The six inches between us on the mattress suddenly feels like less. The sheets rustle as I shift, my knee bumping his. Neither of us pulls away. My skin prickles where we touch.
“Careful,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice even as my pulse quickens. “You’re getting sentimental on me.”
“Don’t spread that around.” His fingers inch closer on the rumpled sheet between us, pinky almost touching mine. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
“Oh, do you?” I arch a brow, ignoring the warmth spreading up my neck.
“I’m a Calloway, aren’t I?” He huffs, the corner of his mouth lifting, but his eyes never leave mine. His pinky hooks over mine, calloused skin against skin.
“I know.”
My stomach drops like I’ve just stepped off that cliff again.
The teasing fades. The movie flickers blue against the walls, dialogue reduced to murmurs beneath the sound of our breathing.
His eyes catch mine. Hold. The air between us thickens.
My split lip throbs. The bruises forming along my body pulses with each heartbeat. Yet beneath the pain runs something electric, something that makes my fingertips tingle against the sheets.
Six inches of rumpled cotton between us. Then five. Now four.
His fingertips find the back of my hand first. Calluses catch against my skin as they trace the ridge of my knuckles, the lines between my fingers. The pad of his thumb circles the hollow of my palm.
I don’t move, and I can’t look away.
“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” he murmurs, dragging his fingertips up my forearm and along the hollow of my elbow.
I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip, anticipation snapping inside my veins like popping candy. “You won’t.”
The mattress dips. His breath fans across my cheek, smelling faintly of mint toothpaste and something uniquely him. Our noses brush. A heartbeat passes.
It feels agonizing to wait, but I force myself to hold my nerve. I let my anticipation build and build until my fingertips feel like they’re vibrating from the suppressed urge to touch him.
And then, when I feel like I’m about to burst, his mouth is on mine.
Soft at first. Testing and teasing. My fingers curl into his shirt. His heartbeat hammers against my palm, strong and steady and real. He winces when I press too hard, a sharp inhale that makes me ease back, but his hand slides to my waist, keeping me close.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him. The world narrows to the pressure of his mouth, the scrape of stubble against my chin. Minutes blur. The TV screen fades to black, then blue, then black again. My leg hooks over his hip, pulling us flush.
He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my chest. The hard length of him presses against my inner thigh. My hips rock forward without permission.
Down the hall, a door clicks shut. Footsteps pad past our room. A low voice murmurs something. Is that my brother? Or one of his?
And why the hell does the idea of one of his brothers sound somehow enticingandterrible?
I freeze. Gage’s mouth stills against mine.
“Bell,” he whispers against my lips, voice rough with want.
I press my forehead to his, our ragged breathing the only sound in the darkness. “Not like this.”
“Not like this.” His voice is gravel. His fingers flex at my hip, then release.
I roll away, sheets tangling between us like a border. The clock reads 3:17 AM.
“Fuck,” I whisper to the ceiling.
“I know,” he says with a low chuckle. “C’mere, Bell.”
