Page 40 of Callum

“Only good girls get whiskey, Red.” I hear the single ice cube rattle in his glass and know he’s taking another drink. Fuck, I would love a drink. Or some food. And sleep. And—“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.”

Fuuuuuck me. Callum’s fingers dance around to the front of my throat, pressing into the underside of my jaw and forcing my head to tip back and watch as he takes another drink from his glass. He doesn’t give me any warning before he presses our mouths together, a silent demand for me to open my lips. The cool burn of whiskey lights up my insides, warming my empty stomach instantly.

My voice shakes, but I manage to croak out a halfway believable “Fuck your generosity.”

“Hmmmm,” his teeth scrape against my lower lip, nipping at the center before he pulls back again. “I have a better idea.”

Before I can react, Callum catapults himself over the back of the couch, landing directly in front of me. He drops to his knees, crowding between my spread legs like he’s meant to be there. Callum looks up at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he hands me the whiskey glass. I take it from him before I can think better of it.

“Don’t spill it, kitten.”

My heart pounds as I look down at him. He’s too close to me, his entire body leaning into mine. It’s so different from the last time he was between my thighs. Back then, his shoulders weren’t this broad, and his face was clean-shaven.

And he wasn’t looking at me like he can’t decide if he wants to fuck me or kill me.

“How do you keep doing this to me?”

It’s a question, but he phrases it like a demand. He wants me to tell him how I keep making him feel things he doesn’t want to feel. How do I keep getting beneath his skin? How am I driving him this crazy when he was so sure he left me in the past?

If I had those answers, I wouldn’t be sitting here feeling all those things myself.

I nearly jump when his hand slips between our bodies to trace a line down my stomach, stopping just above my waistband.

“How do you piss me off this much?” His fingers dip beneath the elastic band of my yoga pants, and I move my legs to make room for him. “I can’t tell if I want to choke you to death,” his fingers graze against my clit, and I gasp, my head dropping against the back of the couch. “Or if I want you back on your knees, choking on my cock.”

I know what option I’d prefer, but something tells me he isn’t looking for my input here.

“I did a lot of thinking today,” he whispers the words directly into my ear, his teeth scraping against my jawline as his fingers press further into me. “And I realized we’ve been keeping too many secrets, kitten.”

Fuck. Any tension I might have had lingering in my body melts at the endearment, and I can feel him smiling against my skin.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” It’s a joke, but he freezes against me at the words. Callum’s eyes search my face, and I wonder what he’s hoping to find there.

“Lift your hips.”

I don’t make him say it twice, quickly raising my hips so he can slide the soft material down my legs. I’m used to being in front of people in far less than a t-shirt and underwear, but something about Callum being the one watching me makes this feel different. I feel exposed.

“I swear I’ve been dreaming of this body my entire life,” Callum moves into my space again, his hands running up the inside of my thighs. His touch is gentle as he drags the lace underwear over my hips. “When I was younger, I used to imagine all the ways I could make it sing. I spent countless hours dreaming up all the things I could do to please you. But then, I grew up, and my fantasies changed.”

His hands wrap around the outside of my thighs, pulling them further apart as he jerks me toward him. “I started dreaming of all the ways I could make you scream.”

Callum doesn’t allow me time to respond. He doesn’t even give me time to think before burying his face so deep in my pussy that I’m almost certain he’s cutting off his own oxygen. Not that I could care about anything but the feeling of him finally fucking touching me.

He isn’t gentle or patient; this isn’t the soft young man who used to coax me into cresting orgasms half a decade ago. This man is filled with unbridled rage, and it comes through in every move he makes.

Has he gotten better at this?

The idea of Callum going down on other women sparks jealousy in my chest, burning bright and hot as his tongue slides across my swollen clit. It isn’t fair for me to be jealous of where he learned this new skill; I’ve slept with countless people over the last four years.

That was all for money, though. It’s different when you’re fucking for pleasure.

His tongue does something that has my toes curling, and my hand jumps to his hair.

“Don’t you fucking spill that drink,” he growls against my clit, and I nod frantically in response. Whatever makes him keep…doing…that.

My fingers tighten against his scalp, and he presses impossibly closer to me. It’s like he’s trying to consume me. I can feel my orgasm building, the tension spiraling low in my gut.

“Fuck,” I gasp, grinding my clit against his mouth. “I thought you were going to make me beg.”

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