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She whimpers as I crash my lips into hers harder this time, with more force, hungry to taste her, to feel her body pulsing against mine.
There’s so much tension in her, so much lust. I can feel it blazing against my body.
And then it’s like my seed is drumming inside of me, telling me to tear down her shorts and take her savagely right here, even if her mom is going to return in a second. My seed commands me to push apart her thick fleshy thighs and drive up into that young perfect place, take her until she’s gasping and creaming and trembling.
“What’s wrong?” Callie asks when I move away, throwing myself back almost violently.
“I can’t,” I growl. “Not—”
Not here, I was going to say, but then the door to her mother’s bedroom opens.
She stands there like a horror movie villain for a second. I beat the thought down, angry with myself for being so goddamn cruel. Clearly, something is wrong with her and it isn’t fair that I should think of her in those terms.
As I stare at her – at the uncertainty in her face and the childlike need in her eyes – I make a promise to myself to help her in whatever way I can. Callie’s clearly been taking care of her on her own.
“Callie, can you help me?” she asks quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Mom.”
Callie turns and slowly walks away from me, stopping to aim a look over her shoulder. I can’t read it. It’s too convoluted with emotion.
Callie walks into the bedroom and closes the door.
I sigh and close my eyes for a moment, trying to still the lust still coursing through me like waves against the hull of a ship. They smash over and over into me, telling me to stalk in there and grab Callie, drag her out here and finish what we started.
To try and distract myself, I walk around the small living room, looking down at the sad pile of sheets and pillows stacked next to the couch. There’s a small desk near the window, with a couple of books sitting next to an open notepad.
The heading of the notepad reads, Key Concepts in Interior Design.
Is this Callie’s true dream, to work as an interior designer?
I look around the small living room again, noting the little touches here and there. There’s a print on the cracked and damp wall of a nature scene, as though my woman wants to bring some life in here, some vibrancy.
A tatty old blanket is thrown over the back of the couch, but it’s that calculated sort of messy, as though to give it an artist’s boudoir appeal.
She’s doing her best with her limited supplies, her limited money, and a tight feeling stabs me as I think about all she could achieve if she was given the proper funds, the proper support.
Goddamn, my woman should have never been living here, should have never been subjected to a life like this.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, warning myself to stay calm on the car ride home, warning myself not to leap across at her and press her up against the window. There’s so much tension hovering in me, howling, blaring, willing me to claim her each and every moment.
Even when we’re in public.
Even when her mother is right there.
I wouldn’t, of course.
But the impulse is there, impossible to ignore, and it’s only getting louder.
Chapter Six
Callie
I sit in the passenger seat, glancing across at Conrad as he guides the car through the city at midnight. Mom is asleep in the back seat, her eyes closed, snoring softly. Even in sleep, she can’t stop her face from warping in pain, as though she’s reliving things she’d rather forget.
Conrad handles the car deftly, guiding it casually through the city. I study his firm jaw and his shining silver hair, his glinting wolfish blue eyes, trying to convince myself that all of this is truly happening. I really crashed into Conrad’s car, he really came to my apartment and defended me against dickhead Todd and his friends, and now we’re going to his freaking house.
And the kiss.
My lips still tingle with the phantom pleasure of it, whispering all through my body.
I squeeze my legs together as my sex gives an urgent pulse, as though willing me to reach across and grab onto his leg, slide up to his manhood and rub firmly.
He grabbed my ass so freaking hard, digging his hands in, growling as our lips pressed together.
“I can’t. Not…”
And then he trailed off, leaving my overanxious mind to fill in the blank.
I can’t, not with you?
Is that what he was going to say?
Maybe he’s been working long hours and he hasn’t been on a date in a while, and the only reason he kissed me is because I was there. But then he realized what he was doing, kissing someone half his age, dorky and inexperienced, someone he’d be embarrassed to be seen with in public.
