Without warning, I reached down and gave her ass a hard smack.
"That's for spray painting my car," I said.
Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. "You're such a caveman."
"Caveman? How about this?" I said, smacking her...
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CALEB'S POV
What the fuck am I doing?
I lay there, my body stiff, my mind a storm of chaos while Esme curled up against me, completely unaware of the war she'd just started inside me. Her breath was slow, steady, her soft body molded against mine like she belonged there. And maybe that was the worst fucking part—how right it felt. How much I liked it.
That wasn't me.
I wasn't the guy who held women after fucking them. I wasn't the guy who let them stay the night. I wasn't the guy who ran his fingers absentmindedly down their back while they slept, memorizing every curve, every breath. But here I was, doing all of it like some whipped bastard who'd lost his goddamn mind.
I should have left the second she fell asleep. Should've gotten up, put distance between us before this turned into something it wasn't supposed to be.
But I didn't.
Because, for the first time in forever, I didn't want to.
And that realization hit me harder than any punch Trevor had ever thrown at me.
She shifted slightly, her face nuzzling into my chest, and my entire fucking world narrowed down to that single point of contact—her lips barely brushing against my skin, the warmth of her breath sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
I clenched my jaw, my muscles locking tight.
I couldn't do this.
I wasn't built for this.
Esme wasn't just any girl. She was Trevor's sister. My step-sister. She was off-limits in every possible way, and yet I kept going back, kept taking more like a man who had no self-control.
Because with her... I didn't have any.
This wasn't me. I didn't cuddle. I didn't care.
I was ruthless. Calculated. The bastard who never let emotions get in the way. My world was made of blood, power, and dominance—not stolen moments in the dark where I forgot who the fuck I was.
But Esme?
She was fucking dangerous.
Not because she had any real power. Not because she had any control over me.
But because she made me feel.
And feelings? They got people killed.
I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair, my fingers itching to push her away—to break this moment before it cracked me wide open.
But I couldn't.
Not when she was sleeping so soundly, like she trusted me.
