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Her movements are slow and deliberate, as if she’s daring me to stop her. When my cum begins to leak from her and onto my stomach, I reach out to swipe it with my fingers. Then I shove two of them back inside her.
“What are you doing?” she asks on a groan.
“Putting my cum where it belongs.”
She shakes her head. “No, you’re trying to distract me.”
“Are you serious? You’re the one rubbing your pretty pussy all over my dick, and you think I’m a distraction?”
I stroke her until she’s riding my hand, grinding down on it while glaring at me. “Fuck, Hayden.”
For once, I don’t scold her for her language. Instead, I reward that dirty mouth by curling my fingers, focusing on the spot that’ll give her what she wants.
“Please.” Calista bows her head as though praying. Maybe she is. Right now, I’m her god. “Please tell me.”
I wait until her breath hitches, until her lips part on a silent scream. The moment she comes, when she’s the most vulnerable to her body’s needs. And me. I whisper the words then, my truth, whether or not she can accept it.
“I don’t want to love you.”
But I do.
Chapter12
Calista
Warm sunlight filtersthrough the curtains, rousing me from a deep and peaceful sleep. For a moment, I’m disoriented, still caught in the hazy remnants of a dream. Then it all comes flooding back.
Hayden fucking me like a savage.
His words to me.
My submission to him.
I stretch languidly, the soreness in my muscles a delicious reminder of last night. With a frown I roll over, silently wondering why Haden isn’t holding me, but discover his side of the bed is empty. I reach out to find his spot cool to the touch. He must have woken up early.
As I sit up, the sheet slips down to pool around my naked waist. I take a moment to admire the love bites blooming across my breasts and hips, vivid souvenirs of his claiming. Heat pools low in my belly at the memories they invoke.
After his raw, emotional confession last night, our ensuing intimacy had felt different… more tender and connected. With each reverent caress and kiss, I felt the ice around Hayden’s heart melting.
When he finally joined our bodies for the second time, there was a new sensitivity to his touch, as if I were something infinitely precious. And later, wrapped in each other’s arms and spent, he whispered, “Please, don’t make me love you.”
My breath still catches remembering those words. It’s the closest thing to a declaration of love I’ve gotten from him. Part of me remains wary, afraid to hope after so much heartbreak. But a larger part now feels certain he cares for me just as deeply as I care for him.
Maybe he said doesn’t want to love me because he already does…
I slide from the bed and rummage through Hayden’s drawer, searching for one of his t-shirts to wear. After putting on a soft gray one that stops mid-thigh on me, I inhale the scent of him underneath the smell of detergent. This man makes my pulse race without even trying.
Standing in the middle of his room, I stare at the black-and-white picture above his dresser. Even though the woman’s face is away from the viewer, she’s beautiful. Her profile is dainty, and her body is well-proportioned, but that’s not what makes her attractive. It’s the air of mystery that surrounds her, as though she’s on her way to meet her lover for the last time.
Looking at this photograph stirs up the insecurity I felt the first time I was in Hayden’s bedroom. Add that to the shyness I’m experiencing this morning, and I’m tempted to dive back under the covers.
The scent of coffee invades my senses, a reminder that the man encompassing my thoughts is waiting for me. I leave the bedroom and walk down the hallway, stopping to pause just outside the kitchen. Hayden stands with his back to me. His hair is messy and sticking up in some areas, but that only makes him more attractive. Well, that and his bare chest and the sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
I stare in shock. It never crossed my mind that someone like Hayden, a man who’s always dressed to impress, would own sweatpants, let alone wear them.
My heart beats faster the longer I look at him. I want to greet him and let him know I’m standing there, but my mouth is dry, and I can’t form words. I’m not shy anymore. I’ve been struck stupid.
He turns to face me and leans against the island, the muscles in his torso flexing. “Good morning, Callie.”
