Page 117 of Neap & Spring

The thought cuts through the haze of wanting her. This is not just physical. It’s never been just physical with her, and we both know it. This isn’t scratching an itch or satisfying curiosity. This is five years of unfinished business. This is every what if and might have been. This is everything I’ve tried to bury and failed at completely.

If we do this, if we cross this line, and she leaves anyway, I don’t know if I’ll survive it this time.

I should pull back and put some space between us. Let us both catch our breath and think clearly for five seconds. I should ask her what she wants, what this means, if she’s planning to stay or if this is just a distraction from the stress of the collaborative dinner.

She makes a sound against my mouth, low and desperate, and every single one of those thoughts evaporates.

Fuck it.

I work my way back down her throat, my mouth trailing heat across the soft skin of her chest as my hands find the waistband of her leggings. I look up at her, my gaze locked onto hers, a mix of hunger and mischief swirling in the air.

She lifts her hips without being asked, an invitation that sends a thrill through me.

I pull them down slowly, savoring every inch of skin that’s revealed. The gentle curve of her hip, the delicate line of her thigh, the way her body arching invites me in. My mouth follows the path of exposed skin, trailing kisses. By the time I’m done, she’s bare sitting on my prep table in my empty kitchen, and the sight of her is enough to completely undo me.

I stay where I am, on my knees, drinking in the view.

She looks down at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and want so raw fills her eyes, it makes my pulse quicken.

Her breath shudders out, pleading, as my hands slide up the insides of her thighs, fingertips grazing the soft skin. “Chef. Please.”

“Please what?” I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, letting my lips linger. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want your mouth on me.” The words tumble out in a rush, tinged with desperation, and I feel her tremble under my hands. “Please. I need —”

I don’t let her finish. I pull her closer to the edge of the table, my mouth finding its destination. The moment my lips touch her, the sound she makes echoes off the stainless-steel surfaces of my empty kitchen.

“Oh God,” she gasps, her hands flying to my hair, fingers gripping hard as if anchoring herself to reality. “Cal. Chef. Oh God.”

I take my time, savoring every moment, every sound, every taste. I’ve been waiting years for this, and I intend to use every single second. My hands hold her thighs open, thumbs tracing slow circles against her skin, and her body responds, arching into my touch as I work my mouth, exploring her like she’s the finest dish I’ve ever prepared.

“Right there.” She gasps, her hips rocking forward, pleading. “Please don’t stop.”

I don’t stop.

“Good girl,” I murmur against her, a low growl in my throat. “Just like that. Let me hear you.”

She does, her voice rising. Her thighs tremble under my hands, her whole body wound impossibly tight, every sound she makes urging me on.

“Cal, I’m going to —” Her voice breaks, and I know she’s close. “I’m so close, please, I need —”

I pull back just enough to look up at her, and the expression on her face is wrecked, desperate, entirely undone. She’s never been more beautiful. I could get lost in her forever.

“What do you say?”

“Please.” Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me back in. “Callum. Please. Don’t stop, I need —”

“Such a perfect girl.” I give her exactly what she’s asking for, my mouth returning with intent. I work her through every wave of pleasure, and she shatters almost immediately, my name a sweet chant on her lips, her thighs clamping around my head as her body trembles with each wave.

When she finally goes still, breathing in ragged pulls, I press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh and rise to my feet.

She looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes, hair completely tousled, cheeks flushed deep pink, lips parted in a way that drives me wild.

“Hi,” she says, a playful glint in her eye that’s so entirely Vivi that I have to bite back a grin.

“Hi.”

She reaches for me, pulling me back to her mouth. Her hands are already working at my belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, and I jump to help her, needing this, needing her, needing —