over Wednesday night, we don't do a lot of talking.

I spend the night making it all up to him, apologizing for something without him even knowing it. Letting our bare, tangled bodies heal the invisible wounds, trying, somehow, to let him know that I am his. All his.

Except, after countless times crashing over the edge, we go to sleep, and I can be honest and say that part of all that was trying to ease the ache between my legs, trying to get my mind off of a certain someone. Trying to forget that I could want to be with anyone besides Caleb.

And Caleb? He plays the part perfectly, giving me everything I want—every touch, every whisper, every sigh. His mouth and his lips and his fingers are knowing, skillful, and so are, well, other parts of him. He holds me and looks at me, and makes me feel like there is only one place I should ever be. And isn't that what a good relationship is supposed to feel like?

Except, everything is tainted. Every movement, every action, is filled with my guilt. Every time he touches me I feel ashamed, every time he stares and me, and his eyes meet mine, I want to crawl into a hole and cry my guts out and make him forget about me, because I can't do this to him. But there is no other way.

And when he's asleep beside me, gentle breaths escaping his tired lips, his chest rising and falling softly beneath my cheek, I wonder, guiltily, about what lies behind that wall that separates my apartment from the one next to it. Wonder what he's doing, what he's thinking. What he's feeling. Hoping to God that Caleb and I weren't loud because I'm not cruel, and I know the way he wants me. Can see it in his eyes, every time we meet.

Stop. Stop thinking about him. If only it were that easy.

How about you? Do you think I'm a terrible person? Because, I don't know who I am anymore. I used to, but now I just don't.

And, for the briefest, briefest of moments, I consider telling someone. Someone who can lift this burden from my shoulders, someone who can tell me that I'm not going to hell.

But the only person who I could maybe say anything to is Natalia. Oh, Natalia.

So, I've kind of been developing this unhealthy mutual sexual attraction with Nero.

I can't even imagine her reaction. And, she wouldn't look at me the same way. I can already see the look in her eye, the disgust, confusion. I don't even understand it—how could she?

And then, do I trust her? Nero is her family. Albeit estranged, highly disliked family, but family nonetheless. Her obligation to him is more than to me, isn't it? Whose side would she choose, if things got even worse?

I don't know. I really don't know.

But, then again, how much worse could things get, anyway?

•§•

about it, picking through the bowl of popcorn. "Okay. How old were you your first time?"

He smirks, shaking his head. "How did I know you would ask me that?"

Pouting, I fling a kernel at him. "You said we should ask each other anything. That's one of my questions."

Of course, my first few were 'What's the best Beatles song' and 'Who's your favourite actress'. Lame things like that. So it was time to ask about the serious stuff.

Raising an eyebrow, he states "Eighteen." A pause. "How about you?"

"Nineteen."

He takes a sip of his coke, looking me mischievously in the eye. "I thought it would've been younger. I mean, you're practically an expert."

Another kernel. Laughing, he grabs me by the waist, and we fall over on the carpet, him hovering above me. His lips are just inches from mine, and my head spins. "Your question."

Closing my eyes, I can feel the warmness of his breath tickling my nose, and it's hard to think. "Um..."

"Yeah?"

"Uh, what..."

His nose brushes against mine every so softly, his face grazing my cheek. "Mhm?"

Damn it. I'm sure I had a hard question. But it's definitely gone.

"What's your favourite colour?" I barely get it out as I feel his fingers teasing the skin above my belt, gently pushing up my t-shirt.

He laughs, and I groan, whacking his back. "You suck, Caleb Dorn. Whatever happened to getting to know each other better?"

"This is, isn't it?" He teases me, slowly fingering the buckle, pulling it away with a lingering tug. He deftly undoes the button, the zipper.

My eyes flutter shut, and I want him, except I'm not going to tell him that. "Weren't you the one who said 'sex doesn't count'?"

"Mm." My breath catches in my throat when he moves, his lips hovering over my belly. "But I change my mind."

"Convenie—oh..."

I feel him smile against my stomach, because as soon as his fingers find me there, even through my panties, I'm already wet for him.

Tugging down my jeans, his hands are warm against the coolness of my skin and I don't bother stopping him. His fingers and his lips are too good for me to resist.

I flush because of the way he looks at me where my underwear touches my skin, and he meets my eyes and answers, "Blue." The same colour of the lace covering me, right there. I die.

"Caleb." It's a whimper, and it makes his lips tilt up into a dazzling, wolfish grin.

"Yeah, Rosalyn?" He watches my expression, the way my face contorts, as he settles himself between my legs. His voice sends little puffs of air into the space where my thighs meet, and it makes me sigh.

"Your question." I barely choke it out, but I'm glad I did. Because he just shakes his head, laughing, looking at me like he can't wait to make me come. But like he will anyway.

"Hm. Okay." Leaning in, so I know he is so, so close to touching me there through the fabric with his mouth, he says, "Tell me something."

"Mm?"

His voice is so low, so rough, and it fills my ears. "Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers, or my mouth?"

Dammit. It's amazing I can even utter another syllable, the way every part of me has melted. "Both."

A chuckle. He takes absolutely forever to pull down my panties, until I curse at him and he complies by pressing his mouth against me, and the whole world turns into a cascade of sparks and fireworks, explosions and colour. I tug at his hair and moan his name and then soon I'm blinded when I finish, crashing over the edge. "Shit, Caleb..."

And I know I will never look at my living room carpet again the same way, but it is totally okay.

After he's done he pulls my underwear back on and kisses me, making me taste it on his lips and his tongue. "Your question."

Shaking my head, I just giggle. "God. How did you get so good at that?"

Winking, he kisses me again, and every part of me is warm. "You don't wanna know. Pick another question."

And we both laugh, so, so much, and I know that he is too perfect for me to let him go.

•§•

run out of sugar. Don't ask me how, because I have no idea. I always, always have sugar. But apparently just not tonight.

Caleb wraps his arms around me and pushes me gently against the counter, whining into my ear how he can't believe I started baking cookies before knowing I didn't have any sugar left.

"Shut up."

Brushing my nose with his, he's too cute for me to even pretend that I'm annoyed at him. "Maybe you can just borrow some? What's your neighbor's name again?"

I try not to show any trace of panic, any stiffness, because he is so close and he'll notice. "You think I should bother him? Isn't that rude?"

Arcing an eyebrow, he is so oblivious it hurts. "I'm pretty sure he wouldn't mind. Who wouldn't want to see your smiling face?"

If only you knew. "Nice try."

He shakes his head, tsk tsk. Looking into the bowl beside me, it's pitiful. Eggs and a few pathetic tablespoons of sugar. Caleb is right. But how the hell can I go over there now?

But, I suppose, there is a silent point to be made. I can't ignore Nero forever. If I want this to stop I have to face him, without staring at his lips or undressing him in my mind. I close my eyes, sighing, giving in.

When the door opens, I've prepared myself as much as I ever will. But the person who answers is tall, slender, blonde. Female. Stunning. Like, a model. And I just stare, my face heating up a little, because she's wearing his shirt and it goes just past her ass and she's looking at me like who the hell are you, except that's what I'm busy wondering.

"Can I help you?" She raises a perfect golden eyebrow, her eyes taking me in head to toe, disinterested.

I takes me a second to find my voice, but Nero calls out before I can say anything.

"Who is it, Steph?" I hear his steps, moving closer, and I will myself not to look so red.

"Some chick." She's barely looking at me now, and I'm at a loss for words.

"What do you mea—oh." As soon as he sees me, his expression softens, and for a second he actually looks guilty. Running a hand through his messy hair, he avoids my eyes, and I try to look anywhere but at him, shirtless, standing next to her.

My throat burns a little, and I hate myself for feeling like this. "Uh, sorry to interrupt... I was just wondering if I could, um, please borrow some sugar?" The back of my mouth is raw and I'm afraid he can hear it.

"Oh, yeah," he says softly. He disappears, and the girl, Stephanie, looks at me one more time, judging, before gliding back inside.

I bite my tongue, trying to keep it all together, until he appears at the door again, and I have to close my eyes because this is way harder than it should be.

He holds out a plastic container with a few cups of sugar and I take it, wordless. And it looks like he wants to say something but I just mumble out a small thanks, not sticking around to find out what.

And when I bake those cookies I mix them by hand, beating the crap out of the dough. If Caleb notices the glassiness in my eyes, he doesn't say.

Thanks for reading! Please consider voting if you're enjoying BTW. Votes help books do well in the Wattpad stats. ❤️