Page 61 of Well That Happened

Caleb

The waves are just right—big enough to ride, soft enough to forgive.

We’ve been out there for hours, catching sets and laughing our asses off as Hunter tries to pretend he’s not secretly good at surfing.

Grayson’s quiet as always, carving lines with this serious, surgical kind of grace.

Meanwhile, I’m doing what I do best—wiping out and making it look charming.

But when I look up and see Rilee standing at the edge of the sand, in a pink bikini and messy topknot, sunglasses too big for her face, I swear my chest actually hurts looking at her.

Yeah. This is what heaven feels like.

I’m so fucking happy she had today off. We all needed it. It’s been an interesting couple of days. Her working long hours, us getting used to being in California. But everything’s starting to click again.

I paddle toward shore, shake the water from my hair, and jog up the sand. The sun’s dipping lower, casting everything in that golden hour glow people chase in photoshoots. But this? This isn’t filtered or posed. This is real.

She glances up and shields her eyes, grinning. “You done pretending to be a pro surfer?”

“I’ll have you know I caught, like, two and a half waves,” I say, flopping onto the towel beside her. “And didn’t die once.”

“Wow. A personal best.”

“Don’t patronize me. I know I looked hot doing it.”

“You looked like a golden retriever falling off a paddle board.”

I gasp. “Rude. Accurate. But rude.”

She laughs, and it’s everything. The breeze, the light, the fact that she’s here . I feel it all settle in my chest like a puzzle finally snapping into place.

I lean back on my elbows and just look at her for a second. The pink flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers absentmindedly play with the edge of the towel. She’s a little sun-drunk, a little sleepy. And still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Hey,” I say softly, nudging her knee. “You good?”

She nods, smile lazy. “Just tired. Too much sun. My brain is melting.”

“Wanna head back soon?”

“Yeah.” She leans her head on my shoulder, and I swear my heartbeat skips. “Grayson mentioned steaks.”

“He’s been planning that all week. We were just so fucking happy you have today off.”

“And tomorrow,” she reminds me with a smile.

I grin and press a kiss to the top of Rilee’s head.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe. Like the part of me that’s been on hold since she left has finally unclenched.

“You’re smiling,” Rilee says, nudging me.

I look down at her. “Yeah?”

“Like… really smiling.”

I shrug. “I got my girl back. Life’s good.”

She softens. “Yeah. It really is.”

And when she reaches for my hand and threads her fingers through mine, I know—

I’m not letting go again.

The second we get home, Rilee makes a beeline for the bathroom, mumbling something about sand in places sand should never be.

“Don’t get too comfortable without me,” I call after her.

Her voice floats back, tired and teasing. “Didn’t invite you, surfer boy.”

I grin and toss my keys on the counter. Challenge accepted.

When I knock lightly on the bathroom door a minute later, steam curls out around the frame.

“Room for one more?” I ask.

She cracks the door open just enough to peek at me, still wrapped in a towel, cheeks pink. “You always bring this much confidence into other people’s showers?”

I shrug, stepping in and pulling the door shut behind me. “Only yours.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. I reach for her towel, and she lets me take it. God, she’s beautiful. All warm skin and soft curves and trust in her eyes.

We step under the water together, and the second it hits my shoulders, I groan. “Okay, maybe this was selfish. I needed this more than I thought.”

She laughs, tilting her head back as water runs down her hair. I take a second just to watch her. Man, she really does have fantastic tits.

I pin her gently to the wall with my body, kissing her jaw, her neck, the space behind her ear that always makes her shiver. She reaches between us, taking my cock in her hands.

A smile lifts on my lips remembering back to that very first night—our failed hookup in her apartment. Who knew it’d end like this?

“I missed your cock,” she breathes against my lips, jacking me slowly.

“He missed you more,” I say on an exhale, bringing one hand between her legs. She’s already wet for me. And I love that so much.

I kiss her—deep and slow—and reach for the small bottle of slick, scentless shower oil we keep in the corner. Not ideal, but slippery enough.

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, voice low and a little rough now. “I want to fuck your ass, Ri.”

She watches me, chest rising and falling with shallow, anticipating breaths. Her nipples pebbling despite the steamy warmth around us.

She hesitates, swallows. Then nods, slow and certain.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, breathless, as I coat my cock in the oil. I add more to my fingers and then turn her to face the shower wall. She lets out a surprised gasp when I trail one slippery finger over her asshole.

“You tell me the second it’s too much,” I murmur, mouth grazing the back of her neck.

She nods once.

And my fingers begin moving slowly, reverently—preparing her, coaxing soft gasps from her lips that make my whole body tense. I don’t push. I don’t take. Not yet.

Her fingers dig into my thigh, like she’s grasping whatever skin of mine she can reach. Her head tips back against my shoulder.

“Caleb…” she breathes, and it’s everything.

Everything I’ve been holding back since the moment I fell for her.

I press my mouth to the back of her neck, breath ragged. “I’ve got you.”

And then—carefully, slowly—I guide myself in, every muscle taut with restraint, every breath stolen by how good, how right this feels.

Her body clenches around me, hot and trembling. Her hands grip me tighter.

And I stay right there. Still. Letting her feel it. Letting me feel it.

She moans and trembles, and when she finally moves her hips—inviting, daring—I nearly lose control.

Her hips push back against me again—tentative at first, then with more confidence. Like she can feel me holding back, feel me needing her to take it further. And God, I do.

I need to know that she’s into this.

My hands tighten on her waist, guiding her rhythm with slow, reverent care. Every movement feels amplified, overwhelming. She’s so warm, so tight I can barely breathe.

“Jesus, Rilee…” I rasp, my voice breaking against her skin. “You feel— fuck —you feel like heaven.”

She moans, soft but wrecked, and that sound alone nearly undoes me.

I lean in, bury my face against her neck, and move just a little deeper. Her body trembles, but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull away. She clings to me like she wants to remember what it feels like to be taken this way—completely, fully, entirely .

“You okay?” I whisper, kissing her shoulder. “Talk to me.”

She nods, her voice ragged. “Better than okay. Caleb—I’m close.”

So am I.

Too close.

But I want her there first. I want her falling apart while I hold her through it.

One hand finds her clit, slippery and swollen, and I rub slow, steady circles. Her whole body arches. Her breath turns to gasps. I keep going, whispering her name like a prayer against her throat.

My cock is buried in her ass and I pump my hips in steady, deep strokes—nearly blacking out with how perfect she feels. My fingers stay on her clit, rubbing over and over.

She whimpers. Pushes her ass into me, eager to take more of my cock.

It’s beyond hot.

And then she shatters.

She cries out, loud and breathless, her body locking down around me—tight and perfect and mine .

That’s all it takes.

My control snaps like a rubber band. I thrust deep one final time and come hard, groaning her name as I empty into her. My body trembles with the force of it, arms locked tight around her so she doesn’t have to carry an ounce of it alone.

We stay like that—pressed together, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat—while the water washes over us, cooling and quiet.

I glance at her—her flushed cheeks, that sleepy post-shower glow—and something settles in my chest.

I brush a kiss to her temple.

“You’re everything,” I whisper.

And I mean it.

Every word.

After, we walk out of the bedroom together, fingers brushing. And when the guys look up from the couch, Hunter just smirks.

“Next time,” he says, “maybe put a sock on the door.”

Grayson smirks. “Or at least turn on some music. Because d amn .”

Rilee buries her face in my shoulder, but I’m smiling. Because this—this chaos, this comfort, this connection—it’s mine.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.