“That’s a sight,” he said softly, “that I could happily watch until the end of time.”
Lillian straightened, the embarrassment fading but leaving her a bit more collected. “I think there’d be some friction issues long before then.”
He laughed, looking startled. Lillian was struck by the joy she felt at the sight of it; she wanted to see that again.
But maybe not right this second. The laugh faded into that same sharp-edged warmth she’d seen before, although now it was more restrained. Leashed. Lillian had the sense, as she’d had when she first met him, that Cal always kept himself very well in hand.
She wondered what he was like when he let go.
Maybe she could find out.
Right now, though, he was contained and careful. “I want you to know,” he said, “that I only want to do what you’re comfortable with. We could stop right now if you’d rather—”
“No,” Lillian interrupted, embarrassment returning for a second at her own vehemence.
But Cal just smiled. “Okay, I admit I’m happier to hear that than I would’ve been if you’d wanted to stop. But if you do want to stop, ever, at any point. No matter what, no matter when. Just say so, and we will. I want you to be sure.”
Lillian nodded. “I’m sure,” she said, pulling him down into another kiss.
She didn’t want to talk about it for too long. She didn’t know why she was so sure, and she was afraid if she examined it for too long, the surety would fall apart into a pile of doubts and insecurities.
This felt so good. So right. She hadn’t felt this good about anything for so, so long, and she just wanted to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.
Cal kissed her back, hard, and then pulled away again. “Okay,” he said. “Then I want you somewhere more comfortable than the kitchen.”
Lillian’s instinct was to protest moving—to protest doing anything other than what they’d been doing. But, well, it made sense. “Upstairs?” she asked tentatively.
As an answer, Cal held out his hand. Lillian took it, feeling silly about it for all of two seconds until her hand was absolutely engulfed by his.
His fingers were warm and rough. A working man’s hand, calloused and strong. She wondered what it would feel like on her body. Or inside her—
She shook the thought off, her cheeks hot with more than embarrassment now, and followed him up the stairs.
The bedroom took up the entire second floor, the ceiling sloping up into a pointed roof. The bed was enormous, and covered in a huge, soft-looking duvet. Lillian thought of her own bed at home—her old child’s bed, a sad twin with an old flowered comforter that was losing its stuffing—and wanted to just fall on it and starfish herself out.
That idea sent almost as much of a thrill through her as the kiss had. God, she wasn’t like this. Hedonistic. She’d been sacrificing pleasure for practicality for so long, she was surprised she still remembered what pleasure was even like.
“I like that look on you,” Cal rumbled softly behind her.
She looked over at him. “What look?”
“Happy,” he said, and kissed her softly.
This kiss was more tender than the ones in the kitchen had been, but somehow no less intimate, or arousing. It was like Cal was reaching inside her, finding the parts of her she’d locked down long ago and holding them close to himself. Lillian could feel her whole body opening to him as her mouth did.
She was full of this...grasping ache, this need to have him as close as possible. Hungry. She was hungry.
He slipped his hands under the hem of her shirt to stroke his skin. The roughness of his callouses on the soft skin of her sides was just as arousing as she’d thought it would be. She gasped into his mouth as he moved his hands slowly upward, lifting her shirt as he went, until he broke the kiss and Lillian had to raise her arms to let the shirt come over her head.
Then her shirt was off, and she looked down at herself, her eyes catching on the heaviness of her breasts, the roundness of her belly.
Cold reality started to creep in. She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Hadn’t she just been this hungry, uninhibited creature? But she couldn’t chase away the self-consciousness.
“Look at you,” Cal said.
“I don’t—I’m not—” Lillian stumbled over her words. How to say to this gorgeous man, who’d probably never been out of shape a day in his life, that her body had never been a source of pride to her? She wasn’t in her twenties anymore, and she’d always weighed too much anyway. There was a reason she dressed like—well, like a librarian. A reasonably stylish librarian, but still. She wore high-necked shirts and full skirts, her body tucked away from anyone who might catch a glimpse of it.
But Cal was looking at it now like he was the hungry one.