Page 196 of Midnight Curfew

With just one movement.

He knows he has me, though. He has everything.

“Get in my shower,” he says.

29

Callum

“Is this how it’s going to be?” he asks, walking backward down the hallway to my bedroom, keeping his eyes on me. “You demanding me until you’ve had your fill and then moving on to a new piece of ass in the Bay?”

Please. By the time I’ve had my fill of him, there won’t be anyone left in the Bay to turn out. I can understand his fear, though. I could dominate that entire population now. If I wanted anyone else to suffer what Sophia did.

Would I give it all back if Liv agreed to put on a show for us like I tried to coerce her to do back in high school? I’m curious what her answer would be now, knowing what’s at stake. One night for hundreds of millions of dollars?

In my room, I close the door and remove my jacket. “Get your hair wet,” I instruct. “Everything wet.”

He holds my gaze until he turns around and steps into the bathroom, pulling his shirt off over his head.

Opening my own shirt, I slide it off my arms, kick off my shoes, and pull off my socks.

The shower starts, and I pick up the chair next to my door and walk into the bathroom. Dallas faces me, dropping the rest of his clothes as I set the chair down. His eyes fall to the chain around my neck. It’s the third time he’s looked at it today. Does he like it?

He steps into the walk-in shower, the glass partition shielding me from the spray as he dips his head back, water cascading down his body. “Paying for young men to fuck you,” he says. “And knowing that all they want is your money.”

His stomach draws my gaze, tight and lean, his perfectly carved chest making the skin of my lips hum. I remember him letting me run my mouth over his torso years ago—biting, kissing, sucking. It was one of the only times he let me explore instead of getting right down to it. Lowering my eyes, I see that he’s semi-hard, and I lean back, rubbing my cock through my pants.

“You get older,” he goes on, “the boys get younger.”

I’m not my father.

“The sex feels good,” he tells me, “and then it doesn’t, so you do it more to fill the void.”

“Wash your body.”

I’m not like him, either. Sex isn’t my weapon. Surviving him is, and I want him to see me standing over him just once.

Squeezing my bodywash into his hand, he coats his chest, the suds sliding down the skin. My groin swells with blood, and I keep rubbing.

He watches my hand. “And then one isn’t enough and you’re paying two or three to fuck at a time.”

“Stroke yourself,” I command.

He doesn’t blink as his eyes lock with mine and he pumps his dick. The skin glistens, suds spilling off his shaft. Fuck, I want to ride him.

“Sneaking in and out of hotels,” he taunts, “slipping them out of discreet doors…”

But I shake my head. “No.” I lick my parched lips. “Just you.”

I’ve been attracted to plenty of men, but nobody turns me on like he does.

I’ve never wanted to be the center of someone’s mind like I wanted with him, and I don’t know why. He’s beautiful and good in bed and his smiles stir my insides, but his behavior is rotten and he’s proven he’ll never care about me.

I want to own him anyway—and he doesn’t get to walk away from me this time until I say so.

“It’ll just be you, Dallas,” I whisper. “Until we hate each other.”

Until he’s ready to kill me, because he wants away from me so badly.