Free Tell Me a Story (The Story Series Book 1) by Tamara Lush Page B

girl. I’ve seen where you come from and understand why you don’t want to embrace it. But how do you expect to have a fulfilling relationship with Caleb, or any dude, if you don’t open up to him and tell him what’s going on in your life, both past and present?”
    “Who says this is a relationship?” I snapped. “Who says it’s not just sex?”
    Sarah rolled her eyes. Of course, if it was only sex, I was having a difficult time convincing myself of that.

10
    S omehow , the next week and a half was even more perfect, at least when it came to Caleb. We got to know each other, slowly. We had sex, too. Lots of it. Dirty and sweet and teasing and increasingly rough. But we balanced it by talking and laughing. He took me to lunch and walked with me around Lake Eola, where he kissed me softly under a red Chinese pagoda.
    “Did you know this lake is actually a sinkhole?” he asked as I nibbled on his neck.
    “Mmm,” I responded, thinking of how I was sinking fast into the unknown, all because of his charms. Too fast.
    One day, he even left work and came to my house at lunchtime to assemble a huge cat tree I’d received via UPS.
    “There,” he said, positioning the nine-foot-tall, green-carpeted tree in the corner of my guest room. “Higgins will love that. Okay, I need to get back to the office.”
    I kissed him, tracing his bottom lip with my tongue, thrilled that he remembered the name of my kitty.
    He growled. “Don’t start, doll. I have a meeting in an hour and a half, and you know how I like to be early for things.”
    “You are so punctual,” I murmured. “But your office is five minutes away. Relax.”
    I sank to my knees and showed him how to relax by unzipping his fly and taking out his cock, sucking and teasing until he was rock hard. Once he got over the surprise and stopped protesting weakly about needing to return to work, he fisted both hands in my hair and pulled, then shoved himself into my mouth. His primitive movements were making me wet, and I groaned.
    “You like it when I get rough, don’t you?”
    I looked up and nodded while teasing my tongue around the tip of his cock, swirling a fresh drop of his fluid around the head.
    “How rough do you want me to be?”
    I rose, pulling up his pants and zipping them, then rubbed my body against his. “You want to find out? Chase me, and if you catch me, you’re allowed to fuck me as hard and rough as you want.”
    I shot him a come-hither smile, then darted off, giddy that he’d play this game. Of course, I allowed him to capture me, and he seized me roughly and spun me around, slamming me against the hallway wall and pinning me with his broad chest. He was still wearing his white Oxford and charcoal suit pants.
    “Is this what you want?” he growled, reaching under my dress and ripping my lace panties into shreds.
    “Yes,” I cried. I pretended to struggle, and he parted my legs with his knee. His hand went in between my legs and his fingers roughly claimed the spot where I was throbbing and desperate.
    “Look at how wet you are. You wanted this, didn’t you?” he muttered.
    He was so much bigger than me that it was a cinch for him to control my body with his, and this made me breathe harder. I whimpered when he stopped stroking me.
    “This,” he said, ripping at my yellow dress, sending the buttons in front pinging everywhere, “has to come off.” My bra quickly followed and I dimly realized that my entire outfit was in tatters. I didn’t care because the pleasure eclipsed the destruction.
    He pressed his body into mine and roughly slid two fingers inside of me, making me moan loud. I noticed that he was panting. I was, too, and when he took his fingers out of me and rubbed my clit, I exploded, my naked body clinging to his clothed one. He’d made me come so hard that I was unable to stand.
    I was still pulsing from my orgasm when he tugged me onto the floor, took a condom out of his pocket, unzipped his pants, and sheathed