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“Your hips aren’t.”
His palm lands sharply against my ass. Pleasure stings across my skin. I arch.
“That didn’t help.”
Another strike.
“Callum.”
“Still.”
The third lands between my thighs. My knees nearly buckle. Callum catches my hips before I fall and holds me against the altar.
“Color?”
“Green.”
“Pain?”
“Four.”
“More?”
“Yes.”
“Greedy, little slut”
“You made me this way.”
“I haven’t started.”
His mouth returns. The first stroke of his tongue proves he wasn’t lying. Callum worships me with the same frightening patience he used to plan the maze. He learns every response, then uses it against me. When my breathing changes, he slows. When my thighs tighten, he moves elsewhere. He keeps me hovering near the edge without allowing me to fall.
“Please.”
He ignores me.
“Callum, please.”
His mouth leaves me. A frustrated sound escapes my throat.
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“Tell me.”
“You sound like Rhys.”
His hand closes around the back of my thigh.
“Say his name again while my mouth is on your pussy.”
Jealousy darkens every word. I should be careful. I don’t want careful.
“Rhys made me ask more nicely.”
Callum rises behind me.His chest presses against my back. One arm circles my waist while the other hand closes around my throat. Still no pressure. Only possession.
