Page 56 of Thin Lives

This time, he looked again.

He saw something different.

He heard gentle breaths, and sharp gasps.

He saw his fingers raking down pale skin. He tasted salt and sweetness on his tongue when he kissed a shoulder blade, and tangled his fingers into the dark, wavy hair of the woman beneath him. Her clothes were on the floor, mixed up with his things.

Her words—the high cries of his name—came from trembling, pink lips and echoed.

Echoed in a dark, quiet room.

Seeped into his bloodstream.

Burrowed into his soul.

Calisto could feel her.

Soft skin.

Wetness and heat.

Tight and slick.

And he knew that skin, knew those green eyes, that silky hair, and her voice.

Her voice.

Jesus Christ.

“Cal?”

Calisto blinked.

He fisted his hands at his sides, and breathed deep.

“Cal?” Emma asked again.

For a moment, Calisto didn’t really hear her. He was in a different place, a different time.

White marble.

Clothes on the floor.

Gasps filling a quiet penthouse.

I think I would keep you, he remembered saying.

A gentle touch to his cheek made Calisto’s head snap up. It broke the daze—the memory drifted away. Instead, he found himself staring into worried, expressive green eyes as Emma stroked his cheek with her thumb.

“Calisto, are you okay?”

He blinked again.

A frown tugged Emma’s painted red lips down.

Oddly, he wanted to run his thumb over her lips.

Just … touch her.