Chapter Twelve

Caroline

The heat seeping from his body warms me to my soul. The way he’s looking at me like I’m some long-lost treasure solidifies everything I’ve been trying to prove to myself. Inside this huge beast of a man is a fragile, hesitant heart. I’m in love with Tahoe so endlessly and deeply, I already know no one else in my entire life will compare. The tenderness in moments he has no control over is intoxicating, his subtlety lacks therefore, it’s all on display. He sets my every nerve ending ablaze. From the roots of my hair to my baby toe on each foot, everything is vibrating with uncontrollable excitement. My stomach tilts and turns merely looking at his chest, his coiled, tight stomach, the mouthwatering square jaw line. This is the first time I’ve felt anything even remotely similar to what everyone tells me love is. Confusing it with lust was a concern, until I realized I was holding myself back—standing in my own way. I perceived him as a jerk in the beginning because that’s what I labeled him. My self-doubt wouldn’t let me believe a man like Tahoe would choose a woman like me. Here we are, though. His body inches away from mine, my pulse echoing inside my ears, and my hands reaching up to his shoulders to pull his body against mine.

I want him. I choose him. “I need to see you naked,” he says, breaking the kiss to push up on his arms, his eyes telling me it truly is a need. Naked. Naked. Naked. The word ricochets around my mind as the realness of this hits. He senses the panic, shaking his head. “I can hold myself back. I’m not a complete caveman, Caroline. We’re not having sex tonight. Not yet.”

Biting my lip, the fear slips out. “Why not tonight?” I ask, admiring the veins pulsing on his biceps, and then focus my gaze on his.

“We defined this,” he says, sitting back on his knees, pulling me to sit in front of him, “As something we wanted to take slow. Raise your arms,” he says. Lifting them above my head feels strange, but the feral smile on his face tells me this is going to be fun. He slides my dress over my head in one fluid movement. He tosses it on the chair in the corner of the room without taking his eyes off my body. I planned for this, knowing something like this was going to take place tonight. The bra and panties are matching—a cotton candy pink set.

“You’re perfect,” Tahoe rasps, trailing his fingers over my shoulders and down my arms, his gaze following in their wake.

“But not perfect enough to have sex with?”

He sucks in a noisy breath. “That’s what you think? That I don’t want to rip off those tiny panties and fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week?” He shakes his head, a wide smile on his face. “That’s why I can’t have sex with you tonight, Caroline. I need to ease myself into you. Us. Literally. I want you terribly.”

“Oh,” I say, swallowing hard. “I just assumed you were used to having sex whenever you wanted.”

He slides the bra straps down my arms until my breasts spring free. “I’m not used to having sex with you,” he replies. “Can I kiss you?” His gaze darts up to meet mine. It’s a plea.

I grin, but then his blue eyes dip down to my panties and I understand his meaning. “Yes,” I squeak out. Talk about rounding the bases at warp speed. Tahoe leans over and kisses one nipple and then another. My whole body shudders in pleasure, even my lips tingle. The way he reaches behind my body and unclasps my bra with one hand sends a flood of wetness between my legs. He knows exactly what he’s doing. This is a trait I want in a man. Need in a man. His confidence will rub off on me and I’ll feed off it.

The bulge in the front of his jeans is protruding large and in charge. He’s adjusted it at least half a dozen times since we’ve been in my bedroom. The curiosity is almost too much to bear. “Lay back,” he orders, putting a huge palm on my chest to ease me down.

As he edges nearer, I let my fingers trace the dark blue tattoos etched on his chest and arms. He watches the movement with interest, but I see the goosebumps rise on his skin. “You’re a magician,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss a freckle on my stomach, and then the other two close by. “You do things to me I can’t explain.”

I try to keep my head in the conversation, but with his lips searing against my skin it’s hard to think about anything except what I want. More. More of him. All of him. All over me. Inside me. However I can get him. His kisses make me greedy. “That feels so good,” I say, letting my eyes close.

“Keep them shut. It will feel even better,” he orders.

“Can I touch you?” I ask on a sigh, imagining what he looks like without pants. “I want to touch you too.”

He groans, and my core clenches with need. “Not now.”

When he sucks my nipple the intense feeling of floating hits me in dreamy waves. His tongue flicks the other nipple before closing over it in a lavish kiss. I arch my back and spread my legs further—begging for his attentions elsewhere. “Your skin tastes so good,” Tahoe growls, and then trails his fiery kisses up the side of my neck to my ear. “I’ll never get enough of it.” His tone is a low raspy promise of pleasure.

A tiny noise escapes my mouth and I have to open my eyes, I need to see him right now. His face is close to mine so I take it with both of my hands and bring his lips to mine, pulling him on top of me and in between my legs.

His smile against my lips encourages me more. Raising my hips, I press myself against his steely shaft. It’s hard and although I’m still wearing panties, in this moment, it feels like I’m bare, exposed in every way. “I haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, taking his skin away from mine. The calculating gaze he wears as he touches my legs ties my stomach in knots. Leaning back on his knees, he hooks two fingers into the side of my panties.

I swallow hard and lift my hips as the perfectly selected underwear skim down my legs and land on the floor next to my bed.

I hold my breath as he exhales for what seems like eternity. “When you wear those tiny shorts I think about what this might look like,” he says, touching me lightly, causing me to shiver. He goes on, “Because they leave so little to the imagination,” he admits, shaking his head. “Somehow seeing you right now, just for me, has exceeded all of my wildest dreams.” The dimples next to his smile pop. “Caroline, I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, but I’m glad you think I’m worthy.”

Even through my embarrassment of being naked when he’s not, I smile. “How could you possibly think you’re not worthy?” The question is simple, but my body has so many sensations sliding around, I’ve never been more confused or turned on in my life.

One hand splayed on my upper thigh, the other hand teases me between my legs, small, faint strokes against my clit. “Because I’m not,” he says, flicking his gaze up to meet mine. “As long as you know that.”

I’d tell him anything to keep his fingers moving against me. “I know,” I say, letting out a held breath. Tahoe places a wet kiss on my lower stomach and then down further. His tongue darts out and I watch in awe as his face moves. “Ahhh,” I yell, as the sensation of his mouth on me settles in. My thighs quake with pleasure and the warmth of his presence heats my entire body. The noises of him licking, and his grunts of primal exhalation send my body into overdrive. I grab my hair and close my eyes. This isn’t what I thought it would feel like, it feels so much better. My belly warms as his mouth works, and the tingles start enveloping me as a whole. The muscles in my stomach tighten and coil as the orgasm approaches quicker than I ever thought possible. It’s like he caught the scent of the impending waves, because he licks more furiously, and my toes curl, and everything below my waist explodes—ebbing and flowing in ecstasy. The fireworks behind my eyelids fade to black, and my quickened breathing slows. Leaning up I look at Tahoe’s face, smiling, in between my legs, his lips shining.

“Perfect?” he asks.

I nod. “Brilliantly perfect,” I respond. He wipes his lips on the inside of my thigh before moving up my body.

“These lips. I want to kiss them and your pussy at the same time.” He growls, and then closes the gap between us with a kiss. Clutching around his neck, I ride the waves back down to reality.

“So, how many times can you do that in a row?” I ask, grinning. He kisses me savagely and we bump smiles. “I mean, an average.”

Tahoe chuckles, a throaty, turned-on baritone. “Is that a challenge Caroline May? Cause I’d eat that pussy all night long if it is.” I wrap my legs around his body and raise my hips to press my wet core against his jeans. “You wouldn’t survive coming that many times.”

“Let me return the favor,” I say, leaving my words at the edge of his ear. I kiss his ear and he shudders—his whole body shaking with need.

His whole neck works as he exerts self-control—holding himself at a distance, but his need eats at my awareness, I can taste it in the air. “You know what goes well with an orgasm?” he asks.

“I don’t smoke. You know that,” I counter, pressing my mouth against the rapid pulse on his neck.

He shakes his head, causing my lips and tongue to rub across his neck, back and forth. “Another orgasm,” he deadpans, dragging his fingers up the side of my body.

“That’s witty,” I reply.

“It’s truth,” he deadpans, slipping the hand on my thigh around to between my legs, as he edges his body down. “You’re so wet.” Opening my legs, I give him better access.

And a better view. “My God, your pussy is perfect.” I watch as he looks between my legs with narrowed eyes. “Literally perfect,” he says, confused. “Have you been told that before?”

I open my mouth to respond, but he shakes his head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” He licks his lips, which causes me to fist my comforter. Instead of using his tongue, one finger traces the lips, gliding around with ease. “I feel like I would destroy you,” he admits.

I know it’s a joke, but he has no clue that is a real possibility. “Let me see you,” I order again.

He leans his head to one side. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be naked with you while I still have the taste of you on my tongue and that masterpiece in my presence,” he says, nodding between my legs.

“Come on. Fair is fair. Ladies choice,” I say, trying and failing to wiggle out of his grasp.

He raises one brow. “If you insist. But you don’t have to return the favor, Caroline. That’s not what tonight is about.”

“What if that’s what I want?”

He leans up, and then stands at the foot of my bed. He towers over me and takes up the majority of the space in my bedroom. Leaning up on my elbows, I recognize the blood is rushing around my body in a manic manor, all concentrating at my core. Tahoe kissed a girl and awakened a woman. One that lusts after his sculpted body and whatever he has below the belt. His jeans slide off and pool around his feet. No underwear. That answers my question about boxers or briefs. I’ve seen him in a speedo so I’m not violently shocked by the size of his package, but I admit it’s still stunning, cutting the air in between our bodies, standing straight out in front of him.

Before I can check my emotions, one of my hands flies to cover my mouth as I wide-eyed gape at his manhood. “Oh,” I say around my hand. “That’s big.”

Tahoe laughs. “Big, huh? You know how to stroke a man’s ego.”

I swallow once and let my hand fall. Shaking my head, I say, “I am not stroking your ego, Holiday. It’s enormous,” I exclaim. Then the horrific truth about my virtue flashes in my mine. “Is, is, that a normal size?”

Stepping out of his jeans, he walks toward me, chuckling. “I like this game. Keep going,” he remarks. “Tell me what you want to do with my huge dick.” I’m not sure if it’s possible, but it looks like every single muscle on his body is flexed. The dropped pendant lights in my room shine from above, highlighting every ripple and vein on his body. He’s magnificent.

I scoot closer to the edge of the bed and look up at him. “Tell me what you want me to do with it.”

He flashes a half grin. “You wanted to touch it,” Tahoe says.

Tentatively, I reach out a hand and palm it in my hand. “I can’t even touch my fingers,” I say, surprising even myself.

“Maybe you have small hands,” he replies, holding up one of his palms. With my free hand, I press it against his big one. Mine is small compared to his, but that doesn’t say much given his size.

I stroke his shaft in front of me as he watches every move I make, though he does alternate his gaze to my naked body, and my face every so often. “That feels good,” he says, closing his eyes for a beat or two.

Thank God, I think. “Should I put my mouth on it now?”

A gentle smile appears, but he keeps his eyes closed. “You never have to ask permission to put my dick in your mouth. That’s a firm rule. Consider it in the definition,” he says, sighing.

I let my hand do most of the work, and use my tongue to graze the head, the tiny hole with clear liquid spilling out. It tastes salty, but not really a describable flavor. I hide a grimace.

Tahoe sways on his feet. “Lay down on the bed,” I tell him, pausing my sucking.

“I want to come standing,” he replies. “It feels good this way.”

Is this something I should know? I start to panic and immediately throw myself back in to the act. With my pace steady, it can’t possibly take that long. He made me orgasm in minutes. And easily. But he’s perfect, Caroline. I’m not. So I work harder, letting his hand on my head guide me.

When I feel like my mouth is about to fall off of my face he announces he’s about to come. “Just like that. Keep doing that,” he says, the words broken in gasps.

Then, when I should be expecting it, he comes in my mouth. The strange salty flavor at the start stings my tongue in a mass flood I’m not sure what to do with. My gag reflex won’t let me swallow, but my pride won’t let me spit, so I hold him in my mouth, with the come.

His hands stroke my hair softly, and he pulls my head away. I’d tell him not to if I didn’t have a wad of hot garbage in my mouth, so I suck it all in to avoid dripping anything anywhere.

Sighing, he tilts my head up to look at him. He’s wearing a sleepy, satisfied grin. “Swallow or spit?” he asks, confused. God, is there an option? Shit. A story Shirley once told me erodes my brain, and I do what she did. I push the gelatinous load to the back of my throat and swallow it down. It’s warm sliding down my throat and maybe I keep a disgusted look off my face, but I can’t help the shudder.

Tahoe falls on the bed, pulling me with him. “I never would have pegged you as a swallow girl,” he remarks, kissing me on the forehead.

“I’m, ah, usually not,” I tell him. “Guess I was in the moment.”

“You don’t like giving blow jobs?” he says, it’s less of a question and more of an observation. Maybe I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was.

I clear my throat and get a taste of the remnants. “It tastes weird. I like it.”

He laughs. “Liar. It’s fine. I’d rather eat you out anyways. Can I do it again?”

Maybe that will take my mind off the most embarrassing blow job of all time. “I’ll never say no to that,” I quote him.

Then, he’s on me.

****

When I wake in the morning, Tahoe is gone—the other side of the bed faintly warm. He left a note on my pillow using male chicken scratch. It says three, reassuring words. You are perfect. I smile like a lunatic and hug the crumbled paper to my chest, and then see words written on the back, because I know you won’t check your phone. Back in the real world, I have a job, and friends counting on me. I grab the cell phone from my night stand drawer and fly into the bathroom to crank on the hot water in the shower.

We slept naked last night, which was a test of my self-control, because even after the last orgasm had been rung from my body, I wanted to mount him like a stallion and claim him completely. It was an out of body experience. I didn’t feel like me. I feel new. He gave me a piece of myself I didn’t know I was missing. The phone lights to life and his text message pops up on the screen. Last night was the best night of my life. Another message chimes a second later. In case you didn’t see my note…you are perfect. My heart skips a beat. I hear I love you, inside those three words and I wonder if that’s his intent. It’s scary and exciting, and everything in my life is being tilted all at once in another direction. I’m at the B&B this morning before I head in to work. I hired a contractor to get some of the demo finished while I’m we’re NYC. Is that cheating? The message pops on my screen moments before I step into the steaming shower.

I type back. Hiring demo help isn’t cheating. I guess…because you are busy saving the world and stuff. I’ll be splitting my time between the office and the garage today. Call me if you need help. I hit send.

I had to borrow your bicycle. Well, I guess he would have to.

I tap back. Don’t break it, beast.

I’m getting into the shower. I tell him. Because it’s a fact. The secondary meaning to that statement rushes ahead and I wish I could take it back. I’m not a forward woman. Southern women are raised to be mild mannered and well behaved. Telling a man I’m naked and about to wash myself is bad form. Last night I broke about seventy-five rules for the southern lady, so I shouldn’t get red cheeked now. I make a mental reminder to talk to Shirley about the art of blow jobs, and get into the shower.

Memories from the night before trickle in and the warmth spreads across my body so quickly, I’m hot before my hair is even wet. He said it was perfect, but my stomach knots when I think about his huge shaft in my mouth. How is that supposed to fit inside me?

Taking the bottle of honeysuckle scented body wash from the shelf I pour some into my hands and lather them together before working them over my legs, arms, my neck—washing away his kisses. Then I let my fingers gently glide between my legs. I’m still sore from his fingers working me over and over. I’m still wet, more than ready, and it is doubtful that desire is going anywhere until he’s satiated me. Tentatively, I slip one fingertip into my slick entrance. “There’s no way it’s going to fit. No way,” I say out loud. Water and soapy bubbles cascade down my body as I try to perform fuzzy math. His dick is too big. Shaking my head I resolve to talk to Shirley about that, too. While one of my other friends, Malena perhaps, might have more delicate sex advice, Shirley is the only person I want knowing about my extracurricular activities. It’s my only fair chance of keeping my business off the town radar while still getting the knowledge I need.

Once I’m downstairs in the office sorting through paperwork and returning emails, the land line rings. I recognize her number right away.

“What took you so long to call me back,” I ask. “What if I was in trouble?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Ease off the volume button, girl. I, ah, just got my phone back. I left it somewhere last night.”

Rolling my eyes, I wind the coiled cord around my finger. “Whose house was it last night, Shirl?”

“Caleb,” she says, sighing.

“Again? That’s the third time in one week. What’s going on between you two? I thought you weren’t interested in him in that way?”

“What way?”

“More than sex,” I reply.

She grunts. “Its good sex so it’s nice when I forget my phone. I can wake up and get a little action. Speaking of,” she says, her sentence trailing off. “You mentioned in the voicemail, you needed some advice. The only reason you’d want my advice is if it was something you don’t know about. Let’s face it. You know everything. Except for one area of inexperience. Did. You. Fuck. That. Beautiful. Man?”

Cringing, I debate talking to someone else, but she is right. She knows things I don’t. Things I need to know. “No!” I exclaim, cradling the phone between my ear and neck so I can pick up my chiming cell phone. “Maybe we should talk about this in person. We had dinner with my parents last night.”

“And what happened after?” She goes straight for the jugular. It’s exhausting.

“He invited me to go to New York City with him before his mission.”

“You bitch. I hate you,” Shirley crows. “When?”

I tell her the details I’m sure of and explain how my parents now approve of him. It kind of spills out and I know this is how rumors start, how the amazing things in one’s life turn into something awful and callous because it doesn’t exist in someone else’s, but I can’t help myself. Shirley eats up every single word. She asks about the Homer property and I tell her about the plans he has finalized and the work that’s being done as we speak.

“It seems everything is perfect for you, Caroline.” She emphasizes the word perfect because I told her what he said about me. For the most part she does seem happy for me, though I know what will happen next even if she is my best friend. Whatever Tahoe and I have won’t be ours anymore. It will belong to Bronze Bay.

I clear my throat. “Please don’t tell anyone, Shirl. We are taking things slow.”

Her eye roll can be heard through the phone line. “What did you have to ask me?”

Tahoe texts me again and I thumb a button to clear the screen. “Tell me how to give a proper blow job, Shirley. Don’t leave out any details. I mean, I think I did it right because he…came, but what are the rules? Are there rules? Swallow, spit? Standing, sitting, laying down? These are the things I need you to tell me and so help me, God, Shirley you better not make fun of me. I called you because I knew you would give it to me straight. No bullshit.”

Shirley’s laughter overshadows another small ping on my cell phone. I hit another button to try to clear the screen but it seems to have sent a message instead.

“Shirley,” I croak, reality setting in.

She pauses long enough to ask what else I want to know. “I just sent him a voice message.”

Her laughter rings out again, louder this time. “Everything I just said. Can I delete it before he opens it?” As I say it I notice the message says, Read underneath it. “Oh my gosh! This is worse than me asking for blow job advice to begin with. Now he knows I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Honey, chances are last night he knew you didn’t know what you were doing,” she replies. “Are you ready? I’m going to give you the rundown. Get a notepad and some paper, I have a shift in an hour.”

My cheeks redden and my stomach flips as I wait for his reply. “Ha-Ha. Don’t make jokes. Just tell me,” I say. No reply comes.

I’d never admit it to Shirley, but I do jot down notes as she rambles on about the finer nuances of sucking the male cock.

I don’t want to forget.