Chapter 7: Drywall Dust

Caleb lived in a room above the shop, up a steel staircase at the back.

We made it up the stairs with his mouth on mine and my back against the rail, and I lost a boot on the third step.

He didn't stop to find it.

He carried me the last six steps with my legs around his waist and kicked the door shut behind us.

The room was one big space with a bed, a lamp and a drafting table covered in blueprints.

He set me down on the edge of the mattress and stood between my knees.

"Say it again," he said, rough. "What you said downstairs."

"I said don't bring the price down."

"That's the one."

I pulled his shirt up over his head.

He had drywall dust in his chest hair and a long pale scar under his ribs, and he was solid everywhere my hands went.

I put my mouth on the scar, and he sucked in a breath.

His hands went to the hem of my work shirt, and I lifted my arms so he could take it off.

He got my bra open one-handed, and I laughed into his shoulder.

"Practice," I said.

"Shut up."

He pushed me back onto the bed and looked at me, and the way he looked made my whole body go hot.

"Fuck, Jo."

"I'm right here."

He put his mouth on my breast, and I arched up into it.

His tongue circled my nipple and then he sucked it hard, and I dug my fingers into his hair.

"Take them off," I said, and tugged at my jeans.

He pulled them down my legs, with my underwear, and dropped them on the floor.

I was bare under the lamp. I felt every inch of it, and I didn't care.

He settled on his knees at the edge of the bed and pulled my hips to the mattress's edge.

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