Page 86 of Wild Thorns

"I want to see you," he says, and pushes the fabric aside.

The first touch of his fingers against bare skin makes me cry out. He swallows the sound with a kiss, his tongue stroking mine as his fingers stroke below, and I'm lost; completely, utterly lost.

He knows exactly what he's doing. Exactly where to touch, how much pressure, the perfect rhythm that builds the heat coiling in my belly into something unbearable. His thumb circles while two fingers slide inside me, and I'm gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise, my hips moving against his hand without any conscious input from my brain.

"That's it," he purrs against my ear. "Just like that."

I can't respond. I can’t form words. Can't do anything but feel: the cold tile against my back, the heat of his body above me, the relentless pleasure of his hand between my thighs. The tension builds and builds, winding tighter with every stroke, every circle, every curl of his fingers.

"Callum—" I'm begging now, though I don't know what for. "I can't—"

"You can." His voice is rough, strained, but his hand never falters. "Let go, Serena. I've got you."

He twists his fingers, hits something inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes, and I shatter.

The orgasm crashes through me in waves, my back arching off the cold tile, his name tearing from my throat. He works me through it, drawing out every tremor, every aftershock, until I'm limp and gasping on the kitchen floor.

For a long moment, neither of us move. I'm staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe, my entire body still humming. Callum is braced above me, watching my face with an expression of deep satisfaction.

Then he grins.

That same devastating grin, slow, wicked and thoroughly pleased with himself.

"What?" I manage, my voice wrecked.

"Nothing," he withdraws his hand slowly, deliberately, and I shudder at the sensation. "Just enjoying the view."

"You're—" I struggle for words. "You're insufferable."

He laughs and pushes himself up, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. I lie there, sprawled on the tile, skirt rucked up, completely disheveled, watching him with something between outrage and lingering desire.

"You're just... walking away?" I ask, still on the floor.

He extends a hand down to me. I take it, what else am I going to do? He pulls me to my feet. Steadies me when I wobble, his hands warm on my arms. He leans in, close enough that his lips brush my ear.

"That’ll do for now," he murmurs. "This was fun."

He steps back. Still grinning. Like he's just won something, and he's thoroughly pleased about it.

"Callum—"

"See you at dinner, Serena."

He walks away. Actually fucking walks away, leaving me standing in the middle of the kitchen with scattered refrigerator magnets and a complete inability to form coherent thoughts.

I stood there for five minutes, trying to breathe.

My legs are shaky. My underwear is damp. There are refrigerator magnets scattered across the floor like evidence of a crime scene, and I should probably pick them up before someone else sees them and asks questions.

I don't move.

Instead, I replay what just happened. The way he'd kissed me without warning. How he'd laughed, actually laughed, against my throat. The way his fingers had known exactly where to touch, exactly how to take me apart.

This was fun, he'd said.

Fun. Like it was a game. Like I wasn't standing here with my world rearranged, my body still throbbing and my heart doing something complicated in my chest.

Eventually, I gathered the magnets. Smooth down my skirt. Pour out the tea that's long since gone cold.