by Serena Lyons
“Come here.” He beckons, sitting on the arm of the sofa.
I stumble forward confused by the height difference until he wraps an arm around my back, pulls me close against him and starts kissing my neck.
“Oh God,” I mumble, closing my eyes so I can concentrate on his hot breath and soft kisses inching down towards my chest.
“Not God, Callum.” He chuckles throatily, lifting away from me to pull the lace of my bra off my breasts and then clamping down on my nipple with his warm, wet mouth.
I stiffen instantly, jolts of electricity buzzing out from his expert moves, wakening all my desire. I can feel the blood rushing to my core, rubbing against my lacy knickers and jeans making my yearn for Callum’s touch there.
He switches sides, and I move closer against him, running my hand across his taut chest, down his six pack and unbuttoning his jeans. A kind of buzzing starts in my brain as I work my hand into his jeans, his boxers and clamp on to the warm, silky hardness of his dick.
Oh wow, desire floods into my knickers. “I need this.” I pant as he sucks harder on my nipple making my breasts ache. “Now.”
“Patience,” he murmurs, then bites down on my breast in such a thrilling way that I think I might explode just from that. King Callum’s reputation as a player seems entirely deserved right now.
Brriiiing! The ring of the house phone is deafening.
Callum jerks back away from my breasts. “I need to get that.” He stands up, towering over me now.
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow, but he’s already backing away from me, towards the door. As he moves, I read the tattoo on his chest, just above his heart: XXVIII. IX. MMXVIII. I know enough to recognise they’re roman numerals. Twenty-eight, nine. He turns and leaves the room before I can figure out the last number. I can guess what it is though. The date forever carved into my heart. The twenty-eight of September 2018. The night Millie died.
I stare at the closed door, the desire that had me half drunk dissipating into fury with myself. How could I forget myself with Callum just because he kisses well? I’m here for Millie, not for myself.
I feel silly just standing there in my bra. Shivering, I straighten up my bra and pull my arms around my chest for warmth. Half of me—the real half—wants to pick my top off the floor and cover myself up. But that will just make things awkward when Callum comes back in. If I’m half naked, there’s more chance of us carrying on where we left off.
I might as well use the time to snoop, get the layout of the land. I walk through to the back half of the room, past the piano. There’s a large desk in the window bay, an old-fashioned Victorian one that has a leaf that comes down to write on and lots of tiny drawers, hiding spots for a gentleman to keep all of his most precious documents.
My heart lurches. Callum might have hidden stuff about Millie in there.
I run back to the door to the hall. He’s busy talking, too far away for me to hear his words, but close enough that I can tell he’s fully engrossed in his conversation; his voice keeps rising like he’s trying to persuade someone.
I might not get a chance like this again. If my research on Callum holds true, he gets bored with girls in the average time it takes most men to get bored with a sandwich. He might never leave me alone in his inner sanctum again.
Fuck it, every second that I wait is a less time available to look for evidence. I run back to the desk.
“Damn it,” I curse as the wooden leaf squeaks as I start to lower it. I daren’t carry on, I can look there next time. Maybe later if I stay over and he falls asleep before me.
The drawers might have more of interest, anyway. The first one just has passports and related documents; travel vaccination certificates, flying club memberships. I try to ignore the pang of envy they cause. One day that will be me.
The next drawer looks more promising. It’s crammed full of postcards, ticket stubs and photos in no order—it seems to be a kind of keepsake collection,
A bright purple envelope catches my eye. Purple was Millie’s favourite colour, and she sent me plenty of notes in the exact same colour envelopes over the years. My heart races. This is exactly what I’ve seduced Callum to find. Fingers shaking, I pull it out.
Written on the front in handwriting I’d recognise anywhere is Callum’s name. I flip it over, my finger slipping into the opening.
“You sneaky cow.” Callum’s voice booms from behind me.
Oh shit.
12: Callum
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Faith turns around, guilt and fear in her dark eyes, but keeps her hands hidden behind her body, so I can’t see exactly what she’s found.
Sneaky bitch. I should have fucking known she was too good to be true. A fucking Northern cheerleader. I bet she slept with every footballer in the team. She’s clearly some fame-hungry whore interested in my parents’ notoriety. Planning to pay for college by selling stories to the tabloids.
“I, er, I was looking for a tissue.” She fumbles out of view, then spins around, her hands twisting awkwardly in front of her body. Maybe she’s trying to bring my attention to her heaving breasts, barely covered by the tiny bit of lace that she calls a bra.
Nice fucking try, sweetheart. I’m not that easily manipulated. “Pull the other one, you were snooping.”
Her face turns red. She doesn’t even try to deny it.
“Get the fuck out.” I walk towards her, then use my body to shepherd her out like I’m on the rugby field and clearing up the other side’s forward. I open the door to the hall and gesture for her to go through, my body preventing her from going anywhere else.
“Er…” Her arm trembles as she points past me.
“Er, what?” I step closer and she backs away, towards the staircase, clearly able to tell that I’m not impressed.
“My top.”
I follow the arc of her arm to the crumpled heap on the floor. “I think I’ll keep that.”
Her face pales instantly. “What, but… I…”
“You have a jacket, don’t you?”
“Yes, but, the top is…”
“Mine now. Maybe I’ll use it to kindle my next fire.”
“But it’s mine,” Faith’s jaw hardens with fury.
“Funny, just like everything in that desk is mine. Seeing as though you have a loose appreciation about my possessions, I thought it should work both ways.”
I’m close enough to smell her now; that vanilla-ry, musky scent that makes desire pool in my stomach. I’m a bloody idiot bringing her back here, she knew exactly who I was right from the start.
That’s why she chased after me even though I tried to put her off by making out with Jess in front of her. She was looking for stories to sell to the Daily Mail or another scummy tabloid that profits off celebrities’ private pain. And to think I was feeling guilty about maybe hurting her. Anger burns even hotter inside of me.
I loosely grab her shoulders, keeping my arms straight so I don’t get too close to her. “It’s time for you to leave.”
She digs her heels into the floor. “You can’t just throw me out without my top. It’s mine!”
“Sweetheart, you’re the one who was just raking through my private drawers for things to steal. I can do whatever the damn I like.”
She clenches her fists, then darts down and attempts to dodge past me.
I haven’t spent thousands of hours on the rugby pitch to let a small woman run rings around me. I throw my arms around her waist, trying to ignore the softness of her skin, “Nice try,” I flip her over my shoulder and walk towards the stairs. “Guess I’m going to have to throw you out like the piece of trash you are.”
“I am not trash.” Her voice is low and unwavering, like a lawyer making an argument in court.
“No? Then why are you acting like a greedy gold-digger?” I start humming the tune of the Kanye song.
“Put me down.” She brings her fists down on my back. “I can see myself out.”
&
nbsp; “Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” I push my words out through gritted teeth. She’s managed to hit my kidneys with the precision of a professional boxer and it bloody hurts. I’m not going to show her she’s affecting me though. “The less you squirm the quicker this will all be over.”
“Fine,” her word comes out a sigh, and I try not to think of her sighing beneath me as I ate her out last week. The way I was hoping to make her sigh tonight as I took her for the first time.
I’ve watched this a thousand times with my Dad, how easily he is seduced and fooled by a sexy slut. That’s why I should stick to the good girls. Girls like Millie. Just thinking of her makes my heart freeze. I’m too bad for the good girls.
I adjust Faith so I’m holding her in one arm, yank open the front door, then tip her out on to the top step.
“Callum!” She yells as she rights herself, a stricken look taking over her face. “I need—”
“Here you go.” I pull her coat down from the rack and throw it on top of her. Before she can react, I slam the door shut.
I kick the wall then yell into my fist, I don’t want her to hear that she got to me. I let my guard down again, and it was even worse than I expected.
That slut isn’t getting any more chances. Faith fucking Davies is going to realise Westforde College is not the place for her. Anyone who crosses me has the whole college against them. She’ll be running away before the week is out.
I bound up the stairs, a jangle of anger, and grab my phone. I text the boys.
Callum: We need to sort things with Faith. I don’t want her around my college a second longer.
Rafe is the first to reply.
Rafe: Dare I ask why? She’s damn sexy…
Callum: She needs to go, that’s all you need to know. Make it happen.
I look for the first message from a girl. There’s one Jess sent this afternoon, that I haven’t bothered reading yet.
Jess: Hey, you up to much this evening…?
Callum: I’m having a bad day… want to cheer me up with a little preview of your goodies?
Seconds later I have a topless photo of Jess; dark, high nipples on juicy breasts. I try not to compare them to Faith’s, or inspect my lacklustre response. The best way to get over one woman is to get over another.
Callum: Very nice…. Now come distract me with your body.
There’s no way Jess will turn down her first invite to my house. I don’t even both telling her my address, she definitely knows it already. I go to shower sneaky Faith off me, then pour myself a malt whisky on the rocks. It should only take ten minutes for Jess to arrive.
Faith who? In a few weeks she’ll be gone and I won’t remember her name. Stupid girl. She didn’t know who she was taking on.
13: Faith
Tears sting my eyes as my palms graze the rough concrete of Callum’s doorstep. He’s thrown me out half naked, like a piece of trash. The bastard.
I stay crouched down as I pull my jacket over my nearly naked top half. I keep my back to the high street, praying no one spots me.
“Oi love, need a new date?” A local-sounding voice booms up from the street.
Fuck. I wasn’t quick enough.
“Hello? It’s rude not to reply you know,” the man laughs and I hear some muttering, as if he’s chatting to a friend. “Are you too posh for us? One of the college girls I bet?”
I zip up my bomber jacket, then bounce up to standing. Cheerleading definitely lends itself to a certain fluidity of motion. “You can move along now. You’re absolutely right, I am too posh for you,” I snap, glaring down at a group of three young men on the opposite pavement.
They stare up at me, glowering. One with a shaven head and badly fitting jeans clenches his fists as he steps off the kerb, moving towards me.
Shit, that was a massive error of judgement. I glance up the street, nobody is close enough to come to my rescue, and there is no way I can beg Callum Carter-Wright for help. He’d probably just close the door on me again.
I take a deep breath, hating myself for what I’m about to do. “Look, sorry, as you may be able to tell I’m having a bit of man trouble tonight,” I laugh as best as I can fake. “I’m not exactly feeling all warm and fuzzy to the members of your sex. I’m best avoided right now.”
There’s a long pause. Then men stare at me from halfway across the street, then look at each other. I move back on my heels, readying myself in case I need to run or fight.
“Alright, alright, no need to be a bitch about it. No wonder you’ve got man trouble with a mouth like that.” The men laugh, then start shuffling away.
I dig my fingernails into my palms. I hate having to fucking apologise when they were the ones who stuck their noses into a stranger’s business.
Who cares? I have bigger problems, like completely screwing things up with Callum. Why the hell didn’t I wait? What was I thinking raking through his desk like that when he’d only gone out of the room for a few seconds? And why didn’t I take Millie’s letter with me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I count to twenty once, twice, three times, wanting to make sure the drunk men are long gone. An ugly altercation with strangers is the last thing I need right now. I peek at the street again, the men have disappeared.
My breathing eases slightly and I make my way down the steep steps from Callum’s front door. When I get to the pavement, I can’t help but look back over my shoulder, wondering if he’ll be watching me from the front windows. There’s no sign of him.
Of course he isn’t. And it doesn’t matter. I don’t give a shit about him, but I need to figure out some palatable excuse for having been snooping through his drawers. I need to get back in. That letter was definitely from Millie. I should have stuffed it into my waistband.
I finally pull my eyes away from his house and walk straight into someone rushing in the opposite direction.
They tut like it’s only my fault not theirs also, and carry on walking straight past me.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
They hiss something that sounds like ‘slut’.
I whip my head around to see long, dark hair ending in perfect Hollywood curls, bare legs even though it’s far too cold to be outside without tights on. It’s Jess, and she clearly knew it was me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cheerleading is about to get much less fun.
He’s already invited another her over? Even though he told me nothing was really going on between them? Something too close to jealousy burns my insides.
I walk a few metres down the street and then turn around and watch as she climbs the steps to Callum’s front door. She smooths her hair and unbuttons her designer Mackintosh to show some cleavage before she presses the doorbell.
I should leave, head home with a shred of dignity intact, but instead I cross the street and stand in a dark patch between streetlamps, where I have the perfect view of Callum’s purple door. Jess joggles from side to side, clearly cold, potentially excited. She recognised me leaving his house at eleven pm and she’s still going over for a booty call? Silly cow.
Assuming he even invited her. Maybe she’s just trying her luck with him again and it’s just a coincidence that she’s turned up ten minutes after he threw me out.
The door opens. Callum smiles, then steps down to kiss Jess, pushing her up against the wall. Not a coincidence then.
I know I should leave, but I can’t stop watching them. Wishing that it was still me pressed against him, jealousy curdling in my stomach, swiftly followed by self-loathing.
Then it hits me: this is exactly what sent Millie so crazy. I need to leave right now, he shouldn’t be getting under my skin.
I turn towards the darkness, forcing myself not to look at them anymore. It shouldn’t bother me who Callum wants to kiss, all I really need to think about is how to rectify my fuck up. He’s never going to invite me into his house again now he’s caught me snooping, I need a new plan for getting the evidence that he hurt Millie.
I’m back in my room in no time and
far too keyed up to go to sleep. If only I’d fucking read that letter, or stuffed it into my pocket I might have had everything I needed to take Callum down, but now I’m almost back at the beginning, or worst than, because it’s going to take a hell of a lot of charm to get him to let me back into his inner sanctum again.
If I didn’t know Jess was probably in his bed right now, I might go back and try and seduce him into forgetting to be mad with me, but that won’t work. Maybe I need a plan B in case my honeytrap approach won’t work.
A much more direct approach. My mind whirs as I think through my options. It can’t be anything that links to me—I still think sneaking up on Callum surreptitiously so I have the space to find out his darkest secrets will be best. So, something anonymous then.
Something that puts pressure on him.
That gets him scared.
That makes him realise that Millie will never be forgotten.
An undercover justice campaign. The idea jumps into my head. I can set up a campaigning website for justice for Millie’s death, making it clear that not everyone believes that she killed herself. The tricky part will be getting enough eyeballs on it to make sure it gets back to Callum.
Then again, there is nothing Westforde College loves more than a good rumour. Especially a salacious one about their King Callum. Getting the gossip to spread will be the easy part.
I change into a comfier outfit, lock up my bedroom and head towards to the student computers. I’m not sure anyone apart from me ever uses them—nobody else at Westforde is too poor to own their own laptop. I’m so wired that I register my website anonymously and add all the content pointing towards her death being something a lot more sinister than it looks in under two hours.
Then I print off some old school posters, a black and white photo of Millie with the words “Murdered” printed across her face in unmissable letters, then tear off slips on the bottom of the page with my website address on. A few on these pinned up around college should set the whispers flying, I don’t even need to mention Callum.