I know it’s wrong.
I know I should fight it.
But I don’t think I can.
Chapter Seven
Kelly
I sit crossed-legged in bed with my sketch pad open in my lap. The sun has set and I’ve got my curtains open to let in the clear night sky, marred a little by the city’s light pollution, but otherwise beautiful and glowing with inspiration.
I try to focus on transferring the brilliant landscape to the page, but everything feels too sensitive, too close, as though reality could collapse on me at any second.
Even after I’ve showered, I can’t get the thought of mine and Kaleb’s kiss out of my head.
My lips burn with the phantom contact, my body tingling when I remember how he crushed me against his body and growled that he was going to bend me over and fuck me raw.
My clit pulses and begs to be touched.
Deep inside of me, my womb screams out for Kaleb, begging me to throw my sketch pad aside and drive over to his apartment.
I know where he lives, assuming he hasn’t moved since Natalie and I were teenagers.
But how would he react if I showed up out of the blue?
His eyes filled with deep hate when he saw the background on my phone when he saw me and his daughter smiling in the selfie, and he remembered who I was.
I can’t imagine him reacting any better if I turn up unannounced.
I sigh, part of me wishing Mom was here so I could discuss it with her. But she’s out tonight, staying at a hotel with a few of her writer friends. They like to get tipsy and discuss their craft every few weeks, and I usually relish the time alone in the apartment.
But right now it feels too empty without Kaleb here to fill it, to let me know it’s all going to be okay, that he’s not angry.
He wants me as badly as I want him.
I didn’t imagine that, did I?
He spoke so fiercely, so possessively.
It was crazy because, to him, we’d only just met.
Is he like that with every virtual stranger?
I’m jolted from my thoughts when the apartment buzzer blares, making me wonder who the heck would be visiting at this hour. Natalie always texts if she’s swinging by, and I haven’t ordered any food.
I place my sketch pad aside and pull my bathrobe tighter around my body. I’m naked underneath and the fabric grazes my nipples, making them tingle.
I imagine it’s Kaleb’s hands causing the sensation instead, moving over me with captivating lust, with the primal need that fueled his words back at the photography studio.
I press the intercom button. “Yes, hello?”
“It’s me.” My heart picks up speed. His voice is even gruffer through the intercom. “Buzz me in, Kelly.”
“Um, yes. Yes. Okay.”
It’s all I can think to say as the nerves swirl through me, as they make cascading patterns all through my body, taunting, and teasing.
I press the button to let him up and then look around the open-plan apartment. In the corner, there’s an easel atop a bunch of newspapers from where I’ve tried my hand at watercolors. The coffee table is stacked with Mom’s latest manuscript, and there are a bunch of dishes in the kitchen since that’s my job and I was so freaking distracted when I got in.
I’m just thinking about how I should probably change when there’s a heavy knock at the door, unmistakably Kaleb. He pounds the door like he’s ready to kick it down any second.
What should I do, quickly change?
But I can’t imagine he’s going to want to come inside.
He probably came here to tell me we need to forget about what happened and to let me know how angry he is that I gave him a fake name.
I walk over to the door, unlock it, and then pull it open a few inches, poking my head around the gap, ready to have a terse exchange that ends in heartbreak.
But the moment I open it, Kaleb strides inside, pushing past me. I close the door behind him and turn to find him standing with his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his gleaming eyes pinning me in place.
He’s wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing his throbbing forearms, his shirt struggling to contain his heaving chest muscles.
“Where’s your mother?” he growls.
“Not here.” My voice comes out wavering, almost a whimper, as I cringe under the massiveness of him. “I’m alone.”
“Fuck,” he says, with a note of savage resignation in his voice, like the only thing he can do is what he does…
He stalks over to me and grabs my shoulders, shoving me softly up against the door and leaning down to bring his lips to mine. I gasp as I feel the sweet roughness of him again, opening my mouth so I can taste him, my man, the alpha I’ve fantasized about so many times.