Page 101 of Close Contact
“Cal,” I said softly, startled, but he was already standing, lifting me as if I weighed nothing at all. My heels dangled from one of his fingers, sparkling like little stars of their own. “You don’t have to carry me.” I rested my head against his shoulder and let my eyes close.
“You look too pretty to make that walk back,” he said, voice low and full of heat. “Besides, I think I’ve ruined you enough for one night.”
My heart toppled, and I wondered how this all happened. Callum wasn’t the kind of man I ever expected to show interest in me. Now I just had to find a way to keep him.
He walked without hurry, steps confident and sure, as if this wasn’t the biggest scandal waiting to happen on the grid this season. As if we weren’t balancing on the edge of public image and personal desire. As if the whole fucking world wasn’t watching.
But in this moment? It wasn’t. It was just him and me. The air between us still hummed, our clandestine moment safe under the cloak of night. I wished this could be a normalcy for us.
I exhaled slowly and lifted my head. “There’s a back entrance,” I whispered, guiding him. “The one I used earlier to sneak out. There aren’t any cameras, and no one is around at this hour.”
He nodded once, not breaking stride. “Point me there.” I did, the warm breeze disappearing as we made our way through the rows of motorhomes and buildings. The real world was waiting, but I would always be his.
Somehow, we were going to make this work. Even if right now it was only in these quiet, private moments.
He was worth the risk, and if we played it smart… maybe the world didn’t have to know yet. This could be ours.
One thing was certain: I’d never forget this night.
Callum stopped in the shadows just before the door, setting me down with care like I was glass he wasn’t quite ready to let go of. The second my feet touched the ground, the spell shifted. The night didn’t feel like ours anymore—it felt borrowed. Stolen.
In silence, I slid my heels back on, one at a time. My legs still trembled faintly. When I straightened, I didn’t move away.
“Smile pretty for the camera, love,” he murmured with a grin that should’ve been illegal. “Let them admire your glow. Only I know what’s still dripping down your legs.”
I smirked, slow and with all wicked intentions, and reached up to brush my thumb across his bottom lip, pushing up on my tiptoes and leaning in close enough for my breath to ghost against his mouth. I knew I had him when his gaze softened.
“Don’t bother washing your hands,” I said with a rasp, watching his pupils blow wide. “Since you’re such a good little slut for me, I know you’ll want the reminder when you’re lying there hard and alone… my gloss still on your lips, my pussy still on your tongue.” I pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw, his stubble rough against my lips. “Sweet dreams, baby. Hope you dream in red.”
He stilled. Then, as if he couldn’t stop himself, his hands found my waist–holding me tight, almost desperately. His fingers curled into my skin, throat bobbing as he stared down at me. His eyes were molten, burning hotter and brighter than the bluest flame, but there was something else there too. A flicker ofawe. Like I’d just undone him in a way he hadn’t expected.
“Did you just call mebaby?”
That’swhat did him in?Nothing elsethat I said?
I just blinked up at him, lashes fluttering, faux innocence on full display. “Ouais. Got a problem with it, Fraser?”
Callum’s jaw clenched, the muscle feathering in a stupidly attractive way. He looked away for half a second like he needed to reset, then dragged those eyes back to me, still searing and ravenous.
“Say it again.” His voice was gravelly, his breathing accelerating. That single word, that little pet name, had apparently reached inside and pulled something loose hecouldn’t put back. “Say it again in that fucking accent that ruins me. God,please, just say it again.”
I grinned, slow and dangerous, and leaned close enough for my lips to graze his. “Sweet dreams, baby.” It was soft and syrupy sweet, all teasing tenderness wrapped in a bow just for him.
That did it.
His inhale was sharp. His hold on my waist tightened like he was losing his grip on restraint. Then he leaned in as though I’d just offered him salvation, pressing his mouth to mine in the softest, slowest kiss I’d ever felt. It wasn’t urgent or hungry—just pure, achingworship. His lips moved against mine with gentle precision, a tender prodding of tongues, like he wanted to memorize the taste of me.
And then he moaned. Quiet and low, as if ithurtto let it out.
“Cherries,” he whispered into my mouth.
I pulled back just barely, breath caught in my throat. “Cherries?”
His eyes stayed closed, and he shook his head slowly, exhaling raggedly. “You taste like cherries. I’m a goddamn goner for it. Addicted.”
Before I could respond, his hands left my waist to cup my face. He kissed me again, deeper this time, pulling me closer. His tongue swept across mine in a claiming, dominant stroke.
“I’m a fucking whore for it.” Another kiss, this time filthier and needier, his teeth capturing my bottom lip and pulling. I whimpered. “For you.”
