Page 17 of A Loser by Christmas
Tonight, it curls around Calum, wanting to purr until he tells me what else the rest of the world hasn’t noticed about this hockey player who leans in with a nugget of information. “Want to know what else my mum isn’t a fan of?”
“More than you being aHo?” He nods, smiling again. This one comes with sweetness I could lick up like cream. “Tell me, Calum.”
“She isn’t a fan of hate. Says that life is way too short to hold on to that kind of feeling, and I don’t like to?—”
“Disappoint her?”
He shows me more of that surprising sweetness. “She says I couldn’t. That none of her boys ever could.” He narrows his eyes way too late for me to keep believing he’s anything like his reputation. “Hate is off the table,” he snarls, which is also unconvincing now he’s let me glimpse a soft and squishy centre. “But spite isn’t. Pretty sure I can overachieve at that.”
“At spite sex?”
I’m pretty sure that won’t be his skill set either.
That doesn’t stop me from climbing onto his lap.
“Prove it.”
6
Someonetruly spiteful would shove me around like I don’t matter to him. And I would shove them right back.
The problem with that is that I like kissing Calum too much to break off. Plus, straddling his lap gives me a height advantage that I like even better. It lets me repeat what he did in that alley. I get to cup his face like he cupped mine. Get to tilt it where I want him, and I do want him in ways that would make Lito throw his camera into the marina if he could see this difference.
With Calum, I want to crowd close instead of sliding away from someone greasy. Rather than knee him in the nuts and upload a video of snow-dusted nostrils for the world to laugh at, I want to hold tight.
So I do.
My hands are still on Calum’s face, his beard tickling my palms, soft in comparison to the hard line of his jaw, and that’s another contrast like one that followed me all the way back from Kensington. No matter how fast I sped under so many of London’s bridges, I couldn’t shake off the contradiction between Calum’s hard-man image and everything else he’s shown me. The internet barely served me a small slice of his story. I’m sogreedy for more, but first I need to kiss him with no cameras running.
A red light blinks somewhere to our side. I reach for its source only for the world to lurch beneath me. The last time I had that feeling, apex predators were the reason. Tonight, it’s Calum Trelawney who shifts me off my axis—I’m flat on my back with him on top, and I’m not mad about it.
His mouth is on mine in an instant, his tongue slipping inside as soon as my lips part, and it’s deeper from the get-go. I don’t know how long we kiss for. I’m lost in the sensation of being covered—smothered—because he’s so fucking heavy, and I had no idea how much I’d like that.
I strain against him, hard already. So is he. I can tell each time his hips shift, adding to a motion I’m well used to after years of living on the water.
Calum can’t be as used to this too-low-in-the-water rolling. He almost slips off until I lock my arms and legs around him.
“Stronger than you look,” he murmurs against my throat, teeth rasping. I’m in favour of this sharp-edged grazing and even happier when his hands get busy with the zipper of my jumpsuit.
He yanks it down, shoving until he can slide a hand under the remaining layers, and if I still needed any convincing about this same-sex attraction, Calum finding my dick cements it. His muffledyeahis triumphant.
I get to see as well as hear it—Calum breaks away from my throat to push himself up one-handed. He looks down at me, gaze dropping to my spread legs, where fabric hides what his other hand curls around tightly.
“Lift,” he orders, and typically I’d argue. Tonight, I raise my hips fast, not caring that he leaves me bare to the damp chill of my cabin. Calum getting me naked heats me up in a hurry. So does him being laser focused on everything he uncovers. I do shiver then, even though no chill truly registers. It’s his touchthat tightens my nipples, his slow and careful exploration that does it for me right when I could stand for him to be as fast and rough with me as he wanted.
This pace?
It gets to me in a way I don’t have words for.
Actually, I do have several.
“Call this spite sex? You’re not even trying.”
He looks up. His eyes laugh first before I hear it rumble, and who the fuck knows why Calum kneeling over me and grinning makes this even better. His shirt hangs open, his hands chasing goosebumps, and my nerves relocate to wherever he touches.
They spark beneath my skin. Explode like the fireworks do outside the cabin portholes. Detonate as he works his way down my body. And when his breath coasts over my hard-on, another firework burst lights the cabin. It shows a sudden hesitation, Calum’s grin fading while his mouth is so close to where I want it that I’m breathless. “You don’t give head?”
He looks up again, no laughter in his gaze. “What did you say?” He repositions, his mouth finding my throat again as his fist wraps my dick, which does plenty for me—precome helps his hand glide, and his voice turns rougher. “In English, Valentin. What did you just say?”
