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He does.
Inside of five minutes, Callahan is trembling so hard, she’s almost lost her balance twice. Raleigh never relents, not for a second, working his mouth over every inch of exposed skin and using his teeth and tongue to get at the flesh still covered by her panties.
“Stop. Stop,” says Callie. Raleigh releases his grip on her hips and backs off immediately. My hands finally come off the table. Still shaking, Callie squeezes her thighs together and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“You were right there,” murmurs Raleigh. Callie nods, her eyes closed. “Then why?”
Callie takes another deep breath, then opens her eyes, gleaming with heat and want as she looks down at him.
“Not done yet,” she says. Raleigh grins at her, and she winks like this is fun. This time, Callie is the one to glance at me for permission.
Yes.
“Lie back on the bed, Raleigh,” I tell him.
He rocks up to his feet, taking Callie by the hand and leading us across the room. He stops at the foot of the bed, hesitating too long. He’s still wearing black boxer shorts, just tight enough to curl around the curve of his ass, though I doubt he’d even noticed the effect. Annoyed by Callie’s sudden time-out and the pervasive need to keep my hands to myself—off of both of them, because Callie’s off-limits and Raleigh is straight and therefore off-limits—I hit the end of my patience and grip Raleigh’s hips just long enough to toss him on the bed.
He’s not a small guy—he might be a hair taller than me—but he’s lean, with the muscle definition you see on swimmers. It’s no effort at all to get him moving.
“Hey!” he says, mid-bounce.
“You’re fine, boy,” I say dismissively. “Moving too slow. Don’t do it again.”
“Yes, sir,” and this time he says it with attitude and my palm itches with the urge to teach him how to speak to me properly.
Christ. I’ve had lovers who liked to play rough, but never in my whole life have I felt compelled to dominate any of them until tonight.
Shoving the thought back into some dark corner of my brain, I dig my fingers into my palms to chase the itch away.
“Lie back,” I command. Despite his moment of defiance, Raleigh’s eyes widen and I see the tent of his boxers twitch. He wriggles back into the pillows until he’s sitting up against the headboard, folding his hands over his fly as though trying to be polite about it.
This kid.
Smothering a chuckle, I turn to Callahan. She’s standing next to the bed, expression thoughtful, her eyes going back and forth between us.
I don’t think so, pretty girl. Time for a distraction, before she figures out something about me that almost nobody else back home knows.
9
Callahan
Bloodthirsty is the absolute last word anybody would use to describe me. For crying out loud, I spend sixty percent of my waking hours playing with puppies and channeling my inner Betty Crocker.
Seeing West launch Raleigh across the bed like that, tossing him as though he weighed nothing at all… the casual violence of that one action sets me ablaze. I can’t stop looking at them, and I can’t shake the feeling that that single move changes things between us.
Again. My head is spinning, trying to keep up with it all. Or maybe that’s just the lack of blood flow to my brain. I still haven’t come yet, though Raleigh made it hard. I could have let him; I wanted to let him get me off, but thwarting West and his incredible high-handedness was more important at the time.
I’m regretting that a little now. Raleigh’s sitting up against the headboard, stretched back like West told him to do, his hands folded over his lap as he waits. For what, instruction? For me to join him? I’m not sure which.
West isn’t in much better shape. The intensity in his face is like nothing I’ve ever seen, his color high, breathing rapidly though nobody’s laid a hand on him so far tonight.
Not since we kissed earlier.
It’s that memory that has me moving toward him silently. West turns to face me head on, and I meet him, standing toe-to-toe, never breaking eye contact as I slide the underwear off my hips and shimmy it down to the floor. West keeps his eyes on my face.
“You’re really just going to stand there?” I ask. The slightest movement will bring our bodies to touch. I’m afraid to even breathe.
I’ve spent the last six months afraid to look outside the little bubble of my world, terrified that noticing any of it would bring it crashing down like a house of cards.
