I wanted to move on him, but Callan wrapped his hand in my hair and yanked hard enough to make me gasp. He held me like that as he worshipped my breasts, moving between the two until my nipples were swollen and I was ready to combust. His thickness inside me, growing more needful by the second but not moving, not feeling the friction I so wanted … I was losing my mind.
Then suddenly, we were up. I grabbed Callan’s shoulders, gripping his sides with my inner thighs as he stood. For a second, he looked up at me in his arms. And then he gently laid us down on the bed.
“Spread, princess,” he demanded gruffly.
I widened my legs as he braced himself over me, sliding my hands around his waist to his smooth back, feeling his muscles move under my palms. Exquisite tension shuddered through me as Callan pulled out and then thrust slowly back in.
Our gazes held. His was tender and fierce as he took his time, his hips moving with sexy languidness against mine. My fingernails bit into his back as the tension tightened, growing tauter, tauter.
“You’re so beautiful,” Callan groaned, his hips snapping a little harder against me now.
Not “You’re so fit” or “sexy” like he usually said.
Beautiful.
And he looked at me like he meant it. And that maybe he was talking about more than my body.
As our hips came together in gentle urgency, our gazes never breaking, I realized … we were making love.
Not fucking.
Making love.
My climax shattered through me on his next deep plunge, and I shuddered beneath him, moaning his name.
Callan came in the aftermath of my climax, bowing his head in my neck as his cock throbbed inside me. He ground his hips as if he didn’t want it to end, his groan reverberating in my ear.
This was the point in the night Callan would carry me into the bathroom to clean me up, but only so we could go another round. Starting all over again with foreplay.
But as I lay there with his heavy, strong body over mine, I felt my insides come apart in a different way. Not in a good way.
The tear escaped before I could stop it.
I brushed it aside and pushed at Callan in the panic. “Get off,” I whispered frantically.
Callan’s body went from relaxed to alert in zero point five seconds. He lifted his head to look at me. “Beth?—”
“Get off.” I shoved at him.
“Fuck.” He rolled away, but as I moved to get out of the bed, he stopped me. “Beth, talk to me. Did I do something?”
Aye. You made me fall for you, you absolute arsehole. His stricken expression, however, cut through my own. How was he to know how I was feeling if I didn’t bloody tell him?
I sat up and moved to the edge of the bed.
“Beth.”
“I can’t do this anymore.” I looked back at him over my shoulder. “It’s … it’s not just casual anymore for me.”
Callan’s expression blanked.
Pain, like a sharp burn across my chest, made me look away. Quickly, I stood and started dressing, ignoring the wet evidence of where he’d been between my legs.
“Beth, don’t go.”
I looked at him as I stepped into my shoes. “Why?”
His expression was no longer blank. There was a desperation in his eyes that gave me hope.
