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They’re so soft. Plump.
“Callum.” It leaves me on a whimper he swallows, his tongue slipping inside my mouth to caress mine. Soft, then ardent, and then the way he’s kissing me can only be described as famished. A hunger that matches my own, lit up like a match and I’m pushed back, his body caging me in.
One hand cups my face while the palm of the other slams against the metal wall, the sound of his raw hunger causing my pussy to clench. This kiss is everything you read about in books; a soul-destroying moment that exposes a weakness you didn’t have before.
This is bad. So irresponsible.
A little voice says in the back of my head, and yet, I can’t pull away. Just can’t.
I’m not someone who sleeps around, much less right after meeting a man, but he makes me want to break every rule. To live. To be free.
“So sweet. Too good for me,” he groans, right hand tilting my head slightly to his liking—angling me—before deepening the kiss. This is so much more and everything all at once. There’s no fighting for dominance; Callum takes while I’m powerless against him—his touch—and holding on while I’m devoured like the sweetest treat.
Each groan pulls a shiver. Each curse is a rush of wetness where my need for him grows with every passing second.
Behind us, I hear the elevator ping and then its doors open, yet it’s the throat clearing that brings us into the present.
“We should go.” I’m boneless. Breathing hard. Helplessly watching his Adam’s apple bob; the large dragon wrapped around his throat mesmerizes me with its haunting beauty. The style is beautiful; heavy on the black and grey, but it’s the hints of color that create a striking piece.
Much like the ones lower. Ones, I hunger to discover.
“I know.” Callum pecks me again, dragging his teeth over my bottom lip before turning around to glare at the person interrupting. “Move.”
His tone is hard, a warning hiss for an impending strike if the person doesn’t follow his demand. The two men, no older than twenty-five, do so quickly, shooting each other nervous looks while I’m being pulled out.
Not that Callum pays them any attention; instead, he’s on his phone. “I’m exiting,” is all he says before hanging up. The doorman sees us coming and quickly holds open the door, bidding us a good night right before we step through.
“You as well,” we answer in unison, and I can’t help but giggle. This night has been one giant rollercoaster, and I feel like a hot mess, but I can’t deny that he makes me feel alive. That the sour mood I’d been in earlier tonight—the hopelessness I’ve been fighting—isn’t heavy anymore. It’s just not there.
Instead, I feel light and carefree.
I’m a woman making her own decisions no matter how dangerous they are.
A sleek sports car stops in front of us before we make it to the curb and a man steps out, tossing the keys at Callum. “I’ll be off to the airport.”
“See you soon.” That’s the extent of their conversation before I’m being picked up and placed inside of the car as if I were a doll. And once again, I don’t protest his manhandling. Why don’t I protest this? His large hand grips my seatbelt and buckles me in, and the clench of my thighs is answer enough.
This is sexy. I’m attracted to this behavior.
Attracted to what he’s making me feel and what he represents: the ultimate flip-off to my family.
Or maybe, this is all because of him. A man with a bad reputation that’s well deserved, yet with me is attentive. Almost soft. Contradictory.
I feel powerful next to him.
“You okay there, love? Need anything?” My face turns toward the driver’s side where Callum is already behind the wheel and looking at me with a gentle smile. “I’ll even make an exception and pick up some takeaway for you if you’d like.”
“Takeaway? Exception?” I ask even though I know what he means. It’s his reaction that I’m after, and I bite back a grin at the way his nose scrunches up. “Don’t like greasy food and tasty calories?” Callum shudders, and it’s the cutest thing. His disgust is clear to see and this time I can’t fight my mirth, letting out a giggle. “Mr. Jameson, are you a food snob? Is that it?”
“Takeaway is how we say fast food, Miss Rubens.” His mock glare only serves to amuse me further. “And to answer the latter, no. Not a food snob per se.”
“Then?”
“I’m used to cooking all my meals, outside of family gatherings or businesses we own.” His honesty is a bit unnerving, but I get it. In his life, trust is something not given freely. “But I’d make an exception for you. No questions asked.”
Again, he gives me a choice. Placing my hand atop of his on the gear shift, I give it a small squeeze and leave it there. “Not needed, but thank you.”
“Never thank me for trying to please you.”
