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CALEB

We got back to LA a few days ago and the first thing I wanted to do was book a private pottery class for our first of many dates. And I want to recreate her fantasies tonight if she’ll let me.

Cecil hands us our aprons, before walking over to the table to get our materials ready.

I pull the apron over my head, reaching behind to tie it when I feel her hand rest over mine, swatting it away.

“Let me do it,” Amelia says, grabbing the strings, securing it tight enough that I let out the most dramatic cough.

“Calm down back there, you’re going to suffocate me,” I joke.

“I’m sorry!” Her hands quickly scramble with the strings loosening it and I turn around to face her.

“I’m joking, baby.” I say with a grin, grabbing the apron from her arm and slipping it over her head. I spin her around, moving her hair to one shoulder as I tie the strings.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a scrunchie and hold it up. “May I?”

She nods, smiling as she sinks onto the stool beside me. I step behind her, gathering her curls in a loose pony, and tie it off to keep it out of her face.

“Do you think of everything or what?”

“I try my best,” I reach down to bring her knuckles to my lips. Hopefully soon, this same hand will be wearing a ring.

“Okay! Let’s go ahead and begin sculpting,” Cecil says, taking a seat in front of us at her own pottery station.

“First things first, keep your chest low and rest your elbows on your knees.” She gestures towards the ball of clay on each of our wheels.

“Press the pedal slightly on medium speed, then release. Wet your hands, rest your non-dominant hand on the outside, and use your opposing thumb to apply slight pressure to stabilize it.”

We follow her directions, pressing our hands into the malleable clay. The instructor guides us as we press our thumbs into the center, creating a deep hole to begin shaping.

This part is my favorite, it’s calming and it reminds me that we all start from nothing, what matters is how we shape ourselves, how we mold our lives into what we want them to be.

We have the power to start over, again and again, until we get it right. It’s never too late.

I may have waited too long to tell her how I felt, but I don’t regret a single second because everything led us to this moment.

Cool, wet clay seeps between my fingers as I carefully work it, but my attention keeps drifting to someone more important. I glance over at Amelia, watching her lean in, completely absorbed.

She dips her sponge and hand into the water, squeezing it onto the clay as she smooths the edges. She’s a natural. Her lips press together and I can tell she’s forgotten I even exist right now.

I’m so mesmerized by her that I don’t realize my own clay collapsing beneath my hands. “Shit,” I murmur, watching as the clay slumps into a flat mess on the wheel.

Amelia laughs loudly, glancing at me while she continues sculpting her clay. “You okay over there?”

“Just peachy,” I tease.

As we continue shaping our clay, Cecily announces that she’s heading to the back office, giving us some alone time.

Taking full advantage of this moment, I rise from my stool dragging it across the tile floor before placing it behind Amelia.

I take a seat, resting my chin on her shoulder.

She hums, tilting her head just enough for me to press scattered kisses down the side of her neck.

“Having fun?” I murmur between kisses.

“Yeah, this is nice. I’ve missed doing this with you.”

I kiss my way up beneath her ear, my hands grazing her wrists while my thumb circles gently over her skin.

“Can I please ruin this?” I whisper, my lips grazing the shell of her ear before nipping her lobe, sliding my hands closer to her sculpture.

She doesn’t answer with words, she doesn’t have to. She takes my hands in hers, pulling me flush against her back as she intertwines our fingers together, not caring about her clay. Our hands move together, deliberate and unhurried, as the clay seeps between our fingers.

“I’m living my Ghost movie fantasy right now,” she chuckles under her breath.

“You like the idea of me being behind you?”

Her breathing shifts as I brush my lips along the curve of her jaw. I press closer, my chest molding to her back as our hands keep moving in the clay. The wheel spins beneath our fingers, but all I feel is her. Her body. Her touch.

“Mhm,” she says, voice unsteady as she glances over her shoulder. “You’re good with your hands.”

I smirk, capturing her bottom lip between my teeth. “You should see what they can do in the bedroom.”

A storm brews behind her now darkened gaze, like she’s seconds away from pouncing. Fuck, she’s pretty.

She shifts, pressing her back against me just enough for her ass to graze my already straining cock through my jeans. I dig my fingers into the clay, my control slipping.

“Care to demonstrate?” she murmurs giving me those unmistakable fuck-me eyes. Similar to that night we shared back in the Bahamas.

Gripping the edge of her stool, I spin her to face me, the clay long forgotten as she lifts her foot off the petal. I scoot in between her legs, hands gliding up her thighs against the apron. Her breath stutters when my fingers trail higher, inch by inch.

“You sure?”

“I want you, Caleb. Now.”

That’s all I need to hear.

“I’m ready to pay!” I call out to the instructor.

She bursts out laughing, swatting my thigh. “You’re insane.”

“Only for you.”