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
A sudden chill shot through me, freezing the warmth that had enveloped us just seconds before. Love? Those three words echoed in my mind, igniting a panic I didn't want to acknowledge. Why was she saying that? What the hell was I doing? I had never planned for this; I was supposed to be in control, and now she was turning everything upside down.
I pulled back abruptly, a wall of ice forming between us. "Get dressed," I commanded, my voice suddenly cold and devoid of the warmth we'd just shared.
Confusion flickered in her eyes, but she complied, her expression morphing from blissful ecstasy to hurt in an instant. I felt a sharp pang of regret, but I pushed it down, not wanting to linger on the moment, not wanting to face the implications of what had just happened.
As we drove away from the party, the silence felt suffocating. Esmeralda tried to bridge the gap, her voice trembling as she asked, "Caleb, what just happened? Are you okay?"
I offered nothing but short, clipped responses, my mind racing. "I'm fine."
She pressed, "You don't sound fine. What do you mean by that?"
"I said I'm fine," I snapped, my tone harsher than intended.
The hurt in her eyes cut deep, and I could see the confusion clouding her face. She was trying to understand, to connect, and I was pushing her away. I could feel her pain, but I couldn't let it in. I had to be cold; I had to shut it down before it consumed me entirely.
Every glance I stole her way revealed the vulnerability she tried to hide. "Caleb, please..." she started again, but I ignored her, focusing on the road ahead, trying to suppress the questions swirling in my mind.
The drive home was agonizingly quiet, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. I dropped her off, watching her small frame retreat into the shadows of her home, the weight of my actions crashing down on me.
"Goodnight, Esme," I managed to say, my voice lacking any warmth.
She turned back, her eyes searching mine for answers I was too afraid to give. "Goodnight, Caleb," she replied softly, but there was a tremor in her voice, a fracture I had created that felt irreversible.
As she disappeared through the door, I couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between us. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, wrestling with the turmoil inside. What had I done? And why was I even questioning it now? I had crossed a line, and the consequences were far more complicated than I'd ever anticipated.
I sat in the car for a moment longer, the engine idling, the night around me quiet except for the distant sound of party-goers still reveling in the chaos I had left behind. The thrill of what we'd just done clashed violently with the sinking realization of how much I had let myself slip.
Esmeralda's words echoed in my mind: I love you.
I slammed my palm against the steering wheel, the sharp sound cutting through the silence like a knife. Love? Was I really the kind of guy who could inspire that kind of emotion in someone? Especially her? I'd always seen myself as a force of chaos, a bad boy playing a dangerous game. Love was something that could get you killed.
I couldn't shake the feeling that I was losing my grip on the very thing I thought defined me. And now, I was tangled in this web of lust and something deeper—something I didn't want to admit. I ran a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling inside me. I had always controlled my world, but with Esmeralda, everything felt different.
As I drove away, the streets passing by in a blur, I couldn't help but replay our encounter in vivid detail. The way she'd responded to me, the way her body had felt wrapped around mine—it had ignited something primal inside me. But I couldn't ignore the implications.
I arrived at my apartment, the dull thud of my heartbeat echoing in the silence as I stepped inside. I poured myself a drink, hoping the burn of alcohol would dull the chaos swirling in my head. But as I took a swig, all I could see was her face, illuminated by the car's interior light, her eyes filled with need and trust.
I wanted to bury the feelings, to shove them down deep and forget this had ever happened. I had always been the predator, never the prey. But the way she had looked at me, so open and vulnerable, made me question everything.
After a few drinks, I decided to check my phone. I half-hoped she'd messaged me, needing reassurance or wanting to talk. Nothing. Just a couple of notifications from my crew, updates on the usual bullshit. I tossed the phone onto the couch, letting out a frustrated growl.
It wasn't until I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, that I realized how much I was torturing myself. Every thought of Esmeralda made my chest tighten. I had created a rift between us, and I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me. I could have explained; I could have reassured her. But instead, I had chosen to shut her out.
What the hell was I doing?
Sleep came fitfully, my mind replaying every moment with her, every spark of chemistry we shared. Each replay only solidified the fact that I had a choice. I could either continue down this path of denial, letting the darkness consume me, or I could confront the feelings I was starting to recognize.
But what if I let her in? What if I exposed the side of me that craved her, that wanted more than just physical pleasure? Wouldn't that put her at risk?
The thought of her getting hurt because of me sent a jolt of panic through my veins. I had seen too much, been through too much. And I'd never let anyone close enough to be a casualty of my life.
The next morning, I woke up feeling hungover—not just from the alcohol, but from the weight of my choices. I needed to clear my head, to sort through the mess I had made.
I found myself staring at my phone again, my finger hovering over her contact. I knew I should reach out. I could apologize, explain myself, but the words felt heavy and stuck in my throat.
Instead, I pulled on a T-shirt and headed out for a run, hoping the physical exertion would help me burn off the confusion and turmoil.
As I ran through the streets, the crisp morning air biting at my skin, I tried to focus on the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement. But all I could see was her smile, the way her body had moved beneath mine, the way she had laughed and teased me.
By the time I returned home, the sun was high in the sky, and I was drenched in sweat but still felt restless. I couldn't avoid the inevitable any longer. I needed to talk to her, to face the chaos I had created.
With a deep breath, I picked up my phone again, finally typing out a message.
Can we talk?
As I hit send, I felt a mix of hope and dread. I knew that whatever happened next would change everything. I was standing at the edge, and I had to decide whether to leap or retreat back into the safety of my solitude.
The minutes stretched into an eternity as I waited for her response, each second heightening the tension in my chest. When my phone buzzed, I snatched it up, my heart racing.
Sure. When?
There was no backing out now. I was in this deep, and it was time to confront what lay beneath the surface. Time to find out if I could truly handle what it meant to care for someone beyond the chaos I had always known.
