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“The only women I’ve ever respected were taken from me. Until I meet someone worth my while, I intend on giving those before hertherespect they deserve,” he concludes roughly. Hurt pinches at my gut. So I’m not worthy of him. I’m just another pawn. I swallow a ball of acid in my throat. What women, I wonder? I blink up at him curiously, but his frown deepens, warning me away from the topic. He’ll never open up to me, anyway.
“And I’m supposed to be grateful for the lack of respect you’re showing me?” I really don’t want to cry, but heat pricks at my eyes, and I know my mouth has turned down. Callan frowns at me.
“You say that like you’re giving me any. You’re using me no less than I am you.” His words sting, but only because they are true. I’m still here because I want him to free me from this life, to escape the light, and find the shadows again. I expect nothing more to come of this than what is on offer. I have nothing to give in return.
“If you want to get to work and slug your arse for those self-possessed little pricks, be my guest. If not, feel free to get undressed, and I’ll ensure you're more relaxed within the next hour.”
I was expecting a shower and two blinding orgasms, so the masseuse who worked my back was the perfect surprise. Callan does, in fact, have a soft side. That's why it infuriates me all the more when he is such an arse. I’ve contacted my agent, and she has managed to move the shoot to first thing. I want to keep my work life moving along until I take the step to call it a day. Callan has left me in the living room whilst he works in his office, and Stalin has been to collect some things from mine.
Oscar has called me in a panic. He was at mine when Stalin arrived, so I gave him a quick rundown of the past few days, purposefully leaving Greece out. I don’t want him to know just how much has been going on behind his back.
“You’re sleeping with him!” he exclaims in a shrill note that has me questioning his sexuality.
“Shush, but yes.” I check over my shoulder, grateful I am alone.
“Fucking hell,” he huffs, “what’s he like? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” He sounds genuinely worried about me.
“I’m not doing this, Oscar.” I laugh. I can’t bring myself to discuss this with him, despite having to listen to his conquests.
“Z, you’re never involved with anyone, and the one guy you do give it up for is shady as fuck,” he states, concerned.
“I didn’t give it up. I was with someone before him,” I remind him softly.
“Yeah, one guy, that puny toad who blabbed about you to the press,” he snaps. I flinch at the reminder of that one dreadful encounter that was merely a means to money for the shallow fortune hunter I gave my virginity to.
“That was a long time ago. It’s forgotten.”Just like I will be.I sigh and flick the channel, finding a documentary to watch.
“He had his men beat me up, Zara.” He sounds hurt, and I bite my lip, feeling like I have betrayed our friendship. “He’s not a good person. At least reassure me he is being good to you?”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just. I can’t explain it. I feel so chained to this life, and with him, even for a short while, I’m free,” I croak.
“I had no idea you felt like that, Z.” His voice softens, and I tuck my legs beneath me and chew my lip.
“I’m constantly watched,Oscar. You know I hate that,” I say. I know he is scared for me, and I want to put his mind at rest. “He hasn’t hurt me,” I say, unconsciously leaving a ‘but’ to hang over my words.
Oscar jumps on it straight away.
“But?”
“He’s rough," I admit quietly.
“Who’s rough?” I jump a mile when Callan appears by the edge of the sofa. I cut the call and stare up at him from low on the seat. How long has he been there? What did he hear?
“Shit,” I laugh, “you made me jump.” He lifts his chin for me to go to him. I don’t know what he expects of me, but I do as asked and run my hands over his shoulder. He hoists me up. “You’re rough,” I confess, looking straight into his eyes.
He nods the words over and gives me a little smile, a private one that I reciprocate. Callan is unashamedly rough and so damn passionate in bed. He is raw and gentle, rough and slow, calculated and hard. I’m getting flustered just thinking of him.
“Who was on the phone?”
“Oscar.”
His nostrils flare, and he squares his jaw at my admission.
“What’s the deal with you two?” he questions. His palms cup my arse and hips, giving them a squeeze.
“Nothing, we're friends.” Is he jealous? He sounds jealous? Happiness rises like a wave washing over me.
He scoffs. He really doesn’t like Oscar.
