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“Your rules?” I ask simply. There are a few, but he knows I mean them all.
He doesn't leave me guessing, doesn’t let me stew. He gives me the words I have wanted to hear for some time.
“I didn’t want complications, so that’s why I picked nameless women with no affiliation to me or my clubs. They never knew who I was, so they could never track me down.” Not until he stamped his face over countless papers for me, and I threw it back in his face.
“You used a false name?” I state, and he nods against my shoulder. Well, now they all know the truth.
“Always a different name,” he says. I wonder how many women have spent a night with this man, each remembering his face and his sexual brutality, but knowing him as someone else, Sam or Chad, Michael or Chris. They’d be searching for a false name, a fake person, and I was gifted the real one.
“The floor rule?” This one seemed so simple, but I know Callan enough to know this runs deeper than it being a gentlemen’s club.
He shrugs and laughs lightly to himself.“It started as a rule to protect the women, but the longer it went on, the more I realised whether they were safe or not, I didn’t want them on my club floor or around me. I was protecting me.”
I nod. He was keeping them at arm’s length. Keeping everyone at arm’s length until he was ready to allow someone in, someone worthy.
“You wanted an equal,” I whisper, looking at him,and he smiles. I can see the orange glow flicker and roll in his nighttime eyes.
Those eyes flare, and he swallows.
“I grew up in a brothel, Zara,” he admits solemnly. My lips part, shocked, realisation dawning at his apparent indifference to his trade and lifestyle. I nod, encouraging him to carry on. “My mother was a whore, and my sister and I were surrounded by the filth in this world. In this industry, everyone has a game plan, a ploy, a gimmick. The floor rule was my game plan, and it was a way to protect myself. By the time it was being implemented, I just knew whoever I let walk the same path as me would be the only woman to have my heart. I took it quite literally.” He smiles softly. “I don’t just want an equal. I want something greater than myself. I want the world and then some.”
“So you stopped any woman from entering your club and made sure they all stuck to their zones inside and outside?” I twist back to stare at the dazzling flames.
“That was the idea. I’ve had to fire a few women, but for the most part, they know I'm not approachable—that I’m off limits,” he rumbles.
I brace myself not for my own words, but those that will follow. His.
“And me?” I really want this to be it, the end to my disaster of a life. If I have to hide up in his penthouse or by entering through the back door of his clubs, then so be it. I will have him. I couldn’t wish or ask for more. I’d escape this light to share in his darkness.
“You.” His big chest expands as he mulls over the words, inviting the emotions in and wallowing in them. “You, my girl, are everything I never expected and exactly what I fucking wished for.” Scooping me up, he positions me facing him and threads big hands into my hair. His confession is sobering and unequivocally the best moment of my life. “You’re the love of my life.” My heart soars,and my eyes dampen.
I bite my lip and stare at his sincere eyes.
“I really thought I had lost you. I was so scared something would happen to you. I love you so much, and I couldn't be the reason you were hurt again,” I admit in a whisper. “Do you forgive me?”
“How about I show you how much I forgive you?” I sniff, nod, and let him carry me through the quiet penthouse to his master room. Nothing has changed. It’s still very much a male domain, and I love that, love the dark rich colours and elegance of his tastes. The room has always been pure seduction, and with him in it, I have no chance—he is temptation incarnate. No sooner are we over the threshold, I lower my mouth and adore his. I’ve wanted his lips and his tongue for so long that I can’t help but attach myself to them.
All evening, throughout our meal, on the way up to the penthouse, even when Stalin was knitting his cut together, I made a play for his mouth, pecking his lips as frequently as possible. He’d laugh, growl, and drag me back for a deeper kiss, and I loved it, love it now when he sweeps his tongue in and lowers us both down on the wide mattress. His hands, just like his lips, are slow and hypnotic as they remove my clothes and glide across goosebumped skin to my breasts, just as slow and passionate as they explore every inch of skin like he has never touched me before. My hands reciprocate, smoothing over wide muscles and patterned skin, dancing across his taut flesh and tightening when he sends me into a frenzy as he teases me endlessly. His mouth, hands and eyes are everywhere until I’m crumbling, shaking, and crying out in pleasure. Only then does he move his heavy body between my thighs.
“Callan, please,” I whimper, pulling his mouth down for a deep kiss. “I need you.” I don't just want him. I physically need him. He’s my lifeline.
“I know, angel, you’re so fucking beautiful, stunning.” He smiles softly, drags his mouth up my throat and sweeps his tongue in as he enters me in one deep, swift thrust. He fills me, a profound fullness filling me from limb to limb, calming my soul and bringing me back to life with our connection.
“You floor me. Do you know how hard it was for me to fight this?” Thrust. “To deny us both something I knew was so right?” Thrust. “I was aching for you,” he growls. Each thrust is deep, slow. He penetrates my mind with his loving words.
“I wanted you to give in.” I moan, wrapping my legs around his taut arse and letting him sink in and out at the most leisurely pace. It is nothing like our previous sessions. Each time was frantic and rough with need—this is all emotion. Love. He is making love to me, and I never thought I would experience that, let alone share in it. My eyes well up, and he shifts, moving my hands and knotting our fingers together above my head.
“Zara, I’ve got you.” He pumps in, swirls and pumps back deep. “It’s okay. I never thought I would have this either.” His head drops, his mouth finds mine, and I scrunch my eyes tight. He’s here with me: mind, body and soul, sharing in my thoughts, my dreams, and I could weep. I do weep. Weep with pleasure as he continues his slow assault until we are both groaning and kissing our way through our orgasm. I grip his hair and hold him to me as my body spasms over and over.
“I love you,” I pant. “I love you.” I’m breathless, drenched in sweat, and blissfully happy.
“I love you too, angel.” He pecks my nose and rolls us, pulling me on his chest. Sated, we both drift off.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I wake sore, but last night was everything a woman could wish for. Callan has been so attentive with me, loving and sweet—a little rough, but, on the whole, a complete gentleman. We lay chatting for hours about our pasts. I finally feel ready to fight the Russians. I don’t welcome them anymore. I pity them. They have no idea the kind of man they are up against. Callan repeatedly promised that I could trust him. That he loved me. He’s made me feel worthy.
I nip to the bathroom and then root through both our things until I find some of my underwear, jeans, and one of his hoodies. I’ve never seen him wear it, so he must use it to workout in. I pull it all on and go in search of my man. Mine. I’m giddy, loved up, and excited for my future for the first time ever. He is usually holed up in his office, but I hear him and Stalin before I see them.
