Page 5 of The Wrong Play

I swallowed hard as I stared back at him.

I could still walk away.

But his eyes, dark and knowing, held me in place.

And I…I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

Callum leaned in, brushing his lips against my temple, lingering. His breath was warm against my skin, each exhale coiling through me, filling all the empty spaces.

“Come upstairs.”

A whisper. A promise.

I tensed.

I shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

“I don’t?—”

Callum’s fingers moved down my arm, a slow, steady glide before he took my wrist gently in his grasp.

His thumb pressed against my pulse point again, like he already knew what my body wanted, even if my mind didn’t.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want, Riley.”

His voice was smooth. Reassuring. A lullaby of certainty.

“Just let me take care of you.”

Take care of me. Like I was something fragile. Like I was something worth handling carefully.

Like I was someone who deserved it.

It was all I had ever wanted.

My chest ached with the need to be seen. To be chosen. To be wanted.

I let out a slow, unsteady breath, and I nodded.

Callum’s lips curled in satisfaction, and he didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t push. He just turned, still holding my wrist, and started walking.

And I let him lead me upstairs.

Inside my room, the air was heavy and charged. I stood in front of him, my breathing uneven, shallow, his presence swallowing up the space around me.

Callum’s hands brushed the hem of my shirt, slow, unhurried, his fingertips skimming the fabric in a way that felt deliberate.

Waiting for me to stop him.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

He slid beneath the fabric, his fingers featherlight as they traced along the bare skin of my stomach, moving higher, along my ribs. I shuddered, heat licking up my spine, my skin flaring to life beneath his touch.

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