Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Caleb can’t be here.
He’s in New Jersey.
Isn’t he?
My dreamlike trance augments when the thumping music dulls enough for me to hear Caleb whisper, “Hey, Jessie,” in my ear a second before he drags his hand down the front of my body and glues his crotch to the back of my head.
As he grinds, twists, and dances around me like he’s performing for one, I stare at him opened-mouth and unblinking. The only time my mouth closes is when I’m plucked from my seat, twirled around to face it, then banged from behind in rhythm to the sexual tempo of the music.
I can’t moan God’s name in vain anymore, but I can scream it on repeat in my head while loosening my tight muscles so Caleb can bend, twist, and maneuver me in any position he likes.
It is a riveting performance that has me perspiring as much as Caleb.
Not all my wetness is sweat though, and Caleb knows this. After burying his head between my legs with more determination than he did during any of his previous performances, he locks his eyes with mine before smiling a grin that will stay with me for a thousand years. He’s loving this as much as me, and I’ve never seen him so comfortable in his own skin.
Undeniable proof of this is exposed when he ends his performance with his backside on the chair that started it and me straddling his lap. This is usually the part where the lights go out and cheers for more commence, but instead of that occurring, Caleb unties the satin strip binding my wrists, stares into my eyes, then flattens my hands on his sweaty chest.
This is huge for him.
It is mammoth.
But before a single tear of shock can fall from my eyes, the stage lights plummet the club into blackness, I’m placed back onto my feet, and Caleb disappears between the curtains, not to be seen again for the remainder of the night.
CHAPTER 54
JESS
When my alarm clock hollers into my ears, I groan into my pillow before attempting to shut it off. They need to make the stop buttons on iPhones bigger. It takes me tossing my phone across the room for it to shut up, and even then, it is too late. Heidi enters my room with a large mug of coffee and a smile way too big for this early on a Sunday morning.
“Good morning, Sunshine. It is time to wake up.”
“It’s Sunday, and I’m tired, so can’t I stay in bed?”
She kills my mojo by pulling open my curtains. “You’re only tired because you spent half the night looking for Caleb.”
I sit up so quickly, I don’t do my woozy head any favors. “Because he was there, grinding his crotch in my face… right?”
I’m certain I didn’t imagine Caleb’s performance last night, but every time I bring it up, the subject gets changed.
Such as now. “Are you still a greasy breakfast girl or have you switched to ‘strong brews only please?’”
I answer her by demanding she hand over her mug.
After scorching my tongue on the almost black concoction, I scoot up my bed until my back is braced on the headboard, then stare out at the sunny day. The picturesque view is dreamy, and it has me wondering if last night was a figment of my imagination.
“Perhaps I’m dead, and last night was my induction to heaven.”
Heidi laughs. “Don’t let your father hear you think a crazily hot romp by a stripper is the gateway to heaven, or he’ll make you attend church every day instead of the measly once-a-month obligatory attendance you somehow got signed up for.” When I stare at her with my mouth gaped and my eyes bulged, she checks her face in the mirror that busted my ruse that I wasn’t hankering to contact Caleb. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“Yeah… egg. You just said a crazily hot stripper romp!” I dump my coffee onto the bedside table before tackling my deceitful friend onto the mattress. Once I have her legs pinned with my thighs and her wrists contained with one hand, I demand, “Spill the beans. Now.”
“I don’t—”
I torture her until she screams something about women with newborn babies not being able to be tickled without peeing themselves.
“Then you better get talking, or Samuel will be changing more than Holly-Marie’s diaper this morning.”
I hold my finger half an inch from her ribs for three painfully long seconds before she finally caves. “He asked us not to say anything.”
“He?” I know who she is referencing. I am merely checking how authentic her claims are that new mothers have weak bladders.
It is another item I can add to my I-never-want-kids list.
The quickness of her fold reveals her statement is accurate. “Caleb. He called you yesterday afternoon when you were in the shower. I told him you were busy. That you were on a date.”