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“I don't trust him,” is his vehement reply.
“He paid for his mistake,” I snap.
“If you want a domestic, feel free to get out and go find some poor bastard to moan at,” he mutters. God, he is so infuriating. Grinding my teeth, I inhale slowly, trying to let his callous words wash over me.
“How’s your day been, dear?” I say, injecting concern into my voice.
“Sarcasm doesn't suit you.”
“Wow, you are in a bad mood. Who shoved a stick up your ass?” I comment dryly. “So, what does suit me then?” I drawl.
“I suit you,” he says darkly, his eyes sweeping my face and dropping to my crossed legs. “Take your underwear off,” he commands, turning his face back on the road.
“What makes you think I’m wearing any?” I laugh. His eyes flash to mine. Does he seriously think this dress accommodates underwear?
“You’re not funny.” He scowls. His knuckles are an unhealthy white on the wheel.
“I’m not lying either,” I spit. His eyes narrow, as do mine, but I break eye contact first and stare out the window. Another fifteen minutes, and we are pulling up outside a sky-high building, where we’re greeted warmly. Callan places a hand on my back, guiding me to an elevator, then we are swooping upwards at a ridiculous speed. When we hit the top, the door opens, and we’re in a small entryway. Slanted gold scrawl welcomes us, the word ‘Nexo’ split over two doors. So this is Nexo. The Internet does not do it justice. As we walk towards the matte black doors, they open, and Callan walks us in. The place is empty, and I suspect that's because it is lunchtime—maybe it’s an evening venue.
“This way.” Callan beckons me away from the bar with his head, and we’re going through a keypad-secure door with ‘STAFF’ written in the same font. We pass a few rooms and head to the door at the end. Another keypad keeps this one secure, and past this, we climb a set of stairs that look out over the bar. I hadn’t noticed the windows before, but I guess they are blacked out like his car.
I’m looking out down into the luxurious bar when I hear the distinct sound of his zip. I turn to find him shrugging his shirt off, then his heavily decorated body is on show. No matter how flawless he is, how clean-cut, my eyes drop to the ridiculously big appendage bursting free from his boxers. He rids himself of those and is walking with purpose to me, his cock bobbing heavily. I need little encouragement, and I strip out of my dress just in time. His eyes burn with anger when he finds I was, in fact, telling the truth about my lack of underwear.
“You’ll wear underwear in future,” he growls.
“You’ll mind your own business.” My chin lifts, and I search his gaze for the usual flare of anger, but instead, he grins wolfishly. It’s disarming. I blink in confusion.
His hands cup my hips, and he lifts me as if I weigh no more than a doll. He secures my legs on either side of his wider frame and positions himself before ramming upward, causing my head to knock back.
“Fuck, Zara.” His head is pressed into my neck. His tongue glides out, and he nips and sucks at my collarbone and jaw. Shit, I wasn’t ready, and pain twists in my stomach, but I know it will soon be replaced by pleasure. So much pleasure.
“You are my business, woman,” he grunts. He swivels and pumps, and his hips keep on at it, drawing soft mewls and quiet gasps from me as he plants me flat against the window. He lifts my arms up above my head, and his mouth is nipping up along the delicate flesh of my chin. I quiver, and my pussy flutters and clamps down on him. He grunts and ruts forward again, over and over.
“Callan.” My moan is shy of mute.
“Hmm.” He thrusts deeper, holding himself high before retreating, swivelling and driving back in. It's a hypnotic, delicious rhythm.
“Kiss me,” I plead. The pitying look on Oscar’s face still feels like barbed wire wrapped about my throat.Callandrops my hands in an instant, and I think I’ve lost him, but he cups my jaw, and my breath spatters out in relief. His eyes are heavy and locked on my lips, his hips relentless—a constant steady assault. Each drive draws a rough grunt from him and a long, soft whimper from me. His face moves in, but it tilts away from my mouth, and he drops an open kiss on my cheek.
I try to move to meet his lips, but he is dropping another on my cheekbone, one to my temple, and another to my eyelid, all the while pumping into me. He follows the same path down the other side. Just a millimetre from my lips, he drops another kiss, and the near contact has my climax rushing forward in a blistering kaleidoscope of colour. It’s such a shock that I buck and cry out.
“That’s it, give yourself to me,” he growls, “you look phenomenal when you come apart.” His jaw hangs open as he watches me with rapture.
“Callan.” I grip onto him, my fingers shaking against his big shoulders. He pants, keeping himself in check. I don’t want him in check. I want to unleash hell on this man for humiliating me in front of my friend—for dictating my time.
“I know.”He grins, holding himself still as I pulse and throb around him. He shakes his head, trying not to topple over in his own oblivion. He peels us off the window and walks us to the low, wide sofa and lays us down before continuing his assault. He takes me roughly on the couch. I claw at his shoulders, my hips flexing up to meet each heavy drive. “Zara, don't you fucking hold back on me. You’re angry at me, so show it.” He slams deep, and I meet it with my own sharp tilt. My eyes widen, and I shudder as another bang from him assaults my womb.
I cry out and dig my nails deep. I try to pull his mouth to mine.
“Please!” I cry, shame filling me. I’ve sunk to begging, and he looks triumphant. “Please.” I hold tight, trying to ensure a connection between our lips, and he yanks his head free and spins us, so I’m now straddling him. I slam down out of frustration, and he roars out.
His eyes flash with deep appreciation.
“Again,” he pants. I do, my little hips twisting delicately before I lift and drop carelessly. His mouth hangs open—his face pulled into an awed frown. I do it again and again, and each drop sends a huge bang to explode in my groin. He fills me so deeply like this, and I’m soon shaking above him. His thumb finds a place at the apex of my thighs, and we’re both shouting out our release. I drop forward and lick and nip his big chest. We’re slick with sweat, our hearts galloping together.
“I know I said I’d make you disappear, but I might just have to make it so I can still get to you,” he breathes roughly, honestly. I stiffen and hide my face. “Thirty days isn’t enough to fuck you out of my system.”
“One month,” I tell him. “I can't give you more, Callan. Don't ask me to give you more,” I whisper. I want to believe this is just sex. The man infuriates me beyond belief. He is rude and ruthless, but with him, I can truly be who I am and not keep myself in check. He offers me a freedom I’ve never had without having to run from the life I live. It's a very tempting offer. Or it would be if he didn’t just want me for sex. I’m not stupid enough to believe otherwise.
