The Summer I Saved You (The Summer #2)(51)

“Fuck yes,” he hisses. I wake—I’m not dreaming after all.

“Caleb—” I whisper.

He pushes his fingers inside me again, more forcefully this time, and I mean to repeat my normal warnings except...I’m strung so tight that I no longer have the air to speak. He does it again, his tongue still flickering, and there’s a sharp pulse in my belly, the muscles contracting hard. I cry out, and even as some distant part of my brain still wants to insist to him that I won’t finish...I am.

The world goes black and explodes while his tongue and fingers move faster, harder, never letting up until my body goes slack beneath him.

“Oh my God.” I’m breathless and really can’t come up with any other words. My eyes open to stare at him in astonishment. “Oh my God.”

I expect him to laugh, to say I told you so, but he does not. He climbs up, looms over me, his face feral and desperate. “Are you ready for me?” he growls, and when I nod, he guides himself in, one hand pressed to the bed beside me, his groan drowning out my own.



HE LEAVES at daybreak for the office, and the next time I wake, the world has never been more beautiful. The lake has never shimmered as much as it is, the breeze through the window has never been more pleasant, life has never seemed this hopeful.

The twins arrive, and as my arms wrap around them, I’d swear nothing can dim my joy—until Jeremy’s shadow looms over us.

“What did you do last night?” he demands.

I feel...conspicuous. My lips are still kiss-swollen, my entire body deliciously well-used. Does some trace of Caleb remain? I have to resist the urge to wipe my mouth, to check my neck for bruises.

I climb to my feet. “What?”

“Did I stutter?” he asks. “What. Did. You. Do. Last. Night?”

I place my hands on the twins’ heads. “Guys, run inside while I talk to your dad.”

I wait until I’ve seen them go inside before I reply.

“If you have something you want to address with me,” I tell him, “don’t do it in front of the twins.”

“Or what? You’ll run and cry to your lawyer? Good luck with that.”

“They shouldn’t have to witness us arguing. I’m asking this on their behalf, not mine.”

“And I’m asking their mother not to look like a fucking whore when I drop the kids off to her in the morning. Also on their behalf.”

I turn away, ending the conversation, but the rage in his eyes has my heart beating hard.

He seems to know something, and I’m not sure what it is, but the more important question is how he’d know it. He’s never been inside the house, so I doubt he’s placed a camera somewhere. Harrison warned me a week ago to be careful what I said via text in case Jeremy was monitoring my phone, but it’s not as if Caleb or I knew last night would unfold the way it did, much less text about it.

I wish I could call Caleb and ask him, but…I’m still not sure what we are, exactly. He said he would try. Does that make him my boyfriend or simply a guy who’s open to the possibility? Does that mean it’s okay for me to text him when he’s at work, or is that a step too far? All relationships are ill-defined at the start, but the fact that he’s moving this fall makes it a little harder than it would have been.

The day passes in silence. The kids are already in bed and I’m shutting off the lights when there’s a tap on the back door. I turn the knob and find myself pressed against Caleb, my nose to the soft fabric of his t-shirt, breathing in his soap. It’s hard to worry about anything when he’s wrapped around me, as if I’m all he’s thought of since he left. It’s hard to worry that he’s moving when he’s here right now—and already hard.

My spine settles as he twines his fingers through mine as he pulls me to the double chaise. We sit beside each other, closer than we should with the twins upstairs. His arm wraps around my shoulders, and I let my head rest on his chest.

“I think my productivity was cut in half today,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I thought about last night at least once a minute.”

I smile. “It was pretty spectacular. Your tongue is magical.”

He grins. “Not magical. Gifted, perhaps.” He runs a hand through my hair. “You do realize it had very little to do with me, right? All I did was catch you when you weren’t in your own head, worrying about shit.”

“So, what I hear you saying is that any man could have made me come like that. Any man in the world.”

“No,” he growls, pulling me into his lap. “You’re right. It was entirely because of me. I’ll prove it right here.”

My lips brush over his. “I’m not sure how we’d explain that to the twins if they come downstairs.”

He laughs. “There’s no story we could make up that Sophie would believe anyway.”

I kiss him again, relishing the warmth of his hands, his end-of-day scruff grazing my skin. I lose myself in it. I allow it to turn sloppy and desperate, with his fingers digging into my ass, his cock rigid between my legs.

“God, I wish I wasn’t traveling again,” he says against my lips. “Give me the cottage phone number so I can at least call you.”

“When do you leave?” I ask, as his palm slides into my shirt.