“Cal… I,” I mumble, a feeling of panic overtaking me, “I um… I haven’t…”
His brows pinched with concern, then understanding registers in his eyes, then shock.
“You mean… you never…?”
“It was supposed to be you,” I say, slightly embarrassed, “No one ever compared. So no, I-”
“Me either, Maeve,” he says in a rush, cutting me off.
Now I’m shocked. I never would have expected Callum to wait… forme. But I don’t have time to think about it. Suddenly, I feel the tip slide through my wet folds, sending waves of anticipation rolling through my body.
He pauses, then withdraws a little, the tip just at my entrance, and we hold eye contact as he slowly sinks into me, inch by inch. My nails dig into his skin, my muscles tense. I feel a brief twinge of pain, but it’s quickly overshadowed with pleasure as he stretches me, fills me.
He hesitates, concern in his eyes, so I say, “I need you. Now. Please.”
And that’s all he needed to hear.
He grinds into me slowly, intentionally, a ragged breath escaping him with every thrust. It’s excruciating. Exhilarating. I writhe, rolling my hips against him, wanting more, and he begins to lose control. His thrusts become almost punishing as he slams into me, harder, harder. My body tingles as the pressure mounts inside of me intensely.
“I’m about to…” I moan, and before I can finish the sentence, my body begins to writhe and shudder wildly, the wave continuing as he rubs my clit through my climax. He pulls out quickly, a look of desperation on his face as he flips me over, then lifts me back against his chest. He slams back into me from behind, making me scream in pleasure.
His left arm wraps under my arm, sliding up between my breasts. He then grips my neck, exerting the perfect amount of pressure there. I’m fully at his mercy now. I can feel his strength, his control, his heat.
I lean my head back and kiss him deeply. I feel his other hand sliding around my waist, finding my clit and rubbing it in time with each deep thrust. It’s too much. I begin to fall into another wave of pleasure, and I moan his name as I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair. He groans deeply, roughly, pounding faster and faster until he finds his release.
“Oh fuck, Maeve,” he groans as he shudders, and we ride the waves together, our breathing ragged.
Eventually, he flips me onto my side, still inside me, and he wraps his arms around me. He pulls my hair off my neck and begins planting small kisses there until he reaches the end of my shoulder.
I turned my head to look. “I love you, Callum.”
A lopsided grin spreads across his face, his features lighting up. In this moment, he looks like the teenage boy I once knew, and a pang of tenderness tugs at me. I move onto my back, causing him to slip out of me. He groans, but he lies on his side, hovering over me, one arm bent to hold his head and the other tracing across my bare skin. I let my gaze roam over the ink covering his body, taking in every detail.
An orchid stems from the left side of his ribs and crosses over the top of his peck. Nine petals, wilting and colorless, are falling off and drifting down, interwoven with a pink string that stretches down the stem. The blooms are light green, and the center of each one is a skull. Two hands reach for each other across the top of his chest, just below his collarbone, and each has a pink thread tied to the pointer finger. The thread ispulled taut, frayed and almost broken from the tension. In the center of his chest is an anatomical heart, broken into eight pieces, the pink string seeming to fall and wrap around the heart as if it were trying to pull the pieces back together. The majority of his right peck is blank, aside from the very top, which is kissed by the pink string as it seems to float over from the center. My fingers traces the string.
The tattoos are absolutely fascinating, incredibly detailed. My fingers trace the string as I try to memorize the shapes and colors, and I can feel Callum’s eyes on me.
Watching.
Waiting.
Chapter 13
Callum
Nepenthe (n) something that can make you forget grief or suffering
I watch Maeve as she traces her fingers over my chest. The night is still and quiet around us. Lying intertwined on the patio sofa with her, skin-to-skin, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. I follow the path of her finger on my chest as it moves up to the round of my shoulder and pauses, her eyes widening.
Ah, I think to myself.She’s seen it.
It’s a tattooed replica of our engraving on the oak tree at her parents’ estate. The letters are just as jagged as the ones on the tree. Just the way we left it.
CE & MC Always
She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling with tears, and I can’t help but place my hand along her cheek and wipe them away. She tries to speak, but the words catch. I can tell she’s struggling, can almost see the storm of emotions whirling inside her. She closes her eyes and takes a shuddering breath in.
“Maeve,” I whisper, and she opens her eyes. I can see the pain there.
