. City lights paint patterns on the ceiling, and I trace circles on his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow under my palm.

"So," he says after a while, voice still rough. "This lawyer you met. The devastatingly arrogant one."

I smile against his shoulder. "What about him?"

"You plan on keeping him around? Now that you're getting your life back?"

"I don't know," I say, pretending to think about it. "He's got some good qualities."

"Such as?"

"Well, he's not bad in bed."

"Not bad?" He rolls us so he's hovering over me again. "I just made you see God with a silk tie and my tongue, and I get 'not bad'?"

"Fine. He's adequate."

"Adequate, huh?” Caleb pauses, studying me like he’s memorizing my face. Then he grins, brushing his thumb over my lip. “Let me show you adequate."

But instead of the bruising kiss I expect, his mouth is soft and slow, like we have all the time in the world.

"I'm keeping you," he murmurs against my lips. "Just so you know. This lawyer of yours doesn't stand a chance."

"Good," I whisper back. "Because I'm keeping you too."

The words I can’t say yet hang between us anyway. In the space between our bodies, in the way we hold each other like we’re both afraid to let go. Maybe love doesn’t always need words to be real. Maybe it just needs to be felt.

And God, do I feel it from him. Everywhere. In every touch, every look, every moment where he sees all of me and stays.

What scares me is how much I feel it back. How close I am to saying something I swore I wouldn’t, not this soon, not when I know how dangerous it is to trust someone with that part of me.

But for tonight, wrapped in his arms, it feels possible.

And maybe that’s enough. For now.