“I always did.”
“We were kids.”
“Do you tell Ves not to call you that?”he asks, pushing.
“That’s between her and me.”I rake a hand through my hair.Why is he here?
“Right,” he says, and there’s something almost wounded in it.“Because I wouldn’t be part of the two of you.”
I finally snap.“What the fuck do you want?”
“You want the full list, or just what’s urgent?”That tone—teasing, loaded—tells me exactly where this is going, and I want no part of it.
“Okay,” he says lightly.“Bad mood.If it bothered you that I stayed in her bed, you could’ve said something.”
I stay quiet.
“You could’ve offered your room,” he adds, voice dropping.“I would’ve gone willingly—big guy.”
This time I can’t help but turn.
And, fuck.
He’s standing there, shirtless.Just a pair of low-slung athletic shorts—mine—and zero shame.
Cally is temptation dressed down—barefoot, golden skin glowing under the ambient light, every inch of him built from years of training and sin.His abs contract slightly when he breathes, like his body’s already reacting to mine.
His chest is broad, sculpted, and so familiar it makes my mouth dry.I know how it feels to bite into those pecs.I know how his back arches when I drag my tongue over the trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband.
And that tattoo—fuck—ink curls low across his ribs, disappearing into the V of his hip like it’s daring me to come find the rest.
I want to lick it.
Trace it with my mouth, my hands, my cock.
I want to press him into the wall and mark every inch of that body until he’s trembling beneath me
His thighs are thick—hockey-built, powerful—and slightly spread like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.Every inch of him is carved muscle and careless sin.His chest rises and falls like he’s barely keeping himself still, and his abs flex with each breath as if they’re remembering what it’s like to grind against my hips.
And, fuck, I want to fall to my knees and kiss down his stomach.Lick the crease of his thigh.Worse, I want to pull those shorts off and swallow every filthy, broken sound he gives me.
I want to ruin him, break him apart.
And the worst part?
I’m pretty sure he knows it.
That smirk on his lips—half dare, half promise—is Callaway Winthrop at his most dangerous.
He licks his lips, slow and shameless, his eyes dragging down my body like he’s choosing which part to devour first.
“Cat got your tongue, babe?”He smirks, knowing exactly what he’s doing.
I hate that the tone makes my pulse spike.
I hate that I want to lick his throat and sink my teeth into his skin until he begs.
Be strong,I tell myself.You don’t want this, him.Not again.
