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Pancakes and bacon.Just like Brynn said. I wonder if he heard her or if this is just another example of the universe inching him under my skin.
I throw a t-shirt over my head and make my way into the kitchen.
Callisto is shirtless, wearing my favorite, low-hanging lounge pants. He’s standing at the island, spatula on the griddle, flipping pancakes with a smile that could rival the sunrise. I take a second to soak it all in before I walk over to circle my arms around his waist from behind.
“Tell me you’re wearing a t-shirt with no panties.” His voice is smooth and crisp, not gravelly and rough like mine in the mornings.
I press my lips to his broad back and smile. “I’m wearing a t-shirt with no panties.”
In a split second, he spins around and has my ass propped up on the counter behind me. He parts my knees with his hands, then groans when he sees my bare pussy. His chest heaves as he stands there, silent, staring at me but looking like he’s somewhere else. Something flashes in his eyes, and it feels like pain. I reach up and cup his face because I want to take it away, whatever it is.
“Pussy for breakfast,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Callisto?” My heart thrashes against my ribcage as I wonder where he is right now, what he’s thinking of.
His jaw clenches beneath my hands, then his gaze meets mine. “Every time you say my name that way, it makes me need to hear you scream it.”
He reaches for the bottle of pancake syrup on the counter, then drizzles the thick liquid over his index finger. I’m too mesmerized by him to care that some of it has dripped down and pooled onto the floor. He brings the syrup-coated finger to my mouth, spreading its sweetness over my lips, then pushing the finger inside. I curl my tongue around it, sucking the syrup off.
“You are so unapologetically sexy.” He slides his finger out of my mouth and into his. His cheeks hollow as he tastes the remnants of liquid sugar, the remnants ofme, and then pulls it out with a pop.
He grips my thighs and pulls until my ass is on the edge of the counter. I watch, holding my breath, as he coats his finger again, then brings it to my pussy.
“You like that?” he asks as he swipes along my slit, swirling circles when he gets to my clit.
I’m covered in syrup from my clit to my asshole with my heart slamming against my chest as Callisto dips down and brings his mouth to my heat. “How about this?”
He blows, a whisper of hot breath over me. I’m drenched. This man has managed to bring me from zero to sixty in .5 seconds.
He sucks my clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it when he pulls away. I grip his hair and shamelessly grind against him.
“That’s it, angel. Ride my face.” And then his tongue is inside my cunt, fucking, plunging, while his thumb on my clit works me into a panting, throbbing mess.
The moment I look down at him, at the sight of it—my fingers tangled in the mess of hair on top of his head, his face buried between my thighs as he devours me, I lose it. Quiet tremors become violent quakes. My thighs lock and tighten at the sides of his head, but he just keeps going. Licking me clean, from my entrance to my still-sensitive clit, where he stops—freaking stops—to swirl his tongue in slow circles around the bundles of nerves.
He pulls away and stands up straight with a groan. His mouth and chin glistens with me, with him, with syrup. “I want to wake up like this every fucking day.”
So do I.I also have a feeling this is another step closer to the edge of the abyss. There’s still so much I don’t know about Callisto. But here I am, staring into the darkness, wondering if I’ll fall. And if I do fall, will he catch me?
He finishes cooking breakfast while I pour my coffee and lean against the counter, watching him in a post-orgasmic trance.
“Sit.” He walks over to the dining table, holding a plate in one hand, and pulls out a chair. “Eat.” He sets the plate down.
I sit down, watching as he fixes himself a plate and sits across from me. “So, we’re not going to talk about it?”
He grabs the syrup, then pours it over his pancakes, and I’m transported back to moments ago when that syrup was on my body. “What would you like to talk about?”
I clench my thighs. “The gun?”
He slides the syrup to me. “It’s a precaution. This is New Orleans. Nowhere is safe.”
My eyes fall to the tabletop. Darkness looms over me. Demons from my past dig their razor-sharp claws into my heart.
I’ve been carjacked, watched my fiancé get stabbed to death, and then chased and threatened. I know how unsafe the city is.
“Tell me about it.”
“Here.” His deep voice reaches inside and soothes me the moment I hear it. Calmness bleeds through me.
