by Hannah Ford
“They took a report,” he said. “I gave them the information and I’ll file a restraining order as soon as the courts open in the morning.”
“A report? Shouldn’t they have come in here and looked around?”
“I didn’t want then upsetting you. I told them what they needed to know.”
“Thank you,” I said. While the thought of having the police in the apartment so that they could document the broken window should have made me feel safe, I realized that Callum was right. Talking to the police would have been very upsetting. I was stuck again by Callum’s power, how he’d been able to convince the police to take a report without coming inside.
“If I’d gone to the police before, liked you’d wanted, then maybe he -- ”
“No.” I shook my head. “You can’t think like that.”
I reached out and took his hands in mine. One of them felt larger than the other, and I looked down.
When I did, I gasped.
Callum’s right hand was swollen and bloody, one of his knuckles mangled into a twisted gnarl.
“Oh my God,” I said, “Callum, your hand.”
He looked down at it, almost dazedly, like he hadn’t realized it was connected to his body.
I reached over and switched the light on, the one that was on the end table. On closer look, the injury was even more grotesque than I’d thought. His knuckle was out of joint.
“Jesus, Callum,” I said. “We need to go to the hospital.”
“No.”
“What happened?”
He reached down, gritted his teeth, and with a sickening popping sound, pushed his knuckled back into joint. “The police won’t be the only thing discouraging that asshole from coming back.”
He reached down and scooped me up off the couch.
I buried my face into his neck, and let him take me to bed.
When I woke the next morning, I was alone.
The scent of bacon drifted down the hallway. I pulled on a pair of socks and padded toward the kitchen.
Callum was there, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. He was freshly shaven, his hair combed back from his face and gelled, his slacks pressed, his shoes shined. There was no sign of the altercation he’d been in last night. He looked completely calm, not a hair out of place.
No, actually, I realized, looking closer, his hand was still bruised and swollen, the knuckles discolored and dark like eggplant.
I glanced across the kitchen toward the living room.
The window that was broken had been replaced.
“Good morning,” Callum said. He was setting two plates down on the table, both of them filled with eggs, bacon, and toast. “Sit, Adriana.”
I walked over to the kitchen table and sat down.
“You got the window fixed,” I said.
“Yes.”
“When?” There was a breadbasket in the middle of the table, filled with blueberry muffins, and I grabbed one and began buttering it.
“This morning.”
I glanced at the clock on my phone. “It’s seven am.”
“It doesn’t take that long to fix a window, Adriana.” He took two steaming mugs off the kitchen island and set one down in front of me, then joined me at the table.
I took a sip, and made a face. “What is this?”
“Herbal tea.”
“Herbal tea?”
“Yes, Adriana, herbal tea.”
“Since when do we drink herbal tea?”
“Not we. You.”
“Since when do I drink herbal tea?”
“Since you’re pregnant.”
“Oh.” Right. I had a vague memory of my sister complaining about how she couldn’t drink caffeine anymore now that she was pregnant.
Callum took a sip of his orange juice, then slid a pamphlet across the table toward me. “What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.
“It’s the instructions for our new security system.” He set his juice down and began digging into his breakfast. “It was installed this morning. I’m in the process of hiring a guard, but that will take a couple of days.”
“Wow, a couple of days, that seems long,” I said sarcastically.
“You have to vet them properly.” He set his coffee down and glanced at his watch. “You can’t just hire anyone, Adriana, these things take time.” He caught the look on my face. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“Why would I be sarcastic?” I said, taking a bite of my toast. “I mean, it’s totally normal to get a window replaced and an alarm system installed all before seven in the morning.”
“Time is arbitrary, Adriana. You can get things done any time of day if you are determined.”
“I know,” I said. “I read it in your book.”
He glanced over at me, his face filled with concern. “I told you not to read that book if it was going to upset you.”
“It’s not upsetting me.”
“Good.” He had finished his breakfast already, somehow managing to eat twice as much as I had on my plate before I’d barely touched a bite. He reached over and picked up the Wall Street Journal that was sitting next to him, and scanned the front page.
I tipped my fork against my plate. “Is that how you learned all your business knowledge? From reading the Wall Street Journal?”
“No,” he said.
“Then why do you read it?”
“I read the Wall Street Journal to keep up with what’s going on in my industry, but people learn most by doing and through their own life experiences.”
“Intterressting,” I said.
He glanced up at me and put the paper down. “Why is that interesting?”
“No real reason,” I said, taking a sip of my herbal tea and grimacing. It tasted like someone had taken a forest and let it soak in a cup of hot water before draining out the grass and serving it. “This is disgusting.”
“It’s filled with folic acid, which is very good for the baby.”
I took another sip and he gave me a satisfied look. “Now why is that interesting?” he pressed.
“Why is what interesting?” I was distracted, looking at his knuckle, remembering what it had looked like last night, all out of joint and how he’d pushed it back in with a pop.
“What I said about life experiences and business.”
“Well, you said that you learn most by doing. But you wrote a whole book about how to succeed in business.”
“That’s what the publisher wanted.”
“I guess.” I pushed my food around on my plate. I took a deep breath. If this was going to work, really work, the two of us being together, then I needed to be able to be honest with him. “I just think that if you wrote more…true things, then it would be a better book.”
“The book is true.”
“No, I mean, like real things.” I swallowed. “About your childhood, your alcoholism.” It was the first time I’d said the word out loud, and I expected him to recoil from me, waited for him to tell me that he wasn’t going to discuss it with me.
Instead, he set his fork down. “The book is dead,” he said. “It’s not going to be published.”
“True.” I twisted my hands in front of me. “Although it’s not… I mean, Archway is only one publisher. You could sell that book anywhere.” Suddenly, I was getting excited. “You would write it. And I could edit it, and then we could find an agent. I mean, not that I’m a great editor,” I rushed on, feeling as if maybe I’d overstepped my bounds. “I just…I mean, I’m here and I don’t have a job or anything, so…”
Callum looked at me, reached across the table and took my hands in his. “I cannot think of anyone better to edit my book.”
“You don’t know anything about whether or not I can edit.”
“I know you. I know your heart. I know that you would take care of this story with everything you have.”
I nodded. “So we’re doing it?”
“We’re doing it,” he said, his tone soft. He glanced sharply at my plate,
letting me know that I wasn’t getting out of this. “Eat. And then I will show you what you are permitted to wear today.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, my body flooding with warmth. Just when I thought maybe he was letting his guard down, he did something to let me know he was still completely in control.
Callum started writing the book right away.
He stayed up late that night, writing the first chapter while I lied next to him in bed, reading What To Expect When You’re Expecting.
“Do you know this book is terrifying?” I asked as he typed away on his laptop. “Do you know all the disgusting things that happen during pregnancy? Not to mention labor.”
“Nothing about you could ever be disgusting.” He emailed me the first chapter, then shut down his computer. He snuggled down in the covers with me, his hand drifting down to my stomach. “Everything about you is beautiful and perfect.”
“I’m going to get fat.”
“You’re going to get pregnant,” he corrected, pushing into me. His cock was rock hard.
“I might have morning sickness. I’ll probably throw up. A lot. I was already so nauseous…”
“Then I’ll hold your hair back.” His hand was playing with the waistband of my pajama pants, sliding it down over my hips. “Why are you wearing panties, Adriana?”
“They’re approved,” I said. “You told me that I could wear them.”
“I’m a stupid, stupid, man,” he said, pushing them over to the side. His finger slid up my slit, nice and slow. “Mmm,” he murmured. “Nice and smooth.”
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes.
He kissed my neck, his lips trailing down over my collarbone, sucking the sensitive spot there, his scruff rubbing my skin.
I arched my back and pushed into him, wanting more and more, wanting him to take me, to mark me.
“Callum,” I said.
“Yes, baby?” The tip of his finger slipped inside of my pussy, and I inhaled sharply, goose bumps blooming on my arms. “What if… what if you don’t want me when I’m …”
He stopped what he was doing, his tone growing serious. “When you’re what?”
“When I’m pregnant, when my body is…”
“Adriana,” he said. “I cannot think of anything sexier than seeing you pregnant with my child.” He pushed into me again, tugging my pants down, and pulling out his hard cock. “Look,” he commanded.
I looked down to see him, rock hard and thick, the blood rushing to the head of his dick.
He took my hand and placed it on his cock. “You feel that?”
“Yes.” His cock pulsed and twitched under my hand.
“That’s what the thought of you pregnant does to me. Knowing that you’re mine, that we’re going to create something that’s just the two of us...” He grabbed my ass and pulled me toward him, nudging at the opening of my pussy with his dick. “Fuck, baby, there’s nothing sexier.”
He pulled me down on him, filling me in one full stroke.
His hands wrapped in my hair, tangling and pulling as he fucked me.
His eyes stayed on mine, his lips against mine as he whispered over and over again how much he loved me, until we came together and I collapsed in his arms.
We fell into a rhythm as the days passed.
Callum stayed up late writing, sending me chapters as he finished them.
In the morning, he would wake up and pick out clothes for me, then turn the shower on, making sure I had everything I needed. I would shower and dress while he made me breakfast, then he’d brew me a mug of herbal tea and we’d go to his office together, where I’d edit the pages of his new book while he worked.
I loved watching him at work, loved the secret glances he’d give me across the room. I was set up on a couch in his office, one that was so comfy I slid into it like butter. I had a desk that went over my knees and a computer, and I would edit and sip water with lemon.
I wasn’t sure what had shifted inside Callum, if it was because he was about to be a father, or because he was afraid of losing me -- I suspected it was a combination of both – but he was putting it all into the book, was pouring his heart out onto the page. There were times I’d well up with tears at the way he described his upbringing. Parents who completely ignored him, and when they weren’t ignoring him, were abusing him, yelling at him, his father sometimes beating him.
Some of the things he’d hinted at in our conversations.
The rest of the things were things I had no idea about.
I knew this was his way of letting me in, of letting me know the things that had happened to him.
So I would edit, making notes on printed out pages of manuscript, my red pen flying over the words my eyes filling with tears as I read the parts of Callum’s story that I knew made him what he was today, that made him think he was unworthy of love.
And so it went.
Just like this, for three months.
Until finally, one random Wednesday afternoon, after Callum had emailed me his last round of edited pages and I’d read them through, I closed my eyes and leaned back on the couch.
“It’s finished,” I said. “The book is finished.”
Callum looked up from his desk, where he’d been doing paperwork. He nodded. “Now what?”
“Now we find an agent, “ I said. “Someone with connections in the non-fiction world.”
Callum nodded again, and I watched carefully for his reaction.
This was a part of the process we hadn’t quite touched on yet, the part where he was thinking about sharing his story not just with me, but with the world.
He got up and crossed the room to where I was lounging on the chaise. My morning sickness had subsided over the past month, and now I actually felt pretty good.
He sat down next to me, slipped off my socks, and began to rub my feet.
“Is that okay?” I asked. “That we find an agent? I know you’re probably too busy, but I could query for you –”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, that’s not okay.”
Disappointment welled inside of me, but I did my best not to show it. This was Callum’s story, and as much as I thought was important, as much as I thought that he could make a real difference by putting it out there, it was his to tell, not mine.
“Okay,” I said.
“You, “he said. “I want you to agent it.”
“Me? I don’t know the first thing about agenting.”
“Yes, you do. You know the book better than anyone. I want you to write a pitch letter and start pitching it.”
“Don’t you want someone a little more experienced?” I asked. “Someone who knows what they’re doing?” The thought of me being a literary agent for this book was ridiculous, and yet at the same time my mind was already running through lists of editors, picking and choosing which ones I thought would be a good fit. All of my research when I was looking for a job, knowing which publishers published what, was starting to come in handy.
“No. You are the perfect person to handle this.”
“And you’re okay?” I asked. “With this being out there?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I am.” His hand was moving up my leg now, over my calf, inside my thigh.
I was wearing a pair of soft cotton pants and a tank top under a zip-up sweatshirt. Not exactly the sexiest outfit, and yet Callum’s hands moved higher, his hands sliding over my belly, which was starting to show a bump.
“Do you know how sexy you are, Lemon?” He pushed the bottom of my shirt up, and I pulled it back down over my stomach. His eyes flamed with my disobedience.
Ever since he’d found out I was pregnant, Callum had been gentle with me when we had sex. Well, as gentle as he could be.
“Mine,” he growled, pushing the bottom of my sweatshirt back up. He reached down and grabbed the strings of my hoodie and pulled me up toward him, kissing me on the lips. “Your body is mine, Adriana. Every part of it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
He began to unzip my sweatshirt, pulling it down over my shoulders, the fabric sliding off my shoulders. He pulled my tank top up and kissed the round curve of my stomach.
“This. Is. Beautiful,” he said between kisses. “You are beautiful.” He kissed me again, taking my hand and placing it on the front of his suit pants. I felt his cock, hard and thick. “See?” he prompted.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Your cock is hard.”
“What is it hard from?”
“From seeing me pregnant. Knowing I’m yours.”
“That’s right, baby.” He was pulling back from me now, shucking off his suit coat, loosening his tie from around his neck. He slipped his tie around my wrists, binding them together as he pushed my hands up over my head.
He kissed his way down my stomach, pulling off my pants and panties, his mouth devouring my pussy.
“Callum,” I moaned.
“Shh, baby,” he said teasing. “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you?”
I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“Watch me,” he commanded, his voice gruff, his lips moving against my bare pussy as he talked. “Watch me eat your pussy.”
I watched him, watched his fingers and mouth move over me, watched as he held my hip down against the couch, making sure to be gentle with my stomach as he sucked my clit and licked my slit.
“God, you taste so fucking sweet,” he said.
“Callum, please.” I squirmed around on the couch. I was so wet, so hot, my need for him settling between my legs and making me crazy.
But my begging only made him want to tease me more. He licked and sucked me, hard and fast, until I was pushed over the edge.
I came, my pussy clenching on his tongue, and just as I was cresting that wave, he pulled his cock out and pushed it inside of me, fucking me until we both came again.
“I love you,” I whispered, my hands moving through his hair. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” he said.
I closed my eyes and savored the moment.
“You’ll call me as soon as you’re done,” Callum said a week later. We were sitting in his car outside of Onyx Publishing, whose offices were located on the forty-second through forty-fifth floor of the tallest building on Fifth Avenue.