Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 41

Serena’s POV

We stumble through the hallway like two people drowning in each other, mouths still fused together, hands grabbing desperately at clothes and skin and anything we can reach.

The wall scrapes against my back as Caleb presses me harder against it, his mouth moving down my throat in a trail of fire that makes coherent thought impossible.

“We should…” I gasp between kisses that steal my breath, “go upstairs, to the bedroom.”

“Screw the bed.” Caleb’s voice is rough against my skin, his hands already tugging at the hem of my shirt. “I don’t want to waste another second.”

He steers me toward the living room instead, and I don’t protest because waiting feels impossible when every nerve ending is screaming for his touch.

We collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and desperate need, the familiar furniture suddenly transformed into something sacred and urgent.

Clothes come off piece by piece—his leather jacket hitting the floor with a heavy thud, my shirt following seconds later, his belt making a sharp sound as he yanks it free from the loops.

Each removal is punctuated by desperate kisses and wandering hands that map territory we’ve explored before but never like this, never with the house empty and nothing to stop us from taking everything we want.

“God, Serena,” Caleb breathes as his fingers trace the line of my ribs, and the reverence in his voice makes my chest tighten with emotion that has nothing to do with physical need.

He pulls back just long enough to look at me, sprawled beneath him in nothing but my underwear, and the hunger in his eyes makes my skin burn like he’s touched me with flames.

But beneath the desire, I see something softer—wonder, maybe, or disbelief that we’re finally here.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice raw with want and something deeper. “Do you know that? Do you know what you do to me?”

I believe him. For the first time in my life, looking up at him in the dim light filtering through the living room windows, I actually believe that someone sees me as beautiful.

“Show me,” I whisper, and watch something dangerous flash in his eyes.

His mouth trails down my neck, across my collarbone, pausing to worship the hollow at the base of my throat before moving lower.

When his lips find my breast, when his tongue traces patterns that make me arch off the couch, I forget every reason I ever had to push him away.

“Caleb,” I breathe, my hands threading through his hair as his mouth works magic I never knew was possible.

His hand slips beneath the fabric of my underwear, fingers finding me wet and ready and desperate for his touch. The sensation shoots through me like electricity, making me gasp and buck against his hand.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pulling back to search my face. “Tell me if…”

“Don’t stop.” The words come out strangled, desperate. “Please don’t stop.”

The last barriers between us disappear—underwear discarded in the growing pile of clothes, nothing left to hide behind, nothing left to keep us apart.

When I reach for him, when my fingers wrap around the hard length of him, he makes a sound low in his throat that sends heat pooling between my thighs.

“I need you,” he says against my mouth, positioning himself at my entrance. “I need you so fucking much.”

When Caleb finally enters me, he pins my arms above my head, fingers interlacing with mine in a gesture that feels both possessive and tender.

The stretch of him fills me completely, makes me gasp and cling to his shoulders as my body adjusts to the invasion.

“You okay?” he asks, stilling completely despite the tension I can feel thrumming through his muscles.

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