Caitlin
by alan14
Copyright© 2026 by alan14
Fantasy Sex Story: Jake spends most days in the pub writing, then the late afternoons in the library typing up what he's written. The monotony is broken by Caitlin, the beautiful barmaid. Caitlin, is beyond beautiful, she's supermodel tall and slim, with a friendly face and warm eyes, and Jake is in love. One day Caitlin finds Jake in the library, they get chatting, go for a drink and I think you can guess the rest...
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa First Oral Sex .
“Hey Jake, what are you having?”
“Hey Caitlin, I’ll have a pint of the porter, please.”
“No problem, that’ll be £2.25.”
That is the extent of my daily conversation with Caitlin. We make eye contact occasionally as she sweeps her eyes across the bar, catching me in my regular seat by the window, but we rarely say anything else.
Caitlin is, and there’s no better way to describe her, gorgeous. She’s beautiful, tall and supermodel slim, with artfully disarranged shoulder length blonde hair.
Her figure is entirely disguised by work clothes, which are usually black cargo pants and a brewery-provided baggy t-shirt. I only think she’s slim based on her arms, which are thin and covered in a random selection of black ink tattoos.
I sit in my seat by the window writing whatever I’m being paid to write. I spend a few hours there, enjoying a couple of pints, and maybe a burger or bowl of soup if I’m in over lunchtime. The second pint and any food is usually ordered on their app, because as much as I’d enjoy being up close to Caitlin and speaking those same 10 words, I really can’t be arsed standing in a queue for 10 minutes once the bar gets busy.
So I order online, and sometimes she brings my drink and food, and sometimes it’s someone else. Often it’s Grace, who is also very pretty, but she’s not Caitlin.
Once I have enough words written, I decamp to the library, where I put earphones in, open Spotify and play whatever music fits my mood whilst I type up the words I’ve written.
I could type in the pub, but I have standards, I’m not about to open a laptop in a pub, it’s just not appropriate.
Maybe I could miss the pub part of the process, but I like to write in longhand. I find words flow from my brain to the page better when they pass through a Waterman fountain pen on the way.
Also, if I skipped the pub, I’d miss my daily conversation with Caitlin, wouldn’t I.
Anyway, one day something different happened. I’d finished hand writing, and moved onto the library, and was just finished typing when in walks Caitlin, several books under her arm.
“Hey Jake,” she says, pausing at my table, “fancy seeing you here.”
“This is my next stop every day, I start work in the pub, and finish it here.”
“It’s good to have a routine ... I’m bringing my mum’s books back. She normally brings them, but she wasn’t feeling great this morning, so I offered.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“My good deed of the day,” she smiled, then wandered off to scan the books back on the returns station.
I watched her back, fascinated by the movement of her buttocks and legs. She had tight yoga pants on today, instead of her usual cargo pants, she looked good, very good.
“What do you write?”
I was in a daze, thinking about Caitlin, so I hadn’t noticed her walking back towards me.
I mentally slapped myself, because watching Caitlin’s front was infinitely better than watching her back.
“Err ... anything ... everything ... whatever people pay me to write.”
“So, what are you writing today,” Caitlin asked as she pulled out the chair opposite and sat down.
“A short story about a boy who rescues a dog ... it’s for a collection of children and pets stories for an educational books publisher.”
“And you can just sit in a pub, drink a couple of pints and write a story?”
“Yep, I could do it at home, but if I did that, I’d never get out.”
“Can I read it?”
“If you like,” I replied, reopening my laptop, “but it’s meant for school kids, 13 or 14 years old, so you probably won’t enjoy it.”
“I’m only 4 years out of that age bracket, and I don’t read much, so I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” she said, pulling a pair of glasses from her small handbag.
“I thought you were older than 18...” I said as she settled back to read, “all your tattoos, I thought it would take a few years to acquire that many.”
“It did,” she replied with a grin, “I may have lied about my age for the first one, and nobody asked after that...”
“Naughty...” I said, my eyes fixed on her face, and her smile ... oh man, she is simply stunning, and she’s sitting at my table.
Caitlin’s eyes were on my screen, so I could watch her closely without her noticing. Her lips moved silently as she read, her expression changing as she finished each scene and moved to the next. I think she was genuinely enjoying the story.
As she continued to read ... it would take a 14-year-old about 20 minutes to read the whole story, so I guessed it would take her about the same time ... I got up and wandered over to the teen section of the library, running my finger along the shelves until I found the collected story books, soon finding the one I was after, a book of sports stories, I had five entries in this one.
Caitlin looked up as I returned, “I enjoyed that,” she said, “the dog was cute ... I wish I had a dog, but mum’s allergic, so we can’t have one.”
“That’s sad,” I replied, “dogs are great ... do you know The Kings Arms on the front? A competitor to your pub, I know, but they’re super dog friendly, and there’s always loads in there.”
“Maybe we could pop in on the way back, we both walk past it on the way home...”
“That would be good,” I replied, struggling to understand how she knew I’d be walking that way.
“What’s that book you’ve got?” she asked as she closed my laptop and pushed it back towards me.
“Oh, it’s a book of sports stories, there’s five of my stories in here.”
“Really,” she replied, taking the book from my hands.
She leafed through, finding one of my stories, I think the first one of mine in there is about a girls’ football team.
Still reading, she got up and walked to the counter, only putting the book down to let the librarian stamp it, “my friend wrote this story,” she said, as she picked it up again and walked back to our table.
“This is great,” she said, closing the book and tucking it under her arm, “I played football at school for a bit, but the PE teacher kept saying I was too tall for football and moved me to the netball team.”
“I bet you were good at that,” I replied as I slipped my laptop and notepads into my backpack.
“I was, but I enjoyed football more,” she said, holding out her hand for mine as we left the library and set off through the shopping precinct to the Kings Arms pub.
“I’ve never been in here,” she told me as we walked past the smokers and into the pub through the back door, “I bet they’ve got a great view from the bar ... that’s the worst part of my pub, the only view is the empty bank building opposite.”
Caitlin was wearing a red Budweiser t-shirt today, so not obviously another pub’s uniform.
“Oddly, given my job,” she whispered as we waited to be served, “I’m not a big drinker, I’ll have a Coke please.”
“Hey Jake, what are you having?”
I looked across the selection of hand pumps, “I’ll have a pint of Landlord please, Maddie, and a Coke.”
“Ice in yer Coke, love?”
“Just a couple of cubes, please,” Caitlin replied.
“That’ll be £8.50, Jake,” Maddie said as I tapped my phone on the till.
“And that’s why I prefer drinking in your pub ... not just the attraction of the beautiful staff, but your beer is less than half the price it is here.”
“I nearly died when she said the price,” Caitlin added as we took a table with a view of the Eric Morecambe statue and the fells beyond.
“Anyway,” Caitlin laughed after I’d taken a good swallow of my beer, “do you have a girl in every bar?”
“I’ll be honest with you,” I replied as I wiped the condensation off my glass and put it in the centre of a beer mat, “I only normally drink in here on your days off.”
“Really?” Caitlin answered, a note of genuine surprise in her voice. She leaned forwards to listen to my reason, gifting me a look down her t-shirt; it was a nice view, she had a surprisingly decent looking cleavage, considering her boyish looking bottom.
“Yes, and it’s not just because you look stunning...” I paused as Caitlin put a hand on my knee, sending an electric charge straight to my groin ... luckily it was hidden below the table.
“ ... Grace is also very pretty,” I continued, Caitlin gave my thigh a quick squeeze, I think she agreed with me, “It’s just the atmosphere is different when you’re not in and the guys are working the bar ... so I come here, where the beer is more expensive, but the view makes up for it.”
“The view in either direction, Maddie is very pretty,” Caitlin replied.
“Anyway, you’re not my girl, and neither is Maddie. We barely know each other.”
“Am I not? We’re sharing a table in a pub, and our knees are touching under the table. This almost counts as a date ... ohh ... look at the puppy...” Caitlin said, breaking off to stroke a puppy.
“You said almost a date,” I observed when I’d regained her attention after the puppy left.
Caitlin looked at me, she was sitting even closer now, her left hand returned to my knee, stroking me gently, her little finger touching my rapidly hardening cock with every movement.
“I did ... it’s almost a date because I asked you to join me here ... but a date needs food ... do they serve food here?”
“Pizza and burgers...”
“Pizza then ... you choose, and once the food arrives, this is officially a date.”
I made a quick detour to the gents, it was empty, so I wet some hand towels with very cold water and took them into a cubicle. The cold water did the trick...
“Doesn’t she work in Wetherspoons?” Maddie asked as I ordered a couple of pizzas, a meat feast and a veggie supreme.
“She does,” I replied, tapping my phone once again on the reader.
“So, what’s she doing here?”
“Apparently, we’re on a date?”
“Oh really! You lucky man, she’s gorgeous.”
“She really is,” I replied, “and I’ve no idea what’s going on. The most I’ve said to her before this afternoon is ordering my beer.”
“Well, there’s stranger ways to start a relationship,” Maddie laughed, “so don’t knock it, every guy and half the women in here would gladly cut off a limb to be in your position.”
“You’re probably right ... she is beautiful isn’t she,” shaking my head in bewilderment.
“Almost as beautiful as the Saluki she’s playing with...”
“Ahh, and that’s why we came here, so Caitlin could play with the dogs.”
“And that’s why I work here...” Maddie replied, turning to the next customer.”
I returned to the table. The Saluki had followed Caitlin and was resting its head on her lap as she stroked its silky hair.
“I love it here!” she exclaimed, “this is Sally, isn’t she beautiful?”
“She is, and I bet she’ll enjoy your pizza when it arrives.” I replied as I sipped my second pint.
“Oh dear, I bet her owner will be upset if she gets pizza sauce in her hair. I think I’ll take her back.”
Caitlin moved her seat closer when she returned, her next move would leave her sitting in my lap. Honestly, I wouldn’t complain if she did, but it would make eating pizza awkward.
“Thank you so much for suggesting this pub, I love it, so many fun dogs to play with ... oh wow, a pug puppy!”
And she was gone again.
Caitlin returned as our pizza arrived, this time she kissed me before resuming her seat, “now it’s a date,” she said as she tore off a slice of the meat feast pizza ... so, not a veggie.
The pizzas were good, not as good as the pizzas at Caitlin’s pub, which were made with hand stretched dough, but they were tasty, and completed Caitlin’s requirements for a date. So, all good.
Or maybe they didn’t...
“Do you know what else we need to make this a proper date?”
“Sorry, I don’t ... and I don’t know why you’re even thinking about a date with me, I’m twice your age.”
“Oh, that’s easily explained ... anyway, a date, a proper date to remember needs a sunset walk along the beach ... sunset is...” she looked at her phone, “... 7:30, that’s an hour away, so time for another drink. My turn, that way I can pet the dogs on the way to the bar and back.”
She didn’t ask what I was drinking, but she knew what I liked, so I wasn’t worried about her bringing me some shit fake Spanish lager.
She returned with a pint of very dark stout and a gin & tonic for herself, and instead of sitting at our table, she moved over to a sofa on the opposite side of the pub.
I quickly grabbed my backpack along with her handbag, phone and library book and moved over to join her. She put the drinks on a low table and swung her legs up and onto my lap.
“This is very nice, we don’t have sofas, probably because nobody trusts the guys in the evenings to treat them properly.”
“Do you ever work in the evenings?”
“No, I only work day shifts, 8 until 4pm on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday. I’m doing two college courses, one all day Tuesday and Friday, and the other on Monday and Thursday evenings. I don’t work Saturdays, because that’s when I take mum shopping.”
“What courses are you doing?”
“The all day course is a Level 4 Diploma in Health & Social Care. I’m doing really well in the course, because I’ve been looking after mum for so long. I’ve passed every module so far, and I’m in line for a Distinction. The evening course is just for fun really, it’s a Foundation art course, mostly painting, but some photography.”
“Who’s looking after your mum now?” I asked, because we’d been here a couple of hours, and wondered if she was expected back.
“Oh, she doesn’t need looking after all the time, she can move around the house, and pop a meal in the microwave. Our neighbour is lovely, she pops in after she gets home from work about 6 o’clock and checks on her. Wednesday and Friday are my free evenings, and Saturday after shopping, because mum is exhausted then and goes to bed for a few hours. She’d got Long Covid, you see, it’s a bit like ME. She’s absolutely fine most of the time, but if she over exerts herself, it wipes her out. She’s not been able to work since soon after the second lockdown. It’s so annoying because nobody knows how to treat it, and some people just think she’s lazy...”
I thought about what Caitlin had said whilst she sipped her G&T. I have a friend who suffers from Long Covid. He’s tried to return to work a couple of times. His employer is pretty decent, giving him shorter shifts and lighter duties, but each time he returns to work, he’s off again within months. He’s worried that his employer will get fed up and find a way to get rid of him.
Caitlin finished her drink and looked outside, “it’ll be sunset soon, drink up...”
I didn’t have much of the stout left, I swallowed the last of it and waited for Caitlin to lift her legs off mine.
She smiled at me, “you can lift my legs if you like ... or you can stay there and let me kiss you...”
“Option B is appealing,” I replied.
Caitlin responded by sliding off the sofa then kneeling stride my legs. She pressed herself against me, and again I was surprised by the size of her breasts as they were squished against my chest.
She touched her lips to mine; lightly at first, then she parted my lips with her tongue. I could taste the gin on her breath as we kissed, I’m sure it was better than the barrel-aged stout she was tasting on my breath.
We kissed for a few minutes, only pulling away from each other when Caitlin noticed the orange glow of the sunset through the window.
“Come on, my man, it’s time to get this date properly cemented in memory...” she said, jumping down from the sofa and grabbing my hand to help me up.
“Mmm, I seem to have made an impression on you ... maybe adjust yourself a little before we leave,” she whispered as she picked her bag, book and phone from the table.
Caitlin insisted on having a photo of us standing either side of the famous Eric Morecambe statue opposite the pub, roping in a passer-by to take the photo.
With that job done, we crossed the prom and down some steps to the beach.
I have to admit, walking hand-in-hand along the beach with this beautiful girl as the Sun slipped down in the sky and the sea blazed in the orange glow was very special. It was a very romantic moment.
“Shall we sit and cuddle awhile,” she suggested, “and I’ll tell you why we’re here.”
“That sounds like a plan...” I replied, following Caitlin to the rocky breakwater, where she chose a flattish rock to sit and watch the last of the sunset.
“You’re not like the other men I meet at work,” she started, “all the other men, I hear them talking, using all kinds of dirty words, talking about what they want to do to me ... it makes me sick, and is another reason why I don’t work evenings, it would be a hundred times worse. You’re not like that, all I get from you is a lovely, genuine smile when our eyes meet ... you’re almost shy when we talk.”
“Before I quit working to become a full time writer, I worked in education, I was a pastoral officer...”
“Wait a minute...” Caitlin broke in, “ ... I’m imagining you in a poorly ironed shirt and a mismatched tie ... with a beard and different glasses ... yes! You’re Mr Harrison!”
“Busted...” I laughed.
“Wow, until now I had no idea you were at my school ... you left when I was in Year 10 ... I was a bit of an ugly duckling, there is no way you’d connect me to Cait O’Donnell in 9K,” she said, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her photo reel, “mmm ... not that one, or that one ... we’ll leave those until later ... here we go, these are from the start of Year 9, new uniform, new braces...”
I looked at her screen, “oh wow, you were friends with Charlie P and Toni S!”
“I’m afraid so...”
“They were a complete nightmare, but I don’t remember you at all.”
“I was mostly a good girl, and whenever I needed help I went to Mrs Jackson. No offence Jake, but she understood periods way better than you would.”
“That’s very true,” I laughed, “anyway, I mentioned it, because life in pastoral was a constant battle trying to get boys to ignore all the alpha male bullshit and understand girls should be treated with dignity and respect. We won many battles, but some boys refused to learn, and many of them are probably the sons, brothers and nephews of the men you deal with daily.”
Caitlin grasped my hand, “that’s so true ... I knew you’d understand ... you’re a decent man, Jake.”
“I try to be ... I always live by the standards I taught the boys.”
“mmm ... I think you live on the West End ... I’ve seen you walking that way.”
“I do...” I replied, a lump in my throat in anticipation of the next question.
“Can we ... go back to yours for a bit? You are exactly the kind of guy I’d show to my mum, but ... I want to do stuff right now that I don’t want mum to hear...”
“I’m very light-footed, she won’t hear me walking around.”
Caitlin slapped my legs playfully, “yeah, but sometimes I get kind of noisy ... although my opportunities for noisiness are limited to the times I sleep away from home,” she added sadly.
“I live very close by...” I replied, turning my head slightly and gently touching my lips to hers.
We kissed for a moment or two, and by the time we pulled apart, the sun had dipped below the horizon and we were in darkness.
Caitlin pulled out her phone, “let me message mum, make sure she’s feeling OK.”
She tapped out a quick message, and received a reply almost immediately. They had a back and forth conversation for a minute, then Caitlin put her phone away, smiled and kissed me.
“Fried, on toast...” she said.
“Pardon!”
“That’s how I like my eggs in the morning.”
“Ahh ... I’m guessing your mum is OK.”
“She’s feeling great at the moment, which is a relief, because she wasn’t so good this morning, which is why it was my job to return her library books. Anyway, she’s well enough to go out, so our lovely neighbour Jackie is going to walk with her down to the new bar that’s opened.”
Now the sun was gone, it soon got chilly on the beach, and Caitlin was only wearing a baggy t-shirt. So, hand-in-hand, we walked down the prom to the West End.
“Oh, we live quite close,” Caitlin observed as we reached the street door to my second floor flat, “my house is on the other side of Regent Road, and two streets down, opposite the Co-op.”
“That’s good to know ... for the future, if you ever feel the need to be noisy,” I replied with a sly grin.
She hugged my waist as I unlocked the door to my flat, “I have high hopes that today is the start of something special.”
The buildings on my road were mostly built in the mid-to-late Victorian era, when the upper-middle classes discovered the restorative properties of sea air, so they would summer in places like this, or Blackpool, or further up the coast in Grange-Over-Sands.
The houses around here are four or five stories, originally they would have had 6 or more bedrooms, so the family, their maids and cook could spend the summer months here in comfort.
The houses are deep, the rooms are large, and the ceilings are high.
Nowadays, most of them have been split into multiple units, with a shop on the ground floor and a flat per floor above. I’m lucky, because I have the top two floors, with a very large lounge, a decent sized kitchen, a room that would be my office, except it doesn’t have any windows, so I use it for storing old manuscripts, records I’ll never play again, and anything I don’t use anymore but don’t want to throw out. The lower floor also has the bathroom.
The top-floor, which would have been a couple of bedrooms for the staff, is now my bedroom, with a small en-suite toilet and shower.
“Would you like coffee?” I asked as Caitlin wandered around my lounge, looking at my bookshelves and flicking through the stack of used notebooks on my untidy desk.
“Yes please ... are these all published stories?” she asked, holding up a notebook.
“Pretty much, I mostly write stuff I’ve been commissioned to write, but I occasionally write something on spec and hope someone wants it ... sometimes I’ll find a publisher, sometimes I don’t. I’m collecting all the unpublished stories, when I have enough, I’ll publish them myself ... there’s a small indie publisher on Yorkshire Street, I’ll see if they want them.”
“That’s cool,” she replied, putting the notebook down and moving over to the record shelves, “you don’t have a TV!” she suddenly exclaimed, “I’ve been wandering around for like, 5 minutes trying to work out what was weird about this space ... you have a sofa, shelves, a hifi, your desk ... but no TV.”
“I rarely watch TV ... if there’s something I want to watch, I’ll use iPlayer on my iPad.”
“So what do you do instead?”
“I read, I listen to music...”
“Mum is glued to the TY all night, she’ll be watching it in the pub, because she can’t miss Eastenders or Coronation Street. It’s a relief being somewhere not dominated by a TV ... it’s weird, but even when a TV is switched off, your eyes are still drawn to the screen, like we’re programmed to look at a TV screen.”
“That’s interesting, because some studies have proved that humans, the urge is stronger in males, are programmed to look at breasts, and by extension, breast shaped things, like hills...”
“That is interesting ... are you drawn to my breasts?”
“Your t-shirt is hiding them well...”
“I can remove it and carry out our own study, to see how hard it is for you to look elsewhere.”
“I’m willing to participate in that study,” I replied, “ ... let me get the coffee, it should be brewed by now.”
By the time I returned with a couple of mugs of coffee, Caitlin’s t-shirt and bra were on the floor, and she was curled up on my sofa with her library book.
“Thanks,” she said, putting the book down and cradling the mug in both hands.
“Talk to me, Jake...”
“If I talk to you, I have to look at you, and that will skew the scientific study.”
“It will,” she laughed, “I’ll let you look elsewhere whilst you talk.”
“OK, what do you want me to talk about while I avoid looking at your fantastic breasts.”
“They are nice, aren’t they ... the only part of me from my dad’s side of the family ... his sister has massive tits, my mum’s are tiny ... anyway ... talk about anything, I just want to hear someone talking about something other than their health, TV soaps, football or sex ... that’s all I hear some days ... tell me more about what you do when you’re not writing...”
“OK, so like I said, when I’m not writing, I’m usually reading or listening to music ... I like to go to gigs ... I go to this club in Lancaster every Friday and most Saturdays to see bands, any bands, whoever is on ... they’ve got a Smiths tribute band this Saturday, I’m definitely going to that show.”
“The Smiths ... who are they?”
“Oh my god! You’re so young!” I exclaimed, “they were huge in the 80’s, from Manchester, fairly miserable lyrics that say so much about how grim the North West was under Margaret Thatcher. Morrissey spoke about life, love, loss, desperation; 1960’s kitchen sink drama movies set to music ... and the music was the best part, Johnny Marr is one of the world’s greatest guitarists, he wove the most beautiful melodies beneath Morrissey’s lyrics.”
“That sounds interesting, can I go with you?”
“Of course you can, I’ll speak to Paolo, he’ll put our names on the door.”
“You mean, like, we’ll be on the guest list?”
“Exactly that.”
“Oh man, I’ve always wanted to be on a guest list ... and I can see you peeking at my boobs, so I think we’ve proved your theory, where do we apply for the Nobel Prize?”
“Sweden, I think...”
Caitlin drank her coffee whilst I told her about more bands I’d seen, and the many small gig venues around the city. As I spoke, she cast her eyes around the room.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked suddenly while I paused for breath.
“Well, it would be a bit awkward if I did. What if she walked in and saw the most stunning girl in town, curled up on my sofa with no top on...”
“You seem so nice, so...”
“Why don’t I have a girl? What’s wrong with me?”
“Yes ... you seemed friendly with the girl in the King’s Arms.”
“Maddie, you mean?”
“Yes ... you were chatting when you ordered the pizza.”
“We were chatting about you...”
“Really?”
“Yes, you’re more her type than I am.”
“Maddie is gay? I never would have guessed ... she’s very pretty.”
“Yes, she is...”
“You like her!” Caitlin laughed.
“I do, and I respect her enough to not try it on with her, like a lot of guys do. The types you deal with daily, who see it as their job to cure lesbians.”
“Urgh! I hate those men, they are exactly the reason a lot of girls are gay.”
“So yeah, no girlfriend in the recent past ... not for a few years if I’m honest. The odd fling, but nothing serious. I quite like living on my own, although it’s nice to have someone to talk to...”
“I can be someone you can talk to...” Caitlin replied.
“I like talking to you ... you’re very easy to talk to ... and very easy to look at...”
“Mmm, back to our Nobel Prize application...” she replied, “anyway, you’re also easy to look at ... you’re very handsome ... I remember I fancied you a bit back in school ... not as much as Toni did ... she was obsessed with you, which is probably why she kept getting removed from lesson, so she’d be placed in the pastoral office ... she was obsessed with a lot of guys, I’m astonished she left school without getting pregnant or a nasty disease.”
We drank our coffee in silence. Caitlin seemed very comfortable with me looking at her curled up on my sofa, her eyes watching me as much as I watched her.
We finished our drinks simultaneously, I placed my mug on the floor beside the sofa, Caitlin put hers on the side table at her end of the sofa.
She turned back and slid over, landing in my lap.
“Can we kiss?” she asked.
“Like I’d object,” I replied, as she brought her lips to mine.
Caitlin moved a little while we kissed, forcing her right leg between my body and the sofa arm, so she was kneeling astride me, pressing her soft, full breasts against my t-shirt.
We kissed for a long time, her tongue exploring my mouth, running along my teeth, dancing with my tongue.
I don’t know how long we kissed, as I don’t have a clock in this room, but we were panting, out of breath, as horny as teenagers as we parted.
(yes, I know Caitlin is a teenager, but I’m a couple of decades out of my teens.)
“Can we go to bed?” she asked.
I could feel her heart pounding, she could probably feel mine.
“Yes ... of course,” I replied.
Caitlin slid off the sofa, gripping my hand as she moved, pulling me with her.
“Where is your bedroom?”
“Through the door, up the stairs.”
As she dragged me along, my mind was desperately trying to remember when I’d last changed my bedding ... Sunday ... three days, it’s OK.
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