Free Even Odds by Elia Winters

smell and his warmth, and it was surprisingly easy to forget that she’d just met him that same day.
    Caleb’s hand skimmed along the outside of her leg and pulled, lifting her leg to hook her knee over his hip. His erection pressed into her lower belly, hard and urgent, and the arousal swimming through her felt stronger than any alcohol. He bent slightly to press that hardness against her, and even through their jeans, she felt an answering spike of adrenaline. He began nipping at her collarbone, exposed over the neckline of her tank top. He hoisted her up slightly with both hands on her ass, and she felt the overwhelming sensation of dizziness and arousal and excitement, hands tightening on the fabric of his shirt.
    â€œYou’re gorgeous,” he said against her lips, grinding against her again. Isabel wanted to reply, but her answers stuck in her throat. She didn’t know it could be like this, and any reply seemed inadequate. When he stepped back, his eyes were so dark that she could barely see any green in them anymore. “Tell me what you want.” He looked into her eyes. “Why are you here, Isabel?”
    She licked her lips. At work, she was eloquent and poised, quick with a comeback. Here, though, in front of Caleb, language failed her. He waited, clearly wanting her to say something. Her half shrug wasn’t good enough, and he shook his head. He took her hands and backed away from the wall, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to him. Isabel had to part her knees to stand on either side of his hips, but wasn’t quite tall enough, so she found herself climbing up on the bed over him, straddling him, looking down into his eyes. Every nerve ending on her skin felt alive as he traced his fingertips up and down her arms. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want.” He was smiling, teasing her, but her arousal and sudden, unexpected anxiety made words difficult. His hands went to the buttons on her blouse and toyed with the first one, unfastening it, then refastening it. He could surely see her breasts heaving beneath it as she panted.
    â€œDo you want me to take off your blouse?”
    She nodded, and he raised his eyebrows at her.
    â€œAsk me,” he said.
    Isabel swallowed. This was odd, but strangely hot, so she’d play along. “Will . . . will you take off my blouse?”
    â€œWhy, yes, of course I will.” He unfastened each button with methodical precision, and as he parted the two halves of the red blouse, his knuckles brushed her nipples through the fabric of her tank top. She gasped, her body sparking as he dragged his thumb across her collarbone, then ghosted his fingers down her sides, his hands staying maddeningly away from her breasts as he pulled off her blouse and tossed it onto the floor.
    Wanting to contribute somehow, to take the attention off herself, she went to his black dress shirt, focusing on unfastening each button. He let her, and she could feel him watching her face even though she wasn’t making eye contact. She parted the halves of the shirt and slid it down off his shoulders. He was down to a plain white T-shirt underneath it now, and she could see the outlines of his lean muscles through it, and under that, the faint shadow of tattoos. Then she hesitated, her hands just barely brushing his shoulders.
    â€œTake off my shirt,” he murmured, more of a request than a command. At his words, she tugged the shirt free from his jeans and pulled upward. He lifted his arms, letting her pull the fabric up and over his head and toss it aside. When he was shirtless, she couldn’t stop herself from running her hands up his chest, feeling the crinkle of his chest hair beneath her fingers, examining his tattoos up close.
    â€œThese are amazing.” She ran her fingers over the patterns: a geometric design across his chest wrapped down his rib cage and up over his shoulders, blending into his two