Page 13

Rilee

The drink Caleb handed me is cold and perfectly mixed, but I can’t taste a thing.

Not with Grayson’s voice still echoing in my head.

Not with Caleb standing this close—warm, steady, present.

And definitely not with the sudden, sharp tug I feel when I glance up and see Hunter across the room, staring.

He’s not even pretending to enjoy the party. Just leaning against the archway near the kitchen in his stupidly tight black T-shirt, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Until his eyes meet mine.

Then everything in me goes still.

Caleb says something—sweet, easy—but I barely hear it.

“I’ll be right back,” I mumble, slipping away before I can think twice.

I make it halfway through the crowd before Hunter steps in front of me.

“You having fun?” he asks, voice low.

“Trying to,” I answer, straightening my shoulders.

He looks me over once. Too slow. Too much. “Nice costume.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m just wondering who you were trying to impress.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just slap me with passive aggression in the middle of my borrowed living room. “You’ve been busy tonight. Talking to Caleb. Talking to Grayson. Making the rounds.”

I stare at him. “Are you seriously slut-shaming me right now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The tension snaps—tight and hot and ugly.

“Look,” he says, lowering his voice. “I just think you should be careful.”

I laugh. Sharp. Bitter. “Of what? Liking people? Letting myself feel something for once?”

Why would I ever listen to him? He has the emotional range of a potato.

“Of getting in over your head.”

I step in, toe to toe now. “Maybe I already am. Maybe I’m tired of pretending I’m fine or that I don’t want things I shouldn’t.”

His jaw clenches.

And suddenly, I can’t be in this room anymore.

I push past him, heart pounding, past the music and the heat and the eyes I swear are following me.

My chest heaves.

Everything inside me is loud .

I duck into Caleb’s room—dim, quiet, familiar—and shut the door behind me.

It smells like him in here. Like cedar soap and clean laundry and something warm I can’t name.

I sink onto the edge of his bed, still fully in costume. My corset digs into my ribs, but I barely feel it. Everything inside me’s gone tight and shaky, like my body’s waiting for another blow.

Then there’s a knock.

“Rilee?” His voice is gentle.

I don’t answer.

The door creaks open anyway.

He steps inside, careful, closing it behind him. “You okay?”

“Nope.”

He doesn’t speak. Just walks to where I’m sitting on the bed, crouches in front of me, and rests his hands on my knees.

“Did something happen?”

I shake my head.

“Want me to just sit here?”

I nod.

So he does.

No pressure. No fixing.

Just there.

And somehow, that feels like the safest thing in the world.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head, but then my throat tightens and the words are out before I can stop them.

“I kissed Grayson.”

Caleb doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t even blink.

Just… stills.

For a beat, he says nothing.

Then, “Okay.”

I search his face, bracing for disappointment, judgment, anything.

But all I see is something quieter.

Not surprise.

Not anger.

Just… confirmation.

I exhale. “I didn’t plan it. It just… happened. I was tired, and he was there, and—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Rilee.”

“I do, though. You’ve been nothing but good to me, and I—this isn’t fair to you.”

Caleb stands, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not mad. I just…” He lets out a breath. “It’s not like we’re exclusive; I’d have no right to ask you not to.”

My heart twists.

“I know. It’s just… this whole thing? It’s messy. And scary. And I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He steps toward me, voice gentler now. “Then let me be the one who doesn’t make it harder.”

I look up at him. “What does that mean?”

He exhales, hands loose at his sides. “It means I don’t want to add pressure or guilt to something that’s already confusing for you.”

“So you’re just… okay with this?”

“No,” he says, soft but firm. “But I get it.”

I blink. “You do?”

“I get what it’s like to want more than one thing at once. To feel like you’re stuck between two choices.”

I stare at him, throat tight.

“Rilee, I like you,” he says. “Not just for the flirty stuff. I like how your brain works. I like how hard you fight for things even when you’re barely holding yourself together. I like being around you—even when you’re spiraling.”

My chest aches in the best and worst way.

“I’m not asking for an answer. Or a promise. I just…” His jaw tenses. “I want you to know that if this goes somewhere? I’ll show up. Fully. And if it doesn’t?” He shrugs. “I’ll still root for you.”

Something in me crumbles at that.

Because I know he means it.

And I don’t know how to handle that kind of steady, patient, real affection.

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The ache in my chest spreads.

“Caleb…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t overthink it, Rilee.”

And damn it.

That’s worse.

Because he means it.

Because this is the kind of guy you don’t get over.

Sweet. Beautiful. Kind.

His words linger between us, soft but grounding.

I don’t say anything.

I just step forward and wrap my arms around him.

He goes still for a breath—like he’s surprised. Then his hands slide gently to my back, one between my shoulder blades, the other lower, pulling me closer.

And suddenly I’m not just hugging him.

I’m holding onto him.

His chin dips against my hair. We stay like that for a long, quiet beat. No noise from the party. Just his breath and mine. The steady thump of his heart against my chest.

Then I tilt my head.

Look up at him.

And he’s already watching me.

I don’t even know who leans in first.

Maybe we both do.

But when his mouth meets mine, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s trying not to scare me off.

I kiss him back.

Harder.

My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, tugging him down. His hands tighten at my waist, grounding and hungry all at once. He tosses his hat onto the floor.

The kiss deepens.

His tongue brushes mine, and I make a sound—low and needy, embarrassing in any other context, but right now, it just feels real.

He walks me backward until my calves hit the bed.

I sit.

He follows, mouth never leaving mine, one hand sliding under the hem of my corset top like he needs to feel skin.

And oh God , when he does—

I gasp.

He pulls back just enough to whisper, “Tell me if I need to stop.”

My voice is shaky. “Don’t.”

So he kisses me again, deeper this time, and I let myself forget everything but this.

Him.

His hands.

His mouth.

And for a few perfect minutes, I don’t think about Grayson or Hunter or anything else.

Just this.

Just him.

Caleb kisses me like he’s remembering the night we almost hooked up and every last inch of restraint he’s been clinging to just snapped.

My back hits the mattress, corset digging into my ribs, and I’m gasping into his mouth as his hands glide up my sides—careful, reverent, but full of need.

“Can I take this off?” he murmurs against my jaw, voice ragged.

“Yes.”

He unlaces the back slowly, fingers fumbling once, and we both laugh under our breath. And then it’s off—and he goes still.

His eyes sweep down my chest, pupils wide, mouth parting like he forgot how to breathe.

“Jesus, Rilee.”

“You can touch,” I tease, trying to sound confident.

He does. Both hands frame my breasts like they’re some kind of miracle. Then his mouth follows, hot and open, kissing across the soft skin, tongue flicking over one nipple while his palm teases the other.

I arch beneath him.

“Perfect,” he whispers.

I’m not sure when he lost his shirt, but he’s all muscle and heat above me, and I run my hands down his back, nails grazing just enough to make him groan.

He kisses down my stomach, slow and focused, until he’s on his knees beside the bed, tugging at the waistband of my bottoms.

He looks up. “Okay?”

I nod, heart pounding.

And then his mouth is on me.

His tongue—soft, then firm. Teasing. Learning me. Moving over my sensitive flesh. Finding my clit with expert precision…

A jolt of pleasure rockets through me.

He pauses just long enough to murmur against my skin, voice thick and low, “You’re so fucking perfect, Ri.”

Then he kisses the inside of my thigh, open-mouthed and hungry.

“Could spend all night with my face between your legs,” he groans, breath hot. “You taste so good, baby. So sweet.”

Then he’s back to it—tongue and lips and heat—like he can’t stay away. There’s something really fucking sexy about that—his enthusiasm.

I gasp as his tongue finds me again, more confident now.

“You like this?” he mutters between strokes, flicking gently, then sucking my clit with just enough pressure to make me whimper. “Tell me what you want, Rilee.”

My hands grip his hair tighter.

“This?” He circles again, slow and torturous. “Or this?” He flattens his tongue and presses harder.

All I can do is moan.

One big, calloused hand grips my thigh. The other presses gently to my hip like he’s holding me in place—not that I’m going anywhere. My hands thread into his hair, tugging when he hits just the right spot.

It’s overwhelming.

Hot.

Relentless.

I come fast, thighs shaking, breath caught in my throat.

He stays there with soft kisses and nibbles until I ride it out, then climbs back up beside me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice low, eyes soft.

I grab his waistband. “Your turn.”

He laughs, breathless. “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up.”

He groans as I slide down his pants, freeing him—and holy hell . I blink, stunned.

“That’s… ambitious.”

His grin is lazy now. “You complaining?”

“Not even a little.”

He’s gorgeous. Long, thick, smooth—slightly flushed at the tip. Even his balls are pretty. That’s definitely a sentence I’ve never said before. I’m low-key obsessed, and I haven’t even touched him yet.

I slide down, eyes locked on his as I reach for him.

My fingers wrap around him first, and— damn.

He’s thick, heavy in my hand. Warm and impossibly hard, already leaking at the tip.

“Jeez, Caleb,” I murmur, giving him a slow stroke. “Is this what you’ve been hiding under all those joggers?”

His breath catches. “Rilee—”

I grin, thumb circling the head. “You’re gonna ruin me for everyone else.”

He groans, low and wrecked, head tipping back against the pillow.

I lower my mouth over him, slow at first, lips and tongue and enough lipstick to mark him like a crime scene.

He lets out a low, wrecked sound, hands gripping the sheets, then pushing into my hair.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “Your mouth feels so good.”

I pull back slightly, just enough to swirl my tongue around the tip and glance up at him. “Yeah? You like watching me wreck you?”

His jaw tightens, eyes wild. “Rilee…”

I hollow my cheeks, take him deeper, and feel him twitch under my tongue. Then I add my hand, jacking him slowly as my mouth slides up and down.

“Just like that,” he mutters, voice rough and desperate. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me.”

He mutters my name like a prayer, hips barely moving because he’s still trying to be careful—even now.

His breath punches out of him. “Fuck, Rilee—”

I don’t stop.

His hand fists the blanket beside him, every muscle drawn tight. He’s trembling— barely holding it together.

And then—

BANG BANG BANG.

A fist hits the door, hard.

“Rilee?” It’s Hunter. Loud. Tense. “You in there? I need you— now .”

We both freeze.

“I swear to God,” Caleb mutters, voice strangled.

I sit up fast, swiping my hair off my face. “What the hell?”

Hunter calls out, “There was a scuffle and one of the rookies caught an elbow. He’s bleeding. Won’t stop. Think he needs stitches.”

Caleb flops back against the pillow with a low groan, forearm thrown over his face. “Of course.”

I stand, breathless, clothes half-wrecked. “I’ll be right there,” I call.

Caleb props himself up on his elbows, eyes still dazed with need—cock rock hard, glistening with my spit, and pointing straight up at the ceiling. “I’m going to murder that rookie.”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.

He’s still watching me, trying to hide the fact that he’s tucking himself back into his pants with a wince.

“I’m fine,” he says, biting back a grimace. “Just gonna lie here and reflect on all my life choices.”

I lean down, kiss his cheek. “Raincheck?”

His smirk is crooked. “Fucking yes.”

And then I’m gone—out the door, down the hall, into chaos.