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He pulled off his clothes in a flash, dumping his jeans to the floor as I watched his reflection. He was so gorgeous, absolutely fucking beautiful. I let out a grunt as he slipped his way inside. I parted so easy for his cock, so fucking wet. My pussy made such dirty noises, but none so dirty as him.

He pulled at my hair, hissing filth in my ear as he thrust inside. His fingers frigged my clit, dancing just where I needed them, and I was gone, groaning like a dirty fucking whore as the sensations took over. He came hard, faster than usual. His eyes were fierce all the way, holding my gaze right the way through until he was spent. He dropped me like a stone, catching his breath. The dark nest of his pubes was glistening red, his cock still twitching amidst the scarlet lake spreading down between his thighs. His hands were bloody, his chest too, and he looked fucking magnificent for it. Like a warrior back from battle, decorated with the blood of his conquests.

That’s when I got him. Really got him. Callum Jackson was no Masque in the making. Masque was filthy to the extreme, but he was considered, controlled, polished to a mirror shine. Callum Jackson was a wild animal, governed by raw instinct, the feral urge for sex, and sweat, and blood, and heaving, writhing, primal fucking flesh. His eyes were savage, his hair unkempt, his muscles taut as strung wire.Hewas savage.

“You came back for that, didn’t you?” I whispered. “You came back to claim what’s yours.”

“Is it?” he barked. “Is this mine?”

I looked down at the mess on my skin. “What do you think?”

“Dunno, Soph, don’t fucking know.” I made for the shower but he grabbed my wrist, pulling me so hard I slammed into his chest. “Never needed nothing, not from anyone. Not like this. I need this, Soph. Can’t fucking lose it.”

“This is fucking crazy, we’re both fucking mad.”

“Can live with crazy,” he said. “Just can’t live alone.”

I touched his face, brushing a thumb over dark brows. “You aren’t alone, Cal, not anymore.”

“Say it, then,” he snapped. “If you mean it, say it. Don’t fucking lie, though, Sophie, if this ain’t real for you then don’t fucking pretend.”

The words came easy, too fucking easy. “I love you, Cal. That real enough for you? That what you needed to hear?”

He buried his face in my hair, arms tighter around me than I’d ever felt.

I was happy enough to ignore the dread in my stomach, happy enough to kick the practicalities out of sight.

Happier still when we heard the bin crash over in the kitchen, and the night returned to normal.

***

Chapter Thirteen

Callum

“It’s time, kid.” Raven was smiling, but I struggled to smile back.

I’d been working all pissing day, trying to get these paintings ready for the dealer. Nothing I did looked right. They were all shit.

“Not ready.”

“They’re ready,” she said. “Trust me, baby.”

“He won’t fucking like them,” I snapped. “They’re total fucking shit.”

She slapped my hands away from the paints like I was a little kid at nursery. I didn’t mind with her, though, didn’t mind anything she bloody did.

“It’s ok to be nervous. The best artists always are.”

She started arranging my canvases, lining them up for transport. I gave in, letting her take what she wanted, too pissing late for nerves now.

“No Sophie?”

“In meetings all day.”

“No rest for the wicked, hey?” I flinched as she uncovered the final canvas, heart pounding like a fucking freight train. “Oh, baby.”

Her eyes were wide and sparkly, just like on the painting. “Did it for you. For your girlfriend, like,” I grunted.

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