Page 81 of Callow

It felt so weird to invite a man into my room, into my bed.

Part of that was because I had my kid across the hall. But, as Daphne kept reminding me, she was practically grown up now. So it was silly to feel weird about having a, er, partner.

The other part was simply because I’d never had a man in my room, in my bed. Well, okay. I’d totally snuck a boyfriend or two into my bedroom as a teen. But that was, at its core, a ‘fuck you’ to my father more so than actually wanting to share my bed with someone.

This felt very big. And I tried really hard not to make it feel like it felt like a big deal.

Callow took his turn in the bathroom after me, giving a few moments to toss the clothes I’d stripped out of the other day and hadn’t picked up into the hamper. And toss the peanut butter cup wrappers on my nightstand into the trash. And, well, make sure Mr. Good Vibrations was at the back of the second nightstand drawer where it wouldn’t be super obvious.

Satisfied, I turned on the TV to muffle any possible… noises. Then quickly stripped out of my after-work clothes and into the cutest pajama set I had—a silky navy blue short and tank topset. No bra. Sexy panties. Or, well, what passed for ‘sexy’ in my wardrobe. Which meant it had a little lace around the edges and a sweet little bow at the center.

Callow tapped his knuckles lightly on the door even though I’d left it ajar.

“Double-checked the locks, camera, and the door alarms,” he told me as he moved inside, but didn’t close the door.

He was changed into a pair of lightweight blue pajama bottoms and a white tee that was all wrinkled from his duffle bag. In his hand was his little brown leather toiletry bag.

“Thank you,” I said, moving toward him to push the door closed. Then slide the lock.

To that, Callow shot me a small smile as he walked toward the side of the bed closest to the door since the other side was obviously where I sat, evident by my lotion, a charging station, and a collection of hair ties and clips.

He placed the toiletry bag down, then pulled out something unexpected.

His gun.

“Does this bother you?” he asked, placing it on the nightstand.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I was actually looking into getting one eventually. I just wanted to bring it up to Daphne first. And I didn’t want to do it too soon after the attack.”

“If you decide to go that route, I can show you how to shoot.”

“I will need that,” I said. “I have terrible aim. Never gotten a piece of paper in the trash on the first try. Is this strictly necessary?” I asked, grabbing a handful of his tee and giving it a little tug.

“Nope,” he said, making short work of pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. “This looks nice,” he said, his fingers pinching the edge of my tank top. “Cold?” he asked with a littlesmile as his hand moved up my belly then teased over my breast where my nipple was straining against the material.

“I think you can keep me warm,” I said, climbing up on the bed.

Callow reached to turn off the light before sitting down.

He sat off the side for a moment, removing his prosthetic and then the liner before moving under the covers. Hooking an arm under me, he rolled me up onto him.

It was almost embarrassing how all the stress just seeped out of me at the feel of him against me.

“I got a question,” he said.

“Shoot,” I said, my fingers tracing an odd half-circle raised scar on his shoulder.

“The tattoo on your ass…”

“I let someone with a tattoo machine they bought God-knew-where do a tattoo on me right before I got pregnant with Daphne. It was awful. But since no one was seeing it but me, I dealt with it for years. Then I finally went to get it covered up. But, ah, to hide the fact that the original tattoo was on my ass—in case my kid ever had questions when bathing suits were involved or something like that—I had the artist drag it down my thigh.”

“I like it,” he said as his hand slid down my side, over my hip, then teased over the spot where the tattoo was located.

“I like yours too,” I said, running my hand over his arm. “Any stories to them?”

“Not really. They’re kind of a map of my travels, though. I tried to get some sort of piece done each country I’d visited. Didn’t exactly do a fuckuva lot of research before I got ‘em. That’s why some are, ha, better than others.”

“I like them all. They have character,” I said as my fingers moved over a bit of a lopsided sailboat.

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