I know myself, I know my feelings, I know what I feel is real. It's true. It's deeper and wider and richer and more potent than anything I've ever felt before.
I love Callum Rhodes.
I love his gentle nature, his foot-in-mouth disease, his kindness, and his optimism. I love how he treats his mother, I love how he treats his friends—our friends. I love the way he cares for me, and I love how he's so damn selfless, putting others before himself. I love how he looks for the good in other people.
I love him.
So I don't flinch, I don't deny; I speak from my heart, look him dead in the eye, and tell him.
"I do."
He beams at me, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and threatening to crack his face in half. He pulls me closer, and I fall willingly, kissing him with all the love I feel. Our mouths brush against each other, in perfect sync, my tongue slipping inand him responding in kind. Callum. I've never wanted someone more than I want him.
Mine, mine, mine.
Once we pull back, needing to breathe and needing to calm down because, as much as I want to, I can't jump his bones right here on this public beach. Callum grins, knowing my train of thought, and kisses my forehead. I take a deep breath, getting myself under control.
"Get my back?" I ask, grabbing the tube out of my beach bag and handing it to him.
"As you wish," he says, brushing my hair over my shoulder and pressing a kiss to the juncture where my neck meets my shoulder. I shiver at the touch, closing my eyes as his hands rub the sunscreen in, making me hum in appreciation—in pleasure. I reach up and move more of my hair out of the way for him, making it easier to reach my back.
My hair.
My hair.
My eyes snap open.
I realize I'm not at the beach and Callum definitely isn't rubbing lotion into my skin. Instead of the clear blue sky, I'm staring at the white ceiling of my bedroom and groan at the loss of the incredible dream. I grab my otters—Westley and Buttercup—and pull them closer, burying my bald head under my pillow.
But the throbbing between my legs is incessant and not going away.
I'm way too turned on to go back to sleep, thinking of Callum and that dream.
Doing something I haven't done in what feels like forever, I reach my hand down, past my pajama bottoms, and reach into my panties. I gasp when I touch myself, finding myself alreadyslick, sensitive, and swollen. Circling my clit, I moan softly, my voice barely above a whisper, "Callum."
Sorry, just wanted to get you a little wet.
Yeah, you've succeeded, Callum, I think, gasping as I continue rubbing my swollen clit. I don't think I've ever been this wet before, this turned on, this needy. Not for anyone—not even Paul, with whom I had an active sex life.
Then I found the lump, and my libido hit a standstill from the worry and anxiety. Paul and I hadn't had sex for two months before we broke up—well,Ihadn't been having sex.
Heapparently had been having a good old time withElise.
Wincing, I don't want to think about those embarrassing moments of me offering to take care of him, not knowing that he was already being taken care of. The thought doesn't even make me sick anymore, it just makes me fucking angry. He was horrified when I asked if he was laughing at me behind my back with her, sharing his feelings, which I had no idea he had been struggling with.
Because he wouldn't tell me!
He couldn't talk to me—his fiancée—the woman he had been with for six years. I told him everything, every fear that I had about the cancer, and even before that, of becoming just like my own mother when we would have kids. My worries of missing something important at my job and getting fired for it. My terror at Tess being deployed somewhere dangerous and dying.
All of my fears, worries, and anxieties I laid bare to him because I placed my trust in him.
He would share general anxieties about school and work, but I realize now we never really got deep with his own feelings. When I would ask him, he would just assure me he was fine.
And I had thought that Paul was just naturally confident, that he was just so composed and put together. That almost hurts as badly as him having sex with Elise.
My hand stills, and I growl at myself in frustration, shaking my head to get rid of those thoughts and resuming my ministrations.
Callum, my otter, my gentle giant with his large, strong body dusted with dark hair. Those large arms wrapped around me, making me feel so safe. The scratch of his beard when he kisses me, those large hands cupping my face tenderly while his lips move against mine like he's feral.
