Caleb and you spend long afternoons in your bedroom waiting for spring. He sleeps with his strong arm thrown over you and you yourself never sleep but steady your breathing enough to convince him that you do.
Without knowing why, you like this foolery, this deception. It makes you happy.
You try to keep this happiness secret, but sometimes it refuses to be contained. Sometimes your lips pull back across your teeth in a wide grin and, somehow sensing this, he goes up on one elbow and laughs.
“What’s going on over there?” he wants to know.
You shake your head, put his finger in your mouth, bury your face in the pillow.
If he knows you’re not asleep, he spiders his fingers across your shoulders, along your sides, pats your bum, tiny-kisses the top of your head. You wouldn’t have thought that a man who fucks like a bull…
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