His skin is hot under my palms as I brace my hands on hischest, picking up speed, guided by the firm grip of his fingers on my hips.
“That’s it, love. Take what you need.”
I whimper in response, too lost to form words. He sits up suddenly, wrapping an arm around my waist to pull me flush against him. The heat of his body radiates into mine, every inch of him solid and unyielding. The new angle has me gasping, clinging to his shoulders as he thrusts up into me.
“Look at me,” he commands softly.
I focus on him. The sound of his voice is enough to unravel me, but then one of his hands skates up my back to tangle in my hair. He softly yanks my head back to expose my throat. He latches on, sucking and nipping in a way that sends bolts of electricity straight to my core, and I shatter completely.
I’m still trembling when Callan’s rhythm falters, his breaths growing ragged against my neck. I pull back to watch his face, mesmerized by the play of emotions across his features. His brow furrows, eyes squeezing shut as a low groan escapes his lips. His muscles tense, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. I feel him pulse inside me, his hips jerking upward in short, sharp thrusts.
And then his eyes snap open, those blue depths eclipsed by his blown pupils. For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. This man is devastatingly beautiful in a way that isn’t fair to the rest of humanity, or to me, specifically, because I’m the one who has to act like I haven’t just been struck by lightning.
twenty-nine
BREE
The week vanishes in a blur, leaving me with our last morning together before Callan heads back home.
There’s a sadness in his eyes he isn’t trying to hide, and it makes me want to drop everything and jump into his arms right this second.
I reach across the table, my hand finding his like it was made for this exact purpose. His fingers weave through mine, and I grip them like they’re the only anchor in a very unsteady world. “I’ll try to visit soon,” I whisper, mostly to convince myself.
His thumb sweeps over my knuckles, a touch that feels like a promise, even though it carries the weight of goodbye.
“I’ll hold you to that, lass,” he says, his voice thick with that accent I can never resist.
Soon can’t come fast enough, which is wild, because for weeks I’ve been pretending I don’t know what this is. The truth is sitting heavy on my tongue, waiting for its moment. I’m in love with him.
The second that realization clicks into place, I start spiraling through all thehow the hell do I say this without ruining everythingscenarios.
Option one: just blurt it out. “I’m in love with you. Do you love me back?” Simple. Direct. And…painfully awkward. It would be like ripping off a bandage, but holy hell, that’s gonna sting.
Option two: soften the blow, make it less of a thing. Casually drop it into conversation like it’s no big deal. “Oh, by the way, I’m in love with you. But it’s fine, right? Totally normal, no pressure!”
Option three: ask to go home with him. Like, really plead. Maybe throw in a dramatic, “I can’t live without you,” for full effect.
Before I can say any of it, my phone buzzes against the wooden table. It’s just a text, but when I glance at the screen, everything shifts.
Dillon.
My stomach lurches. My pulse stutters, then kicks up in a way Ireallydon’t like. For a moment, I just stare, frozen in a split second of denial, as if ignoring it might erase the fact that he’s reaching out at all.
“What’s wrong?” Callan’s voice pulls me back, his brow furrowed as his worried gaze locks onto mine.
I hesitate, my mind scrambling for options. Play it off? Wave it away? Anything to avoid this conversation. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know I can’t. Not with Callan leaving today.
“It’s…” My voice falters, my heart screaming at me to rip the bandage off already. “It’s Dillon,” I say, wincing as I meet his eyes.
His shoulders go rigid, the easy posture he wore just moments ago vanishing in an instant. The crease between hisbrows deepens, and there’s a sharp edge to his voice when he finally speaks, low and controlled, but crackling with restrained fury.
“What does he want?”
I swallow hard and glance down at the screen. “He’s asking if we can talk.”
His gaze snaps to mine so fast it roots me to the spot. “And do you want to?”
My fingers fidget along the edge of my phone, searching for something solid in a moment that feels anything but. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice small. It’s a confession, one that lands gently but echoes between us like a crack of thunder.
