He didn’t take his gaze off me. “Because I want more than that life can offer.”
* * *
We caughta cab back to his apartment, the place declared Seph-free by a note left on the floor near the door. Callum actually laughed, leaving it where it was and closing the door.
We’d been quiet on the way home. There was so much to say and neither of us knew where to start, neither of us being that sort of person who could announce their emotions or thoughts and all of this was like fidgeting in a cupboard in the dark for a pair of socks.
“Coffee? Or wine, champagne?”
“Are we celebrating?”
“I think we should.”
“What should we celebrate?”
“Us.”
I followed him to the kitchen which was set at the side of the lounge, open plan and huge.
“What’s ‘us’?”
“I don’t know. But I know that it exists. Maybe it has since we first met. In lectures that day. I thought you were beautiful. And out of my league.”
He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Moet, because that was how the Callaghans did things.
“You thought I was out of your league? I was the poor girl who was a complete geek and nerd totally obsessed with animals and becoming a vet.” I laughed.
The bottle popped. “It made you out of my league. I was an arse. I fucked pretty much anything that moved…”
“As did everyone who had the opportunity.”
“Maybe.” He poured me a glass. “This is Seph’s, by the way. Probably from a client. I’m using it as rent.”
We clinked glasses. “Cheers to Seph.”
“Just about. I could have a worse little brother.”
“You could.” The tension thickened between us, reminding me of when we were younger and would sit together studying or when Jonah was back home and we were alone for a weekend. I understood it now. We had never been just friends; it had always been more.
A lot more.
Who touched who first was unknown. Somehow, maybe through divine intervention, we ended up in the middle of the kitchen, his mouth on mine with a ferocity I’d never known and me trying to pull back the control. It was a fight, a war of need and demand and want, and there could be no loser. This ended with us both on the podium, both winners. Both inside each other, not knowing where I ended and he began and I wasn’t sure that this hadn’t always been the case.
Buttons pinged off his shirt, my dress was lost to the floor and fuck knew where my bra would be in the morning. My ass was sat on the worktop and Callum’s mouth was between my thighs, licking something that wasn’t available in the supermarket. I held on to his shoulders, needing him, wanting to push him away but unable to because this was more than I’d ever desired or craved.
It had been too long since I’d last came, too long since Africa, since he’d brought me to stinging orgasms that made earthquakes in my steady and predictable world.
Fracturing my control. Breaking my resolve.
Being more than I thought I needed.
His hands pinched at my nipples, taking as much for him as he gave and demanding that all I knew was him and what he was doing to my body. He licked my clit, sucking and biting, not rhythm or predictability, leaving me with no ability to do anything but cling on and let him induce an orgasm my heart wasn’t prepared for. My centre clenched and I felt the pull I’d only known a few times in my life, knew that I was drenching him, the kitchen, a complete loss of control.
I was flipped round onto my stomach, leaning over the breakfast bar. His cock was at my entrance and I was spread open for him, bracing myself for the stretch when he started to fuck me, but he didn’t. Instead he held my ass, his thumbs pushing my cheeks apart to expose my other hole, placing a finger there and then inside.
I moaned because it felt good, the invasion welcome because the need to be filled by him was overwhelming.
“Here, Wren. Next time, here.”
