“How did you know?” I ask, gesturing around at the gorgeous library.
“Call it a hunch,” he says with a crooked grin.
It’s more than just a hunch, though. That much I’m sure of. I’d seen him so many times, watching me from a distance in college as I read book after book. It had always felt… comforting. Like someone was watching my back for me. And I needed that feeling of security after everything I’d been through. I know all too well how quickly the illusion of safety can slip away if you’re not careful, especially in my world.
Callum and I make our way through the empty house. I take in the sounds more than the visuals with Callum leading me, our fingers intertwined. The sound of the hardwood under my heels, the creak of the steps when Callum descends. I wonder how it will be once the vast emptiness is filled with furniture and rugs and books and pictures, envisioning it all in my mind.
We reach a set of large glass doors leading out onto a stone patio with some simple outdoor furniture and a wet bar. There’s a slight breeze, and the moon is high and bright in the night sky.
“Have a seat. I’ll go grab our food from the car. Be right back,” he says with a roguish wink.
I sit down and feel the tension in my body begin to release. My muscles feel tired, like they’ve been clenched tightly for far too long. I take a deepbreath, rolling my shoulders, then raising my hands above my head and stretching my sides. I glance back over my shoulder at the house. The balcony we just stood on was set to the left. The turned wood columns hold the dark, pitched roof over a wrap-around porch. It’s gorgeous. I smile to myself as I turn back around, wondering how long it will take me to move all of my books onto the new shelves. Absently, I reach up to remove my stole, and as I do, I hear the glass door click open behind me. Cal walks a few steps onto the patio, then his footsteps come to a halt. I turn to look at him.
He’s standing so still, arms at his sides, gripping our to-go bags from the restaurant. He’s looking at me so strangely. I laugh, extremely confused, and say “Wha-”
But I don’t finish, because it hits me. He’s seen it.
The tattoo. My tattoo is huge and intersects with the scar that reaches from my right shoulder down to my left hip.
His eyes are filled with rage and sorrow as he slowly walks towards me, placing our food on the table. He gently places a hand under my elbow and beckons me to stand, turning me around so that my back faces him fully.
No use trying to hide it now.
I let him turn me, and I feel his fingers tracing the scar, his touch delicate, smooth. He begins to trace the sword that is centered down my spine, broken in half by the scar, then the girl on the left side of the sword, who’s hugging her body to cover her chest, her hair long and flowing, tears streaming down her face. Behind her are sprays of dying Camellia flowers. In a mirror image on the right side of the sword is a skeletalversion of the girl, reaching out to comfort her former self, and behind her, sprays of blooming Camellia flowers. The flowers that Callum used to give me.
He doesn’t speak for what feels like hours. I don’t move, don’t speak. I just let him take it in. Instead of turning me to face him, he walks around me. I train my eyes on the ground, but he places a finger under my chin and tilts my face up, forcing me to look him in the eyes.
Tears had gathered in his agony-filled eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner,” he says in a broken whisper. “I never should have left your side. I should have fought harder. I—”
“Cal,” I say, cutting him off, “we can’t change what has already happened. But like you said earlier, we can stop dwelling on the past. This,” I say, gesturing back at the home, then at him, placing my palm on his chest, “this is a future worth fighting for. Right, roomie?”
We both smile, but something changes. It happens in slow motion at first. Our eyes lock. Our faces are so close now. We both lean in, the kiss soft and chaste. But soon, it begins to deepen. Callum inhales deeply, wrapping his arms around my waist. His tongue slides into my mouth, and I feel the muscles deep in my core clench deliciously. Slowly, I slide his jacket down his arms, letting it hit the ground behind him. His hands are running through my hair, and he grabs a handful, pulling my head back. He begins kissing my neck, and I can feel his tongue tasting my skin. A moan escapes my lips, breathy and desperate, and he grips my hair tighter in response, his other hand on my ass, pulling me into him.
I begin to unbutton his shirt, but I’m too impatient, so I rip the rest of it open, barely hearing the sound of buttons pattering on the stones.He shrugs out of his shirt hurriedly, then reaches around me to tug the laces of my dress. I feel it come loose, then Callum slides it down my body, and it pools at my feet. He steps back a little to survey me, his eyes hot and intense. When his eyes reach my thigh, a brief look of shock flashes in his features at the knife strapped there.
“You weren’t gonna use that on me, were you?” he asks, his voice rough as he pulls me against his body again, the heat of his skin enveloping me.
“Only if you want me to,” I say, running my hands down his muscular chest, over the dark ink splayed across it. The gray wash makes the contours of his muscles more defined and prominent. The only color on the tattoo intertwines through the tattoo like it was physically pulling every piece of it into one place.
He picks me up suddenly, cupping my ass and forcing my legs around his waist. His gaze slides slowly from my face down to my breasts, and he takes one in his mouth, his teeth grazing my nipple gently. I moan and grip his waist with my legs, pressing myself into him, the heat between my legs intensifying. I hardly notice as he walks us over to one of the couches on the patio and gently lowers me onto the cushion.
He stands over me, drinking me up with his eyes as he unfastens his belt. I let my hands roam over my breasts and slowly trail them down to my thong, teasing with the string on the side.
“Fuck, Maeve,” he mutters roughly as he slides his slacks and boxers down his hips, his hard cock fully erect. Another rush of arousal washes over me, and I know he can see the wetness saturating my panties. He stands there, his gaze dark, hooded, watching me touch myself as hestrokes himself, the tattoos across the muscles in his forearm flexing. When I slide my fingers under the hem of my panties, he groans loudly.
“Show me where you want me to touch you,” he growls deeply.
Fuck.
I want his hands on me, everywhere. I want him inside me. But I try to draw the moment out a little longer. He looks feverish, like he wants to devour me. His chest is rising and falling in rapid succession, his breathing ragged. I shift the delicate lace away from my entrance, allowing him to see the wetness glistening, waiting for him to slide into me. He places a knee on the cushion, then leans over, kissing the inside of my knee and making his way down. By the time he reaches the inside of my thigh, I’m already writhing beneath him.
“Please, Callum,” I beg, my voice just a whimper, “I need you inside me.”
He looks up at me, his eyes dark, a half-smile on his face.
“I love it when you beg,” he murmurs, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, his tongue slides from my dripping center to my clit, sucking and lapping. I fist my hands in his hair, my back arching as I moan loudly. He crawls up, trailing kisses over my stomach, my breasts. Each kiss leaves a mark beneath my skin, and then he’s hovering over me.
