I set down my fork. "I want you to finish what you started this morning."
"I did finish. You came so hard you cried."
Heat floods my face. "You know what I mean."
"I want to hear you say it."
God, he's relentless. Demanding. Infuriating in the best possible way.
"I want you to fuck me." The words come out steadier than I expected. "I want to know what it feels like when you stop holding back."
Callum's expression doesn't change, but I see the way his grip tightens on his fork. The way his jaw flexes.
"You think I was holding back?"
"I think you gave me exactly what I could handle this morning. Entry level. Training wheels." I lean closer, letting him see the challenge in my eyes. "I'm a fast learner, Callum. And I want the advanced class."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he stands, taking his plate to the sink before looking back at mine that is only half finished.
"Eat the rest of your food."
"I'm not hungry anymore."
"I don't care. You need the calories for what I have planned." He rinses the dishes without looking at me. "Finish eating. Take a shower. Meet me in the playroom in one hour."
My stomach flips. "One hour?"
"I have preparations to make."
He walks out of the kitchen before I can respond, leaving me staring at his retreating back with my heart hammering and my thighs already pressing together.
One hour. Sixty minutes to eat and shower and work myself into a frenzy of anticipation.
The man knows exactly what he's doing.
I finish the frittata because he told me to and because my body apparently responds to his commands even when he's not in the room. The shower in the guest bathroom has excellent water pressure and I take my time, washing away the remnants of this morning and trying not to touch myself even though the temptation is overwhelming.
He didn't say I couldn't. But he also didn't say I could. And something tells me he'll know if I cheat.
I dry off and stare at my reflection in the steam-fogged mirror. My skin is flushed, my eyes bright with anticipation. I look like a woman about to do something reckless.
I look like a woman who can't wait.
The hour passes in agonizing slow motion. I check my phone and find messages from Yasmine, passive aggressive updates about the rehearsal dinner I'm missing. Mom wanting to know about my mystery date. Dad sending another photo, this time of him and his girlfriend at some scenic overlook.
I respond to none of them. My mind is elsewhere. Downstairs. In a room with burgundy walls and a man who sees right through me.
When I finally descend the stairs, my legs are trembling. I'm wearing nothing but a silk robe I found in the guest closet, figuring he's just going to take off whatever I put on anyway.
The playroom door is open. Warm light spills into the hallway, and I can hear something soft playing. Jazz, maybe. Low and sultry.
I step inside and lose my breath.
The room has been transformed. Candles everywhere, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The bed has been made with fresh dark sheets. And on the padded bench where he bent me over this morning, an array of items has been laid out with careful precision.
Rope in three different colors. A blindfold in black silk. A leather paddle that makes my pussy clench just looking at it.
Callum stands in the center of the room, shirtless now, wearing only those low slung jeans. His chest is broad and scarred in places, a roadmap of a life spent working with his hands and his body.
