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My plan was to get on the plane tomorrow with her juices still drying on my lips, but I’m not going to turn this gift away. Now, she’ll be my dinner and then breakfast with the potential to become a snack at any given moment until I walk out of her home.
“Callum, I’m—”
“Can I touch you?” I’m not a man that asks for permission in any other area of my life, but I want hers. Crave it.
“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, but I hear. I also don’t miss the way her tiny hand reaches out for me, and I want her to grab me. To pull me closer. “Please.”
“Please what, gorgeous. Tell me.”
Fingers wrap around mine, skin so soft, and she gives a tiny tug while meeting my hungry gaze. “Lay with me.”
Without a word, I do as she asks and crawl in beside her. On my side, my face next to hers, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Motherfuck, she smells bloody good: sweet and all woman with just a faint hint of peaches that lingers all around her.
“Are you tired, sweetheart,” I say, skimming a finger of my free hand from her elbow to shoulder. She shivers, moves a little closer, and I bite back a grin. Instead, I focus on the feel of her near while I continue my exploration. I’m keeping my touch innocent; I hunger for her consent.
She’s not a woman to throw herself at a man or a one-time deal for me. No.
I want her again and again and again. The ferocity in which I crave this small woman is near painful, and only the taste of her on my tongue will satiate the beast within that demands I make her mine.
Because this is what being in her mere presence brings forth. A yearning.
She’s driving me fucking insane.
Her head turns in my direction, a bashful grin stretched across her lips. There’s also a slight blush at the apple of her cheeks that I find delicious. “Not at all.”
“You sure? You seem ready for an after-work nap.”
“My shower was relaxing.” Slim fingers twitch, her grip tightening. “I feel peaceful.”
“That’s good.” Motherfuck, a throaty little mewl escapes when I skim my fingers across her collarbones. “But you still haven’t answered my question, love. Do you want my touch, or is this too soon for you?”
13
“I want it.”
“That’s my good girl.” The fingers on her collarbone travel lower, just to the edge of her top, and slip beneath the soft fabric. Not low, but just under the trim while my eyes watch her every reaction. Those sweet brown eyes close for a brief second, her lips parting on a sigh while a lovely vibration runs through every limb. “Thank you for the honor.”
“Christ, I love your accent,” she whines after a minute or two, not liking my standstill position on her skin. “It’s quickly becoming a weakness.”
“Is it, now?” My lips are at her temple, leaving tiny open-mouthed kisses on my way to her neck, inhaling deep to brand my lungs with her scent. I pause at her ear, though, nipping the sensitive flesh there, and enjoy the sight of goose bumps rising—the way her body arches into my touch. “Even coming from a bastard who has no right to want something so pure.”
“You’re not a bastard.”
My rough exhale against her neck makes her whimper. “I’ve done things with these hands, Aliana.” With a painful slowness, I caress the swell of her right breast and then the left. Once, twice—moving lower with each pass. “I’ve worn my enemies’ blood with pride, my Venus, and yet, nothing would give me more pleasure than a single taste of the sweetness between your thighs. The need is near maddening.”
“I feel this...” she trails off, but there’s no fear in her eyes. No disgust. If anything, they become darker. Heavy-lidded. “Callum, this is—”
“Did that make you change your mind?” I know she hasn’t. It’s there in the way she keeps her hold on my other hand tight. How she’s making sure there isn’t a single inch of space between her side and my body. “Do you want me to move?”
“No,” she hisses out; the urgency in her tone would shock anyone else, but not me. Not when I understand it. Not when I feel it too—just as much if not more—and have accepted whatever consequences come from this.
I’ll take on the world just to feel her like this. To have her laid out like the perfect meal.
This between us is fast and unpredictable, but palpable and real. And I want it.
All of it. Her.
“Then relax for me, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.”
