“What does that mean?” she asked, unsure. Without saying a word Caleb took her hand and walked over to the king size, cherry wood, four poster bed, a bed with many uses and not all of them easily evident.
“I’ll show you,” Caleb sat himself on the edge of the bed with his reluctant volunteer standing in front of him. The anxiety coursing through her was obvious to his interested eyes.
For what seemed an eternity, neither of them said anything. Caleb simply watched, examined, and made mental notes. When he finally spoke, she startled. “Just touch me.”
“You want me to touch you? Where?” Caleb really enjoyed that about her, the way she seemed both guarded but curious. It hinted at her bravery, her wily and adventurous nature. All of which, she seemed strangely unaware of. Sometimes it was difficult not to see him in her. It was both endearing and disturbing.
“Wherever you’d like,” he smiled. Her brows knit together, as if the answer needed further explanation. It didn’t. He wanted her to touch him, anywhere, everywhere, so long as he didn’t have to force her. Perhaps because he thought if she touched him, of her own free will, he could stop feeling guilty for pushing her earlier. Or perhaps, he only needed to be touched by her.
There had been a time when Caleb despised being touched, by anyone, only knowing cruelty, but now, under the right circumstances, he rather liked it.
“And then what? What are you going to do?” She was almost angry now, annoyed. Caleb understood he supposed. She had no reason to believe he wouldn’t take advantage of her. If he was honest, and he was for the most part, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t either. Still, he was a man of his word. Rafiq had made sure of at least that much.
“I’ll keep my hands right here,” he patted the bed on either side of him, “unless you ask me otherwise.” His smile became mischievous and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. He tried not to laugh outright when she gave a derisive little snort and rolled her eyes. She didn’t believe him, not one little bit. Guarded, but curious. The room remained silent for several moments, Caleb appraising her with his steady gaze, while she contemplated what to do or say next.
His heart picked up speed, as did his breathing. Was he actually anxious? It was a palpable aphrodisiac. She bit at her lip repeatedly, her little white teeth digging into the supple flesh. His fingers unconsciously pressed into the bedspread. There were places he wanted her mouth, other places he wouldn’t mind the feeling of her little teeth pressing into him.
She cleared her throat, rousing Caleb from his devious thoughts. “So, um, if I don’t…then I have to go back to my room right?” The way she posed the question was almost leading. Caleb nodded. He noticed her shoulders drop slightly, as if she were more relaxed. She wanted this.
She wanted him. He refused to smile. “Okay. I’ll do it. But you have to promise to keep your hands on the bed. You promise?” Caleb couldn’t fight the smile any longer, he nodded. She hadn’t even asked what he would accept as far as the touching went.
Her face was flushed, but her voice was almost confident. Again Caleb marveled at her facets. Shy one moment, a lioness the next. “Close your eyes. I don’t think I can do it otherwise.”
Caleb laughed, especially when she blushed deeply, but reluctantly, he complied.
• • •
It was late, late enough to almost be early depending on how one looked at it. The girl slept peacefully beside him, her bottom pressed against his groin. It amazed him how easily she had fallen asleep, though he supposed he had put her through a lot. He shut his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair, her scent beneath it.
He thought of her curious little fingers burrowing through his wavy blonde hair. It had been the first thing she went for. His entire scalp had tingled, the sensation coursing down the back of his neck, along his spine and radiating out toward each of his limbs. One simple touch and he already doubted he’d be able to keep his promise. But he had remained still. He had wanted to know how far she’d go.
He had told himself also, it was part of her training. To allow her to become accustomed to touching and knowing a man’s body. Not all men were like him. They derived more pleasure from receiving than giving and Caleb had only taught Kitten how to submit to his touch, not how to exact her own sense of control by initiating contact. He had admitted to himself in that moment, he had avoided teaching her this aspect of what was required of her. It made him somewhat vulnerable, not because he was a slave to touch, nothing so insipid as that. All the slaves he had trained had touched him, frequently. But with them he had always remained detached, clinical, informing them what felt good and what needed work along the way.
With her, he wanted…something. And the obscurity of his desires was a distraction he could ill afford. And yet, she needed to learn didn’t she? He had to endure it. He didn’t have a choice.
He had leaned into her touch and she had tightened her grip in his hair. There was a hint of pain and his cock had leapt at the sensation.
She had roamed his face, her delicate fingertips dancing along his brow, his cheekbones, and his jaw. When she pressed her thumbs across his lips he tensed, thinking she would kiss him. She hadn’t. Instead she trailed along his neck and shoulders, even venturing into his shirt by way of the few undone buttons at his throat. He felt her body heat ratchet up a few degrees, the heat of her womb radiating against the inch of space separating her from his straining cock. In the end, he had been the one to put an end to it.
He’d quickly had enough of trying to keep his promise.
He had told her it was enough, to get in bed. His voice had sounded cold, though he felt anything but.
He had secured her left wrist to a gold cord protruding from one of the bedposts. It was thin, but strong, capable of allowing her comfortable sleep without threat of escape. Then he’d gone to take a shower and do something he hadn’t needed to do in a very long time. As shiny ribbons of semen spilled across the tile of the shower, he once again asked himself what the fuck he was thinking.
Now he lay in bed next to her, holding her like a lover, smelling her fucking hair and caressing her arm. Worse, he didn’t think he could stop. He didn’t want to stop. He banded his arm around her waist and pulled her deeper into him. She sighed. The little tart even tilted her head back, her cheek turning onto the fabric of his t-shirt. Did she want him to kiss her? He wasted no time in finding out. He pressed his lips to hers, gently, inquiring. She sighed again, opening her lips, sluggishly, still asleep.
Encouraged, he teased her mouth with the tip of his tongue. He was a masochist. Why else would he torture himself like this? She tasted warm, sweet, to some extent of liquor. A soft moan entered his mouth courtesy of her. Her body turned slightly toward him, her lips now seeking his.
He gave her what they both wanted as his tongue ventured gently into her mouth. She was suddenly ravenous. She sucked at his mouth, sloppily, greedily, still asleep. He pulled back and she whimpered, seeking him blindly. He stifled a laugh.
“Mmm, Caleb,” she said on a painful sounding sigh. His heart instantly sped up three times.
Blood thudded in his ears. She was dreaming of him? Or was she feigning sleep? Did she know he was kissing her, had she willingly reciprocated?