Page 162 of Disarm
My sweats drag over his bare thigh—he’s wearing sleep shorts,damn him—and the friction is warm and steady. His hands move with me, holding me, guiding me. Not fast.
Just… intimate.
“Still doing okay?” he asks, voice dangerously low.
“You’re evil,” I whisper.
“Mm.” His smile ghosts against my neck. “And you’re needy. So we’re even.”
I lift my head and glare at him, except I can’t glare because the second I look at him, his mouth, his eyes, the faint smirk, I want to kiss him until my lips bruise.
I kiss him hard, open-mouthed and messy. My tongue slips between his lips, his hand fists the back of my hoodie, and I roll my hips again, needier this time.
Miguel groans into my mouth. “Caleb.”
“Ten-minute break, huh?” I mutter against his lips.
“Educational,” he says, smirking. “We’re engaging multiple learning styles.”
“Talk nerdy to me, baby.” I moan into his mouth as his thigh flexes under me—on purpose—and I bite back another sound.
I rest my forehead against his again, breath shaking. “I should not be this easy for you.”
“You should,” he says, sliding a hand up my spine. “You’re supposed to be. Only for me.”
A full-body shiver rolls through me.
“Okay,” he says suddenly, his voice dropping into that playful, curious thing he does. “Question time.”
“Question time?”
“Mm.” His fingers toy with the waistband of my sweats. “You ask me something. Then I ask you something. We go back and forth. But it has to be honest, or the game doesn’t work.”
“What game?”
“This one.” His thigh shifts again, and I gasp. “The one where I help you stop overthinking everything in the universe.”
I exhale shakily. “Okay. Fine. First question.”
“Shoot,hermoso.”
I chew my lip. “Do you… regret coming to Oregon?”
He blinks, surprised. “To your game?”
“To the dinner,” I whisper.
Miguel cups my jaw gently. “Caleb. No. I’ll show up for you even when it’s hard.Especiallywhen it’s hard.”
He kisses me, slow and earnest.
“My turn,” he murmurs against my lips. “What’s something you’re proud of this week? And don’t say ‘nothing.’”
I swallow and think while I roll my hips once,slowly, just to stay grounded. “I… didn’t panic once in the last two games,” I say. “I felt it starting once, but I used the grounding things Dr. Kaur taught me. And it actually worked.”
Miguel’s face softens in a way that makes my chest hurt. “That’s good,” he says quietly. “I’m proud of you.” He kisses my temple. “Your turn.”
The pressure of his thigh under me makes it hard to think straight.
