I moan softly into his mouth, hands threading into his hair, nails grazing the back of his neck, desperate for more contact. Every inch of him against me feels electric. I feel him shift us, carrying me toward the sofa. Each step is a delicious torment; the anticipation is unbearable.
He lowers us gently onto the cushions but doesn’t release me. His hands roam over my back, tracing curves and angles, as though he’s memorising every inch. Every brush of his touchmakes my pulse spike. I cling to him, letting myself melt against the heat and tension radiating off his body.
Our kisses are relentless, a mix of urgent need and teasing playfulness. I feel him smirk against my lips before he drags his mouth down my jawline to my neck, eliciting a shiver and a soft gasp from me. I arch into him instinctively, craving more, needing every second of his attention.
“You’re driving me insane,” he mutters, voice low and rough with desire.
“Good,” I whisper, nipping at his lower lip, “I like being dangerous.”
His laugh is a groan, deep and husky, vibrating through me. He shifts, pressing himself closer, our bodies moulding perfectly together. I can feel the heat pooling in my stomach, the thrill of having him all to myself, every inch of him pressed against me. My hands slide down his arms, learning the lines of muscle, the weight of him, the warmth that makes me weak at the knees.
He lifts me slightly, turning us so I’m straddling him, and I can feel the press of his hard length beneath me. My hands clutch his shoulders as our lips meet again, slower this time, teasing, exploring, pulling each other taut with need. I feel my back arch, body trembling as if it recognises the tug of gravity in his arms.
“I don’t know how much longer I can hold back,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, eyes dark and intent, and it sends shivers racing through me.
“You don’t have to,” I say, leaning into him, letting the fire simmer without restraint.
He tilts his head, kissing me again, softer this time, almost worshipful, and I feel my own resolve melting. The sofa is too small and public in my mind’s eye, yet perfect for this closeness. Every touch, every whispered breath, every tiny movementbetween us ignites something I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks.
His hands move, teasing along my back, finding the sensitive spots beneath my shirt, making my skin tingle. I feel like I could melt into him completely and not exist without his arms holding me. My heartbeat echoes in my ears, loud and insistent.
Instinctively, my fingers move to the buttons of my shirt, unfastening them slowly as his gaze fixates on the skin I’m slowly exposing to him.
“Rose, you don’t have to do that…”
“Shush, I want to. I want to feel your lips on my skin,”
Callum moves forward, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time. The tip of his tongue pokes out between his lips and runs a slow trail down the valley of my breasts. Goosebumps spring free, blossoming across the mound of my breast.
Just as I think I could lose myself entirely, his phone buzzes sharply on the coffee table. The sound cuts through the haze like a gunshot.
He freezes mid-kiss, lips hovering over my bra covered nipple, eyes flicking to the screen.
Talia.
My stomach clenches. Of course she’s still there, thinking he’ll come back. I see the tension in his jaw, the flash of conflict in his eyes. I don’t move, just watch, holding my breath, wanting to be close and wanting to be careful all at once. He silences the phone without opening the message, then leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my temple. It’s both reassurance and promise.
“Don’t you need to answer that?” I murmur, and he looks at me with a flash of something I don’t quite understand.
“I… no,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. “You’re all that matters now. She’s not important to me.”
We stay there a moment, bodies pressed together, breathing shared, hearts racing in tandem. He’s careful, protective, and it makes me crave him even more.
“Rose,” he mutters, his lips brushing my hairline, “I can’t get enough of you.”
“Good,” I reply, my voice almost a whisper, “Because I want this. All of it.”
He groans, it’s a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through me, and it’s all I can do to not dissolve into him completely. Our kisses grow again, urgent and desperate, teasing, claiming, leaving us both breathless. My hands wander over his back, his shoulders, memorising every contour, every line.
We’re lost in each other, a tangle of limbs and whispers, until my stomach drops at the sound of the phone buzzing again. He groans softly, reluctantly pulling away just enough to glance at the screen.
Talia’s name is there again.
My heart clenches. I know it’s not real, not anymore, because he told me so, and the gossip has been abundant amongst the team over the last few days, but the sting is unavoidable. He looks at me, his jaw tight, fingers curling around mine, and I feel him almost physically wrestle with the past. He swallows hard, ignoring the intrusion, and presses a long, lingering kiss to my lips, this one slower, hotter, claiming me in a way that leaves me trembling.
We don’t move past the edge, not yet, but the promise of more hangs between us, palpable and irresistible. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared breath feels like a tether, a thread pulling us closer to something neither of us can, or wants, to resist.
His arm wraps around me, holding me close, grounding me even as I ache for more. “I could get used to this,” he murmurs into my hair, voice low and intoxicating.
