Closing Night High Ch. 01

"So whywereyou at last year's party, then?"

He doesn't answer right away, focused on getting my dress dry. He could flush it down the toilet, for all the shits I give right now. I like my current outfit much better, anyway. I hope Caleb's not expecting to get his shirt back.

He's silent for so long that I don't think he'll respond, but he finally says, "A few kids on the crew told me that Jeff got drunk and was going to the party to harass the girl he likes."

Jeff, though a little strange, isn't bad looking. My curiosity is peaked. Who's he crushing on?

"Oo! Who's the girl?" He ignores my nosy question completely. Too bad for him, I am incredibly stubborn—of my many endearing qualities, if you ask me. "Seriously, though. I know a couple girls who've been into him."

Then I thought about his word choice. "What exactly do you mean by 'harass'?"

"I mean, he was planning to get... aggressive with her. His friends couldn't stop him, so they called me. I dragged his drunk ass out of the party and drove him home. Told his parents about what he'd been up to and kicked him off the crew." He sounds like he's still furious at the guy.

"Well, shit..." I say, shocked. "Caleb, you have to tell me who the girl was. If he still likes her, she should know. She needs to be careful around him."

He's back to ignoring my questions, remaining silent for what feels like forever. I'm about to hop off the counter and force him to tell me, but his reply freezes me where I sit.

"You."

He turns to look at me, then, and there's anguish in his stormy eyes. I don't think I've ever actually seen anguish before, but it's clear as day on his face. My heart starts racing, but not from his scary confession; it's from his obvious torment.

He drops his eyes, and I feel relieved and lost the moment I'm cut off from his intense stare. As soon as he looks down, though, his eyebrows scrunch together.

"Em, you're bleeding." My dress is immediately abandoned. He drapes it over the stall door on his way to me. I look down, and—hey, what do you know—my left knee has a small gash in it, and blood is trickling down the front of my leg. I hadn't even noticed until now. I figured my knee just got a little scraped when I fell, and I was too distracted by my unexpected interaction with Caleb to pay any attention to it.

He rips a couple paper towels out of the dispenser and presses them to my knee. He's back to not looking me in the eye. I'm good with that right now, though. With his hands on me, I need a second to collect myself. If there's one thing I hate, it's letting people see me frazzled. I'm an actor, and I'm usually skilled at pretending that nothing affects me. I'm finding that difficult right now, though.

Caleb grabs a fresh towel and wets it. Then he hesitates, like he's reconsidering something, but he closes his eyes and blows out a breath. When he opens them, he reaches down and takes hold of my ankle.

My breath hitches at the contact, and I know he heard it, but he just grips my ankle tighter. He touches the wet paper towel to my leg and begins cleaning off the blood there. Starting just above my foot, he works his way up until he gets to the cut on my knee. He takes his time, his touch strong and soothing at the same time. It's very calming, and exactly what I needed.

As soon as he's finished, I reach up and cup the side of his face with my hand. His eyes finally meet mine, and I tell him, "Thank you," pouring every ounce of the sincerity and gratitude I feel into those two words. When his jaw tenses and twitches, I wish I could take them back. I drop my eyes and my hand and quickly murmur, "I'm sorry," before I move to get down from the counter Next thing I know, Caleb is standing directly in front of me and has me caged in by his very powerful and impressive arms, his hands gripping the counter on either side of my hips.

"Why are you sorry?" he asks, his face less than a foot from mine.

"I don't know. You're jaw did that thing,"—I try to imitate the twitch and his broody glare—"so I figured you were angry with me."

Then he smiles. Caleb freaking Turner is smiling at me. I don't think I've seen him smile once in the four years I've known him. But here, right now, he's smiling at me.

"You're adorable," he tells me casually, as if it's something he says all the time and not the most wonderful thing ever said in the whole history of man. "I'm not angry with you, Emilie. I'm angry with myself."

His jaw twitches again, this time making me smile. I touch my fingertips to it, feeling the muscle flexing against them. "What would you have to be angry at yourself about?"

He takes my hand from his face and moves it to his bare chest, pressing my palm over his heart. Its beat is strong but fast—so fast. It makes mine pick up, too. My knees part—all on their own, I swear—just a few inches. When he groans at my body's reaction, I can feel the deep vibration of it under my hand.

"Oh," I breathe, "I see."

"Do you, Em?" he asks, his hand still holding mine to his heated chest. He searches my eyes for a spark of understanding. He won't find it. I mean, yeah, I get what he's trying to tell me, but it's so unexpected that it doesn't make any sense to me. Slowly, I shake my head in silent answer to his question.

"I've been here almost a decade and seen countless kids take that stage. Some had talent; most didn't. But you... You shine even before I turn the spotlight on."

His words are making me dizzy, and my thighs continue to part. My whole body is responding to him—to his gruff voice, his breath caressing my lips as he speaks, the heat coming off his skin. I lick my lips, then leave them parted, as if preparing for a kiss.

"I've always loved watching you out there, just like anyone who's ever seen you on stage. But last year, when those kids told me that Jeff was planning to go after you... I don't think I'd ever felt that scared or that protective of anyone in my life."

The tortured look is back on his face, and I feel a compulsive need to comfort him. Using the hand not trapped by his, I run my fingers over his jaw and around to the back of his neck. His short hair is surprisingly soft, and I can't resist grazing my fingernails over his scalp. I don't dare say a word. He seems to want to spill his guts to me, and I have no desire to stop him.

His abs and arms flex at my touch, and I watch as his nipples harden. My own body is responding in ways it never has before. Don't get me wrong—I've been turned on many times before, but nothing has ever come close to this. There's a hum resonating under my skin. I was alive before, obviously, but this is, like, next-level alive. Every sense is in overdrive. The feel of his skin and hair. The natural scent of his body, uncorrupted by cologne. The sound of his thick, impassioned voice. The glorious sight of his arms, chest, and abs, and his body leaning into mine. The only thing I'm missing is taste, but I hope to satisfy that sense very soon.

"From that night on, I watched you any chance I got. I told myself it was to make sure you were safe, but it was more than that. I couldn'tnotwatch you. You're this pure, perfect creature. Confident. Unaffected and untainted by all the shit in this world. Then, when rehearsals started this year, I was able to watch you all the time—watch you shine on that stag—and those thoughts I'd had about you turned into something... more."

Caleb's hips are between my knees, now, and I shift my ass closer to the edge of the counter. My pussy is wet, my clit is throbbing, and I'm straining forward, craving friction. My breathing picks up, my chest rising and falling so close to his. Our faces are only inches apart now. So close. I wrap my arms around him until my fingertips are digging into the hard muscle of his back.

He rests his forehead against mine, and his hands move to the back of my neck and under my long hair. He's not gentle about it, either. It's like he's so lost in this moment that he's incapable of going easy on me, despite his talk of protectiveness.

"You're like this blinding, white light, and I can't seem to look away."

"Please don't," I beg, before I press my lips to his in a quick, forceful kiss. I check for his reaction, and I'm sorely disappointed.

"Emilie, I can't." His voice is strained and his eyes close, but he doesn't pull away from me.

"Why? Why can't you?" I'm starting to get angry with him for denying me what I want. I really, really hate not getting my way. Then I remember something and force myself to pull back. "Oh, shit, I forgot. You're married. Oh my god..."

"No. No, we divorced six months ago. I'd become... distant. She got tired of it."

I move closer to him again, now that I know I'm not trampling all over my own moral code. I decide that I'm going to have to seduce him. Up to this point, my body has been driven by instinct and lust. I'll need to start putting effort into this, if I don't want him trying to slip away.

I lift my knees a little to slowly wrap my legs around his hips, trapping him. Caleb's a strong guy, and he could pull away from me—if he wanted to. I use my feet to pull him closer to me, and I'm rewarded with a tortured moan from him.

"So, you're single now?" I purr, looking up at him with a pleased smile on my face. "I don't understand, then, Caleb. Please, help me understand, because I can see that you want me. Can't you see that I want you, too?"

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?"

"Not on your life," I threaten.

He's quiet for a moment, before he says, "I've never felt like I wasn't good enough for something. I may be reserved, but I am confident in myself. I work hard, and I try to be a decent guy." He pauses, and his eyes roam over my flushed face. "But there is no way I deserve you."

What? Is he serious? Of all the ridiculous things to say! I bark out a laugh, right in his face, and I can't seem to stop. The man is maddening.

"You're kidding, right? Caleb, I'm not that mythical, perfect creature you described. Hell, tonight alone should be proof enough of that. I'm clumsy and nosy and foul-mouthed and a little filthy minded. Ok, maybe a lot filthy minded, given the thoughts I've been having about you for the past half hour."

Caleb chuckles at my little rant. "You're right, Em. I've only watched you from a distance, so I may have unfairly put you on a pedestal."

"Well, you're really close to me now," I say, as I move my hands down his back, taking the time to feel every deliciously hard muscle along the way. When my hands come to rest on his ass, I pull him to me roughly, until the stiff bulge at the front of his jeans is pressing against my panty-covered pussy.

I expected the friction to relieve at least some of the ache between my legs, but it only makes me crave more.

"Now that you're seeing the real me, adorable flaws and all, can you please take me down from that pedestal?

"Ok. Done." He smiles at me, and his hands begin caressing the tops of my bare legs, his thumbs rubbing circles on my inner thighs. This is a very encouraging response from him. More, please! "But I still don't see why you would want me. I am so much older than you, Em."

"You're not that old. Besides, what if that's what I want—someone with the emotional and physical experience that I don't have, yet?"

The hands on my thighs travel up to my hips, his fingers slipping under the sides of my underwear. I can't stop my hips from rolling, from rubbing my pussy on his crotch.

"I'm starting to get wrinkles, Em. And there are grey hairs at my temples. You're going to tell me that doesn't bother you?"

"Uh, yeah, I am telling you that. Duh. And I'm happy to provide you with a list of reasons why I want you, if you'd like."

"By all means," he says, amused. His thumbs are now tracing the edges of of the cotton that covers my pussy. A breathy moan escapes me, and my walls start clenching, wishing they had something to contract around.

"Ok. One, you are really good with your hands," I tell him, and he chuckles. I'm glad he's finally letting himself enjoy this. I smack him playfully on the chest. "I'm talking about the work you do here, you perv!" That's only half true, and he sees right through me.

"Two, you are super ripped and tatted up. I'm sure you know just how hot you are, so don't try denying it. Three, I've been crushing on you for the past four years, so, for me, this has been a long time coming."

He's surprised but pleased at that. "Seriously? Huh. I had no clue."

"Well, now you do. Moving on. Four... Do you not get how beautiful you are?" To me, it's perfectly obvious.

"Beautiful?"

"Yes, beautiful. And fierce and strong and self-possessed and mysterious. You might be the exact opposite of me in a lot of ways, Caleb Turner, but that doesn't make you unworthy." I meet his gaze to make sure he understands and accepts the truth of my words. "Now, have I proved my point?"

The hands on my hips grab the hem of my t-shirt, and he wastes no time pulling it up and over my head. Point proven, apparently.

He grabs me, then, and kisses me. It's almost painful in its ferocity—our mouths pressed together brutally, teeth biting lips, tongues battling with each other. All the tension that had built up between us since the moment I toppled out of the stall finally exploding into the most epic kiss ever.

He breaks away to lick and bite his way down my neck. My back arches when his mouth reaches my breast, and I lean back on the counter, supporting myself on my hands. I gasp when he takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and then moving to the other breast to give it the same treatment.

I'm panting and moaning loudly, now. As he's kissing his way back up along my throat and jaw to my lips, I sit up. Our kiss is slower this time, but no less heated. My fingers find the button of his jeans, and just as it's released, he grabs my hands to stop me.

I whimper, and he smiles at me, pissing me off with his lack of concern for my needs.

After buttoning back up, he says, "We are not doing this in a public restroom, Emilie. In fact, this is the last place I'd choose for what I'm about to do to you."

Whoa. What exactly does he plan to do to me? Whatever it is, I want it right now. Waiting any longer is not an option.

"I'm perfectly ok with it," I whine. "Please. I don't want to stop." I'm not above begging.

"Who said we had to stop?"

He scoops me up then, and I let out a giddy shriek that turns into laughter, as he carries me across the room. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, latching on to him like a barnacle—asexybarnacle. He holds me up with one hand under my ass, while he opens the door with the other and pauses to kiss me again.

Once we've left the sanctity of our bathroom, I ask, "Hey, Caleb?"

"Yeah, babe?" Oo, it's babe now, is it? I've never been anyone's babe before, but I could definitely get used to being Caleb's. I'm so tingly right now, I think I could cum just from hearing him say that one word over and over.

"Not that I mind being in your arms, or anything, but... You do realize that i'm practically naked, right?" Not that I mind that, either. Just, maybe not in in this big, exposed hallway where someone could easily see us.

"Believe me, Em, I realize that. I'd rather you be completely naked, but we'll get to that soon." With that, he pulls my hips harder against his.

"Yes..." I sigh breathily, then clear my throat. "I mean, yes. I'm all for that. But where, exactly, is this nudity going to take place?"

We stop moving then, and I twist my head around to find that we're just inside the tech room, where they make all the props and store the equipment.

"I guess this is a step up from the men's bathroom. It's a pretty small step, though."

He laughs and sets me down, placing a kiss on the top of my head. Before tonight, the only expression I'd seen on this man was a scowl. Not one smile, and certainly no laughs. But here he is, somehow deeming me worthy of both.

"Close the door," he orders. "Lock the deadbolt, too."

He walks over to the work table. It's this massive slab of wood—I'm guessing nine feet long and four feet wide—that's clearly been abused for decades. The techies had put away all the equipment and supplies after the show, so there's nothing on it. Caleb grabs a fresh drop cloth from a cabinet and spreads it out over the table.

I see where he's going with this.

He crooks his finger at me and says, "Come here." I obey, of course, because I was going to do that, anyway. "Good. Now take your underwear off, please." The 'please' part makes me smile. How sweet of him to be polite when he's bossing me around.

I hook my fingers into the sides of my panties, and I'm about to do as he said, when a naughty idea pops into my head. I can see the look of anticipation on his face, his eyes hooded and mouth slightly open. I smile wickedly before turning around to face away from him. After slipping out of my sandals, I bend at the waist, my legs completely straight and slightly parted, and begin slowly lowering the last piece of clothing left covering my body. When I straighten back up, I step out of them and kick them to the side.

I turn around, letting him see every inch of me. He must have liked my little strip tease, because he's stroking the bulge in his jeans. Fuck, that's hot. But those jeans have got to go.

I crook my finger—just like he had—and tell him to come closer to me. He stalks toward and doesn't stop until he's less than an inch away, but still not touching. My eyes lock with his, and neither of us can look away.

I place my hands on his chest, then move them down, taking my time to feel all the ridges and valleys of his muscles along the way. When I've reached the top of his low slung jeans, I slide my fingers inside, grab the fabric, and tug him to me.

"If I undo this button again, will you stop me like you did last time?" I ask, teasing him.

"Never again." And it's a promise.

I pop the button, then quickly pull the zipper down. Next, I slip both hands into his tight, black boxer briefs, at his hips, and move them around to grab his ass, rocking my hips against him.

"Take off your shoes and socks." He smiles at me, looking pleasantly amused by my assertiveness. After I reluctantly remove my hands from his ass, he crouches down and unlaces and loosens his boots. Before standing back up, he leans forward and presses his nose to my wet pussy—shaved, except for a strip of blonde hair—and takes a deep breath. Should I be embarrassed by this? Self-conscious? Before I can overthink it, he gives my clit a quick lick and presses a sweet kiss to it.

"Holy shit." So, that's what that feels like, huh? Yeah, I'm going to want more of that. Probably all the time.

He stands back up, then, and toes off his boots and removes his socks. His hot mouth immediately covers my left breast. The tip of his tongue circles my nipple before he closes his lips close around it and sucks. Hard. When he takes it between his teeth and gives it a little bite, I cry out. The pleasure that shoots down between my thighs is more intense than anything I've ever felt. I have to push him away, I'm so overwhelmed by the sensation.

"Did I hurt you?" The concerned look on his face makes me feel guilty for my reaction.

Must make the sexy man feel better.

"Not even close," I reassure him, my hands caressing his neck and chest, trying to soothe him. "Now, get on the table."

That makes him smile, as I'd hoped. "Yes, ma'am," he says, before quickly climbing on, still wearing his jeans and underwear. On his knees and facing me, he leans down, grabs me under my arms, and lifts me up to join him. He's so strong that it's effortless for him. On my way up, I bend my knees, and he sits back on his heels. We end up in a position with me on top, straddling him.