Her Achilles’ heel was being told she was pretty. Not just pretty, so pretty. Maggie wasn’t used to that. People didn’t say that to her. They said things like, Of course you’re pretty, Maggie, and You’re a very attractive woman. She was ordinary. Not homely, certainly not ugly. But there was nothing special about her looks—brown hair, brown eyes, five-nine, straight teeth. She was always picked first in sports for teams but if there was a school play, she got the part of the aunt or sister while those achingly beautiful girls played Blanche or Cinderella. Those girls who would grow up to work as princesses.
His hands on her were so delicious; his mouth was heaven. He was determined to take his time, stroking and caressing slowly. She moaned and squirmed beneath him, the craving building, but he just hummed as he kissed, sucked, licked, nibbled, caressed. Somehow, he knew exactly how to touch her, how to titillate with his lips and tongue. He brought her nipples to life with those excellent lips. Then he kissed his way down over her belly and between her legs, his miraculous tongue torturing her for a little while as she gritted her teeth to stay quiet, gripping his shoulders. Then he kissed his way back up to her mouth.
“I think I could do this for a living,” he said. “You really turn me on.”
“I’m ready for you to get going here,” she said.
He laughed. “Are you now? You sure you want it bad enough?”
“I’m sure,” she said, running her hands down his smooth back, over his muscled butt. “I think you have a better butt than I do,” she said.
“Not possible. Your butt knocks me out.” He reached down and fumbled around under the cot. She heard him rummaging and he came up with a condom.
“That was convenient,” she whispered.
“My shaving kit,” he said. He knelt between her legs and looked down at her. “Maggie,” he said in a breath. “Look at you. So lovely. Ready for love.” He ran one finger from the hollow at the base of her throat down her body, over her breastbone, over her navel, over her pubis. He gave her clitoris a brief tease, then lowered himself into her. “Whoa,” he said in appreciation. “God, that’s good.”
“Good,” she agreed softly.
With his mouth on hers, his hands on her hips, he slowly rocked with her, gradually setting a pace that grew deeper and deeper, harder and faster. She pushed back against him, embracing him and kissing him wildly, little whimpers of hunger escaping her until before long she froze, lifting off the cot, lifting him in her sudden strength, and she clenched as she came with heat and power. While her insides gripped and quivered he emitted a deep groan and she felt him throbbing inside her. As she was coming down from the experience, he began to move, ramping her up again, making her come again. He was limited to the one, however—so sad for the man, she abstractly thought as she indulged a second orgasm, almost as good as the first.
Then she collapsed beneath him, weak and satisfied. “Oh, Calder,” she finally said. “That was amazing.”
He chuckled and ran a knuckle over her cheek, giving her bruised lips little pecks.
“Did we rock the tent?” she asked.
“Who cares? I don’t care. I’d be happy to rock this camper all night, entertain the neighbors.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t stay all night. The bed is too small, for one thing.”
“You can stay a little while, till I get a second wind. I’m not like some people, on a hair trigger and able to throw out an orgasm a minute. That’s a very neat trick, by the way. I bet I enjoyed that as much as you did.”
“Highly doubtful,” she said. She rubbed her hands over his shoulders. “You’re very good at that, like a man with tons of practice. Lucky for you I have to stay right here until my bones grow back.”
“We came together like old pros,” he pointed out. “Like lovers with a routine. I love that. It’s kind of kismet, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she muttered. She ran her hands over his chest. “You’re so smooth. I never saw this coming...”
“You didn’t?” he asked. “The second I saw you I knew we’d end up like this. Waiting for you was hard.” He moved a little inside her. “It’s hard again...”
“You don’t have to wait now, Caleb,” she said.
Every man has a property in his own person.
This nobody has a right to but himself.
—John Locke
Chapter 6
Maggie had no idea how long Sully had been up when she finally rolled out of bed at seven thirty....on about four hours of sleep. She stumbled to the bathroom and purposely didn’t look in the mirror, a little afraid she’d see Cal’s brand on her. She started the shower and got in while it was still cold.
Holy mother of pearl, what a night that was. He was an amazing lover. But also, he was such a sweet, smart, funny man. Of course he had to be some strange duck who was taking six months off to do odd jobs and camp. He couldn’t be some ordinary, stable, reliable person, like a truck driver or forest ranger. But then, what type of man did she think she could have a comfortable fit with? Sergei, the Ukrainian artist, had been a disaster. Andrew, the doctor, should’ve worked—they had so many things in common—and it had been a worse disaster.