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“Two can play at that game,” he murmured. His lips found the sensitive spot below her ear, teasing it with teeth and tongue until she gasped.
Callan drew back enough to reposition himself, and Roseline’s breath caught at her first sight of his naked form—strong shoulders tapering to a lean waist, a dusting of dark hair on his chest trailed lower still. She reached for him again, but he caught her hands, pinning them above her head.
“Patience. I told you, we’ve got all the time in the world.”
She strained against his grip, desire coiling hot and insistent inside her. “Let me touch you.”
“All in good time.” He lowered his head, mouth tracing a path from her collarbone to the valley between her breasts. “I want to savor you first.”
A soft moan escaped her as his lips closed over one nipple, teasing. She could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh, and the knowledge of how much he wanted her only fueled her own need.
“Callan, please…” Her back arched, wordless pleas escaping with every breath.
And then there was only sensation—the warmth of his mouth and the rasp of his stubble against her bare skin, clever fingers stroking and teasing until she thought she might come apart.
Some distant part of her mind warned this was moving too fast, that she was giving him too much too soon. But in Callan’s arms, the rest of the world faded away. There was no past or future, only this moment and the love they were creating.
“Callan, please…” she pleaded, her body trembling under his deliberate touch. He seemed determined to enjoy every moment, to create a bond that went beyond the physical.
“Tell me what you need, Roseline,” he urged, his fingers tracing the curve of her collarbone, making her shiver in anticipation.
It was difficult to put her desires into words, but as she gazed into his eyes, she found the courage. “I need you, Callan.”
Every brush of his fingertips sent lightning bolts across her skin. Every lingering kiss left her burning for more. She became lost in the sensation, drowning in the depths of his eyes that promised her a lifeline.
Breathing hard now, Callan covered her with his powerful body, nestling between her thighs. She thought at first he would slide inside her, but instead, he used his fingers to tease her clit. Roseline was so turned on she shifted, opening her legs wide, greedy for his touch and the promise of raw pleasure. Only when the strumming on her bundle of nerves intensified, and she cried out in orgasm, did he enter her.
In bliss, she floated, pleasure intensifying with their connection. All that anchored her was the blue of his eyes, focused only on her face. Callan’s gaze never left hers, even as his thrusts intensified. She could see the restraint in the tension lining his face, could feel it in the coiled power of his body. He was holding back for her sake so she could find her pleasure one more time. He didn’t know, but she was about to fall over the edge once more.
“Let go,” she whispered, caressing his cheek. “I’m with you.”
A groan tore from his throat as he drove into her. Again and again, his control shattered. Roseline cried out as she tumbled over, her new release triggering his own. They clung to each other as the final tremors subsided, hearts pounding in tandem.
In the stillness that followed, Roseline snuggled against him in ultimate contentment.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered against her lips. “Let me see your eyes.”
Roseline blinked open heavy lids, meeting his gaze. What she saw there stole her breath—raw need and tenderness all wrapped up in his sea-blue eyes. He made her feel cherished, desired, safe to be vulnerable.
The world outside ceased to exist as they found release in each other’s arms, their souls entwining in a shared moment of ecstasy. It was as if the weight of their burdens had been momentarily lifted, and all that remained were two hearts beating in unison.
As they sought comfort in their intimate embrace, Roseline felt an unfamiliar sense of peace settle over her. The events of the evening were temporarily forgotten, pushed aside by the warmth of Callan’s presence.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The soft morning light filtered in through the sheer curtains across the bedroom. Callan lay still, not wanting to disturb the beautiful woman curled against him. Roseline was nestled close, her head resting on his chest and one leg draped over his with her blond hair in an artful disarray. The sheets were tangled around their bodies, a reminder of the passion they had shared.
Callan reached out and stroked a lock of her golden hair, marveling at how soft and silky it felt between his fingers. Her steady breathing told him she was still asleep, looking so peaceful with her eyes closed and lips parted. He couldn’t resist brushing the lightest kiss to her forehead, inhaling the lingering floral scent of her perfume on her skin.
Last night had been a much-needed release of pent-up emotions after the harrowing events surrounding their case but also the attraction that had been pulling at them. It was more than just physical catharsis for Callan, though. Making love to Roseline had been profoundly intimate, connecting them on a deeper level that both exhilarated and terrified him. He hadn’t intended to get so emotionally invested so fast. But Roseline had broken through his defenses, awakening feelings he had dismissed for so long.
Callan knew he should extract himself from the bed to avoid waking Roseline prematurely. As tempting as it was to linger here with her soft warmth enveloping him, he wanted her to get as much rest as possible. The poor woman was exhausted between late nights tracking the Game Master’s digital footprint and the toll this case was taking on her psyche. She deserved a peaceful moment to recharge before they had to return to the grim madness awaiting them outside this bedroom.
Carefully, Callan eased his body away from Roseline’s, holding his breath as he slipped out from under the sheets. He winced as the cool air hit his bare skin. Retrieving his boxers from the floor, he pulled them on before making his way to the adjoining bathroom. After relieving himself and washing up, Callan took a moment to inspect his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His eyes looked brighter, and little crinkles formed at their corners as he couldn’t help smiling, remembering how Roseline had guided his hands over her body last night.
Shaking his head to regain focus, Callan crept back into the bedroom toward his discarded clothes. As he bent down to gather them up, something on the nightstand caught his eye; a framed photograph of a young Roseline standing in front of a ramshackle house nestled in the bayou. He picked up the frame to study the image within. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old, but Callan could already recognize the determination in her pale blue eyes. He imagined that iron will had served her well, allowing her to rise above the difficult circumstances of her upbringing to become the strong woman she was today. Carefully returning the photo to its place, Callan finished getting dressed and slipped quietly out of the room.
The scent of coffee already brewing drew Callan into the cozy kitchen. She must have programmed the coffee maker to brew each morning. However, he also recalled Roseline mentioning her daily stop at the local café for her morning routine. Rummaging through the cabinets, he found two simple white mugs and placed them next to the brewing coffee pot. As the satisfying smell filled the small space, Callan’s thoughts turned to the normalcy of this domestic moment—so unlike the heightened intensity of their days on the case together.
