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A Dirty Merry Christmas

Page 59

by Eva Ashwood

“I know what you need,” I pant, breathless. “I told you I’m gonna give it to you. Everything you need. Anything you want.” I punctuate that with a hard thrust, bottoming out in her with one smooth movement.

She cries out loudly, like she can’t hold the sounds back anymore.

I grab a handful of her ponytail, winding it around my hand and using it to pull her head around to make her look at me. “If you’re going to scream while I fuck you, I want to hear you screaming my name,” I tell her. “Say it, wildflower. Let me hear my name while you’re coming apart.”

“Callan!” she cries out. I slam my cock into her one more time, and that’s enough to have her arching her back and clawing at the hood of the car as she comes for me. The way her pussy spasms around me sends heat and pleasure coursing through me, and that’s enough to have me following her right over the edge too.

I pump into her pussy and then pull out, letting the rest of my cum splash over her back.

Brynn shudders at the sudden temperature change, fighting for air as she comes down.

I drag one finger through the cum on her skin and then pull her head up, offering my finger to her to lick clean. Her eyes are hooded, hazy with pleasure, but her tongue slides out of her mouth to lap at my finger before she sucks it into her mouth.

“Good girl,” I groan. “You’re so fucking good.”

Brynn shivers, and I know it’s from the cold now. I pull her up and help her back into her clothes, smoothing her hair back. I run my hands over her body, checking her over to make sure she really is okay after everything.

Apparently I’m not as subtle as I thought because she smiles at me. “I’m okay, Callan. The only marks on me now are from you spanking me.”

That does something to me, the thought of leaving my mark on her. I pull her in close and kiss her forehead. “Good. That’s how it should be.”

25

BRYNN

After what happened—the crash, not the sex—I’m almost certain that Callan is going to insist on us going back to the cottage where it’s safe. But instead he gets behind the wheel and points me to the passenger seat, and drives us to the store.

I don’t say anything, but I feel warm inside about it. I’m grateful. Callan has been really good at understanding and accommodating my OCD without making me feel broken or making a big deal out of it.

He walks with me down the aisles, and I grab two bottles of the shampoo I needed, just in case. I would love it if nothing like this happens again.

Callan waits for me to pay at the self-checkout, and we head back to the car. He’s driving again, getting us on the road headed back to the cottage.

The air is so different from how it was on the drive here. Something has definitely shifted between us. I feel hyper aware of every move he makes, so conscious of him just a few inches away from me. There’s a lingering heat as well, and when I glance at him, my body seems to pulse with the memory of what he did to me. And how much I liked it. I can’t get it out of my head, and judging from the way his posture is relaxed and he seems less guarded now, Callan is affected by it too.

So I just decide fuck it, we’re talking about it.

“You’ve never called me wildflower before,” I say, going for casual, but probably sounding too interested in his answer to really pull it off.

“Oh. Right.” He rubs a hand across his face. “Was it weird?”

“No. I guess I’m just wondering why. I don’t want to be a narcissist and assume it’s about my song.”

Callan glances at me for a second and then back to the road. “It is.”

Well, that definitely confirms a few things. I knew he had to be listening to my music at least a little to know the things that he knew about it, but I didn’t expect this.

“So… you’re a fan.”

His nose scrunches up. “I listen to your music sometimes.”

“How often is ‘sometimes’?”

He huffs a breath, his nostrils flaring. “A lot, okay? I listen to your music a lot. It’s… it’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t think it’s a big deal, I was just wondering. You made it seem like you just listened to it here and there when it came up before.” There’s nothing accusatory in my tone, I’m just genuinely curious and trying to figure him out.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I was some creepy obsessed fan. You seemed like you had enough to deal with already.”