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“No,” he says. I believe him, though something in his voice tells me there’s more to his story.
I dismiss the urge to press him on it. He’s Callahan’s lover tonight, here to act as my hands, my mouth, my tongue, and my cock—here to do the things I can’t. The rest doesn’t matter because in the morning, we’ll all pretend this never happened.
“Take your clothes off, Callahan.”
I take another step back, adjusting myself to a less painful location. The head of my cock sticks up over my waistband by an inch or two and I rub my thumb across the tip, unable to resist taking a little friction.
I catch Raleigh watching again. He didn’t get much of an eyeful this time—everything happened behind the hem of my T-shirt—but he blushes, and I hold his gaze as I bring my thumb up to my mouth, smearing the moisture I gathered across my lower lip. I think he stops breathing until my tongue swipes it off. Then Raleigh is moving faster, doing everything in his power to help speed Callie’s progress. The instant her dress comes down over her shoulders, I forget about Raleigh’s watchful gaze.
Her breasts hang heavy, thick, and full and inexplicably braless.
“You dressed that way to go out in public?” I can’t disguise my fury. Callahan startles at my words, but she squares her shoulders and faces me fully.
“I dress any way I please,” she says, setting her hands on her hips as though she’s about to tear me a new one. Christ, she’s gorgeous like this. “I dress any way I please every day of the week, so don’t you start with me.”
“Callahan.” My voice is pure warning this time. “You’re wearing underwear under that dress.” It’s not a question. Raleigh’s eyebrows hit his hairline and his eyes go straight to her dress, the top half of which has caught around her hips.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” says Callie, her chin lifting. “What’s it to you?”
The question ought to be flippant, rhetorical even, but I can’t breathe without knowing the answer.
“Raleigh,” I say. “On your knees.”
“Oh, yes.” Raleigh’s enthusiastic response rivals my own.
It pulls at some dark thread in me to goad Raleigh, to push his boundaries a little.
I lean back against the table, braced on its opposite side by the heavy antique sofa, and place my hands on the edge, letting the metal frame of it bite into my palms. The pain isn’t much of a distraction, spurring my arousal higher as Raleigh shifts closer to Callie. His hands go to her ankles, and he pauses, glancing over at me.
“Do it,” I say.
I can’t tell which part is getting him off right now, but he’s still not objecting and I’m too far gone to back out now.
Satisfaction by proxy. If that’s the best I can do, so be it.
Callie’s dark hair spills over one shoulder, just long enough to sweep across the tip of one tightly beaded breast. She gasps at the infinitesimal contact, a hand coming up to sweep the hair away and giving me another idea.
Satisfaction by proxy, but with two sets of hands to work with. A man could do worse.
“Stroke them.”
Callie’s eyes come up to meet mine, widening in surprise. She glances down at my crotch, the line of my erection unconcealed. I keep my hands on the table and let her look, and she thumbs across her nipples gently.
Raleigh is taking his sweet time working his way up her legs, stroking every inch and flirting with the hem of her dress, tugging at it just a little. Callie bites her lip, her eyelids drifting closed. Raleigh looks at me again. I nod.
He yanks the material down to her feet, surprising Callie and me both.
The panties are so sheer, she might as well be nude. My hips roll of their own accord, seeking friction, but I keep my hands on the damned table.
Callie raises her chin, defiant once more.
“Well?” she asks.
Raleigh looks like he’s won the lottery. He leans in close enough to trace the tip of his nose along the thin lace, keeping that last bit of fabric between them. He inhales deeply, making Callie tremble. He wets his lips and glances at me again, waiting for instruction. Or permission.
Either way, smart guy.
“Make it good, boy,” I say, my voice unrecognizable.
