Page 5 of His Summer Intern

I settle a knee on the edge of the bed, dodging a flailing arm. “Caleb.”

“Get the fuck down,” he growls, baring his teeth.

My heart is racing as I settle a hand in the center of his chest. “Caleb—”

I’m ripped down onto the bed. Violently.

Two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle rolls on top of me, a lethal hand circling my throat. His eyes are open now, but they’re fogged. Still trapped in some unknown location. Reliving something unspeakably awful. His tortured expression tells me that. And even in the midst of my terror, I grieve for him. Want to help. To soothe.

“Caleb,” I gasp with some of my precious breath. “Wake up.”

A muscle jerks in his cheek, his head cocking to the right. “Who’s there?”

What name do I use? Juno? Sarah? I struggle to fill my lungs with his huge body crushing me and speak on an exhale, “It’s me.”

His lids clamp shut and he shakes his head hard, as if trying to break free of the fog.

And then slowly, Caleb focuses all that torture on me.

Awake now, but still suffering.

Needing somewhere to put it.

Against my inner thigh, his sex stiffens and his chest begins to heave with renewed vigor. His hips move slightly to the right, cinching into the cradle of my thighs, settling there like a king to his throne. “What are you doing?” I breathe.

He drags my wrists up over my head, locking them there. “Don’t say no to me, girl,” he says raggedly. “Don’t ask me to stop.”

“But Caleb—”

His mouth stamps down over mine, stopping the flow of words. What was I going to say? Stop. I think I was going to tell him to let me go, but the desperation in his kiss confuses me. It pits my compassion against my fear of the unknown. The former parts my lips for him like a drawbridge, allowing him to thunder in and take. This man devours me, his head angling right, then left, his tongue so deep in my mouth I could confuse it for my own.

My wrists are held in a bruising grip, my protests lost in the kiss, and slowly he starts to rock against the juncture of my thighs. Slowly, slowly, then fast, hoarse sounds erupting in his throat, though he never breaks the kiss. No, he continues to consume, his mouth racing over mine, our foreheads flush, hot breath puffing from his nostrils.

“My little lost princess,” he croaks, finally letting me breathe, his hard lips raking down to the hollow of my throat, launching a sensual attack. “This is your home now.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he grips both of my wrists in one hand, using his free one to rip my borrowed shirt down the middle and all I can do is gape. At my complete nakedness. At the man who is already snarling at my nipples, lapping at them hungrily.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “These are delicious. Like ripe little cherries.”

A moan sneaks past my lips.

Does it feel good?

I-I don’t know.

There’s moisture gathering between my thighs, but the tightening sensations in my tummy are so foreign, so confusing. Where do they lead? “C-Caleb—”

He flips me over onto my stomach, expelling the air from my lungs.

I try to suck in oxygen, but he’s already lying down on top of me again, shoving my legs apart. “Haven’t had pussy in a decade,” he growls in my ear. “Sweetest one in all creation falls right into my lap. Did you think I wouldn’t end up drilling it?”

My body is excited, tingling, but my heart is rebelling.

I’m not sure I want to stop, but everything is moving so fast.

Is this how my first time is supposed to happen?

I’m not even sure how sex works exactly. Is he going to tell me?

His fingers lodge between the mattress and my belly, traveling down, down. I squirm when they dip below my belly button. Oh my god. He’s going to touch me there. “Wait,” I breathe, my bottom wiggling, frantic in his lap. “But…but…”

He doesn’t wait.

The pad of his middle finger parts my sex like he owns it and fireworks go off in my vision, their silhouette staining the pillow my face is pressed into. He tickles me on that nub, that button I sometimes play with in the shower, though it gets me nowhere but frustrated. The way Caleb touches the stiff bud is different. Demanding. Crude.


“I dare you to pretend you don’t love that, girl,” he grates in my ear. “Matter of fact, say whatever you want. Your pussy is telling me the truth, isn’t it? You’re a wet little princess in a man’s bed and there’s only one way out.”

My moan is muffled by the pillow.

The way he’s talking to me is shameful.

Does that mean I’m shameful for holding my breath, not wanting to miss a word? And he’s right about one thing, the flesh of my inner thighs is soaked, growing more so with every stroke of that nub between my thighs. There’s tension gathering inside of me and I don’t know what it means, but I start to rub myself against his finger, a whining sound growing louder and louder in my throat. “Caleb.”