by Sarah Smith
“I didn’t pack anything that was even close to suitable for this type of thing,” I say. “I told my aunt and uncle I was meeting a culinary school friend for drinks at a nice pub, so I had to try and look the part.”
I bite the inside of my cheek when I remember how I lied to them. But no way in hell was I going to tell them the truth: that I was meeting up with my rival who I’m wildly attracted to.
He rests his hand under my chin, tilting me up to look at him. I shiver at how I still have to look up at him, even though I’m in heels. I love, love, love how tall he is.
“You’re the most gorgeous woman within a thousand-mile radius.”
I mumble a thank-you, and his hand falls away. “So um . . . did you . . .” Words are damn near impossible after a compliment like that. “Did you want to get a drink or something?”
His eyes fall to my collarbone, which is exposed thanks to the open cut of my blouse. “No.”
Our stares connect, and everything around me, within me is ablaze. It’s that same look of lust he left me with before stepping off the plane the other day.
“What do you want, Callum?”
He uses his mouth to answer, but not with words. With a hand at my waist, he pulls me against him, then presses his lips against my collarbone. The soft contact turns my legs to jelly. It makes my chest ache and my breath catch. It’s been so long I almost forgot what arousal felt like. Almost.
My hands tangle through his hair as I struggle to steady myself.
The heat of his lips on my skin causes me to choke on my next intake of air. So, so soft. And then there’s the gentle scrape of his teeth. Thank heavens he’s holding on to me, because my legs are completely, utterly useless.
“I want you, Nikki. Now.” He leans back up, eyes still on fire.
Through a ragged breath, I manage to speak. “Let’s get out of here, then.”
* * *
• • •
Callum unlocks the door to a renovated multistory Victorian in Marylebone, a few streets down from the Grazing Goat.
I take in the massive foyer and the white marble floor that leads to a hallway straight ahead. A spiral staircase sits at the other side. There’s a small yet opulent chandelier made of prism-like crystals dangling from the ceiling. It’s a dazzling contrast to the off-white wall and the black-and-white photos of various London landmarks hanging along the hallway. Understated yet upscale decor.
“Wow,” I mutter. “Your parents have a nice place.”
“I don’t want to talk about my parents.”
Callum shrugs out of his suit jacket. Then he places his hands on my shoulders, slowly slipping my trench coat off. His lips land on the side of my neck, and my eyes roll back. There’s a phantom pulse between my thighs. It’s settled. Side-of-the-neck kisses are the hottest thing ever.
“You’re sure they’re not coming home tonight?” I say between a gasp and a moan.
Callum doesn’t bother to lift his mouth from my neck when he answers. “Positive. They’re staying with our other relatives at a hotel near the restaurant.”
“Thank fuck.”
His chuckle rumbles from his mouth to my skin, all the way down my throat. That ache that started at the restaurant intensifies, radiating from my toes to my fingers. When he softly runs his teeth against the sensitive part of my neck that meets my shoulder, every joint in my body turns to goo. Something inside me catches fire. It starts as a slow burn, a simmer, engulfing me from the inside out. If this is what his mouth can do to me when we’re standing fully clothed at his front door, just what am I in for once we get to his bedroom?
“So you don’t want to talk about your parents. What do you want to do instead?” I tease. There’s a foreign rasp when I speak. I sound like I’m doing a Jessica Rabbit impression.
“I want to find out what you look like when you let loose, Nikki,” he says in a whisper-soft growl against my skin. I try my hardest not to howl.
He swoops my hair to the side, kissing the back of my neck. I reach behind me, running my fingers against his scalp, through that delicious mass of thick hair.
“I want to hear how you moan, how you pant and groan when you’re turned on.” He trails his perfect mouth down the back of my neck. “I want to watch how your body trembles when you’re overloaded on pleasure, your mind free of all those everyday worries.”
Everyday worries. Like work, family, future.
“Um . . .” My hands fall away from him, and I turn so we’re facing each other.
A simple, seemingly benign combination of words, but it brings up every stressor from back home that I seem to have forgotten ever since our truce on the plane.
He takes a step back, giving me space. Concern flashes through his gaze when he looks at me now. “If you changed your mind about this, it’s okay. I understand. Really.”
I’m instantly cold at the loss of contact. And that’s when I know: I want him right here, right now. Any and all consequences can go straight to hell.
I shake my head, panicked at the thought that I’ve given him the wrong idea. All those worries from home don’t matter right now. Callum and I have managed to look past all that since leaving Maui. Now, we see who we really are, what we really want. And that’s each other.
“That’s not it at all. I don’t want to leave. It’s just . . .”
It’s just that I don’t know if one night with him will be enough. After all this buildup, all our flirting, this newfound connection between us, I suspect I’m going to want more.
But that’s impossible. In a few days, we’ll both be in Maui and life will be back to normal. I have no right to hope for anything other than tonight.
This temporary time-out is all we get. And it needs to be enough.
Callum steps toward me, closing the space between us. “Tell me what you want.”
I tug at the bottom of his shirt. “I need to hear you say the words.”
My chest heaves with every breath I take. The simmer inside of me is now a million invisible flames. It’s more than an ache; it’s need. I’m practically panting at how much I want him.
“Tell me this is bad, but you don’t care. Tell me you know what a terrible idea it is for us to do this because of our history, because when we go back to Maui, we’ll have to forget this ever happened,” I say. “Tell me that you’re willing to do it anyway. Because . . .”
Gently, he takes my chin between his thumb and index finger. “Right now I don’t care about any of that. I just want you.”
He finally presses his mouth to mine. Somehow it’s better than I imagined it would be. He teases at first, the tip of his tongue lapping at mine like I’m some delicious ice cream cone he can’t stop licking. He’s taking it slow, savoring me.
Given the expert way he worked my neck with his lips earlier, it’s no surprise he’s a dynamite kisser. I wasn’t expecting this level of mind-blowing though.
My insides are bursting at the intensity of this simple yet addicting kiss. Holy Christ, why don’t all men kiss like this? Slow, steady, tantalizing rhythm. Efficiency is overrated. Taking your time is where it’s at.
Pressing my palms against his chest is the only way to steady myself against the dizzying effect of Callum’s nuclear kiss.
Seconds pass, maybe even a minute or two. Then there’s a pickup, a leveling up of intensity. Callum’s tongue is getting very, very filthy, and I love it.
His hands, which started at my waist, are now in my hair. I’m gripping his wrists for dear life, like holding on to them is the only way I can keep myself alive and upright.
We’re both panting, both letting out soft moans every time the tiniest bit of air slips between our mouths.
I’m the first one to pull away. I need a minute. For oxygen, for my brain to process all the arousing sensations his mouth sends to my body.
&nb
sp; With his hands holding my cheeks, he smiles down at me. “How’s that?”
“That’s . . . that’s . . .” I’m seeing stars as I wobble on unsteady feet. Words are simply not enough, but they’re all I have. “Why did you wait this long to kiss me?”
“Anticipation. It does a body good.”
“Whatever you’re doing with your body is damn good.”
He laughs, his face bright with amusement. “Is that so?”
“We’ll talk more about it later. I want to go upstairs. Now.”
Callum leads me upstairs down another stunning white marble hallway to a closed door at the end. He takes me to some random bedroom, shuts the door, tugs off his tie, and I forget where in the world I am. Because that gesture—that simple act of his forearm pulling fabric from his body—has me hypnotized. He’s got the right idea. Less clothes, more skin.
“Wait.” I walk up to him. “I want to do the rest.”
A slow smile crawls across his lips, and his hands fall to the side. Button by button, I release him from the crisp cotton. The white falls away, leaving behind the light honey glow of his skin. I run a hand across his chest. It’s as deliciously firm as I dreamed it would be.
He raises a brow at me. “Don’t look so shocked. You’ve seen all this before.”
“I never got to touch you though.”
My gaze fixes on his stomach, which is taut with endless hard lines. My mind flashes back to how breathtaking he looked standing before me on the beach, seawater dripping down every naked inch of him.
He leans down for another kiss, our tongues tangling as I claw at his belt, then the zipper of his pants. They’re on the floor in a hot second, leaving him in burgundy boxer briefs that are snug enough to show off that impressive bulge I remember so well.
He squints down at me, chuckling. “You act like you’ve never seen me before.”
“Have you seen you?”
He walks me backward until the backs of my legs hit the bed. I plop down on the edge; he kneels before me. The movement causes a flashback to the very first sex dream I ever had about him. Him on his knees, his face between my thighs, driving me every kind of wild.
The corner of his mouth quirks up as he unbuttons my blouse. “You look like you want to say something.”
Am I that obvious? I shake my head, shivering when he slides the flowy fabric off of me, leaving me in a black lace bra. He leans in, scraping his teeth against the front of each cup. I hiss out a breath. The ache inside me pulses so strong, I have to clutch the mattress to cope. His mouth isn’t even on my skin yet, and already I’m going bonkers.
Slipping a hand behind my back, he flicks off my bra, tossing it to the side. Then his hands are on my jeans, and they’re on the floor in seconds.
He fixes his gaze to my breasts, and his eyes glaze over. “Fucking hell.”
I never thought my chest was worth swearing over. My boobs are on the small side of average, no more than a handful. But the way Callum gawks at them, like he’s a starving man staring at a turkey leg, makes me feel like a goddess.
I tug a hand through his hair. “You’re making me blush.”
His hazel eyes pin me. Even in the dim lighting of the bedside lamp, they shine, their intensity undeniable. “You’re stunning, Nikki. Every inch of you.”
Leaning forward, he runs his tongue over my breasts. With each lick, I’m panting, tugging at his hair, clawing at his shoulders. My chest swells for the millionth time at just how damn good Callum’s mouth feels on me.
As fun as it was to dream about Callum, being with him in real life is a billion times more satisfying.
When I’ve exhaled every molecule of air, he trails his kisses down my stomach. He presses a massive hand on my torso, pushing me flat on the bed. Already my senses are lost in a pleasure fog. Every time Callum’s lips land on me, my brain short-circuits.
“I had a dream like this,” I finally say. I’m too turned on to be embarrassed anymore.
“So that explains that look on your face a bit ago.”
I nod.
“Tell me about it.”
I shake my head, regaining a smidgen of dignity. “You’ll think I’m a creep.”
“Well, now I have to know.” He lowers his face to my thigh. His breath on my skin drags a groan out of me.
“I had a sex dream about you after I saw you naked at the beach,” I finally say.
“Really?” he growls against my skin, amusement coloring his tone.
He kisses up the inside of my left thigh, then plants his mouth at the top of my right thigh. That sensitive spot in between pulses so hard, I can feel it all the way in my ears.
He turns his head, breath warming that spot between my legs. The muscles in my thighs twitch at the anticipation. He’s so close. So freaking close and still he won’t give it to me. What a damn tease.
“I want to hear about your dream.” There’s a smile in his tone. He sounds pretty smug at the thought of being the star of my fantasy.
“You were . . .” My chest heaves when I pant. The way he teases, the way he builds up is both torture and heaven. He knows exactly what I’m aching for, but he won’t budge. Not until I give him what he wants.
I lean up, locking eyes with him. “You were apologizing to me in my dream by going down on me. For being a jerk when we met.”
My heart thunders in my chest as I wait to hear what he thinks about what I’ve just admitted. But he doesn’t reply with words. Just a satisfied smile. Then he drops his head back down, pulls my panties all the way to my ankles, and finally makes contact.
I fall back against the bed, gasping at the soft, hot, wet feel of Callum’s mouth on the most sensitive spot of my body. This is way, way better than any dream.
The slow circles he makes with his tongue send heat through every inch of me. Callum is the master of slow burn, setting me on fire from the inside out with just his tongue. It doesn’t seem to matter where he chooses to taste me. Every single time his mouth makes contact, I’m engulfed in flames.
I’m gasping, whimpering, moaning his name. He hums his approval. He speeds up, then slows down. Then repeats it again and again. Everything he does, it’s all divine. With my body on fire, my brain in a pleasure-mush state, I can’t form words; only sounds.
Pressure builds behind the heat, like I’m boiling over. I twist both hands into the pillow supporting my head. It’s either that or rip the hair from his scalp, because I absolutely cannot handle this level of ecstasy.
Callum increases the pressure and then throws in a wild card: suction. Holy hot damn. My whimpers turn into screams. The pressure between my legs builds and builds until every limb is shaking.
Just then he eases up, and I finally catch my breath. But then he’s back at it, humming against me. I could swear I hear him chuckling.
Before I can be sure, he’s amping up the pressure, speeding up until I’m thrashing. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold on. Seconds, maybe. But minutes? No way on God’s green Earth.
More pressure, more suction, then bam. Explosion.
The simmering slow burn is nowhere to be found. This is a volcanic eruption of ecstasy. It’s every muscle ablaze, tensing as climax claims me. It’s me shouting, gasping, panting, tugging at the bedsheets, tugging at Callum. It’s babbling, going cross-eyed, ending in a sweat-soaked pile in the middle of the bed and never, ever feeling more satisfied than in this moment.
My heart races as I struggle to breathe like a human again.
Callum crawls up the bed, covering my body with his. The wet warmth of his bare skin on my bare skin is heaven.
He rests his arms on either side of my head. Our faces are inches apart, but that’s still too far for me.
“Now that I know about your dream, I don’t feel as bad about the things I was thinking about you.”
&nb
sp; “Such as?”
“The first time I saw you, my jaw nearly dropped. I thought you were beautiful. And then we fought, and I couldn’t get you out of my head. I screwed up every order that day. Finn nearly sent me home. I was useless.”
“Is that so?” I lean up on my elbows, pressing a light kiss to his mouth.
“You aren’t the only one who’s been dreaming about this,” he says.
The crinkled sound of foil tearing has me grinning. He positions himself against me, just barely making contact. The anticipation is almost too much.
“You’re going to make me wait? After all this?” I say, hoping the breathy way I speak comes off as teasing as I intended.
He lifts his eyebrow just before clenching his jaw. Then he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine. “It’s more for me than you.”
His strained, low tone makes it clear. He’s pacing himself so he doesn’t lose it too soon. Clutching my arms around his biceps, I breathe slowly, deeply. After a beat, he slides in. My mouth contorts as I gasp a “whoa.”
He doesn’t thrust at first. He remains still, kissing me deeply. We’re sloppy tongues and nibbles and swollen lips until we can no longer breathe. Callum pulls away, drawing in a slow breath. Then he starts.
His movements are smooth and measured at first. Each slide has my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Softly, he grips my jaw with his hand.
“Hey. Look at me.”
I bite my bottom lip, trying my hardest to keep his gaze. But it’s a battle. There is so much bliss with each thrust of his body into mine that I can barely hold on.
“You thought about this,” I gasp. “About us.”
He nods. I notice he clenches his jaw, then slows down. This is intense for him, too, it seems. It’s a comfort to see him hanging on by a thread, just like me.
“And I thought you hated me,” I say before gasping.
“I never hated you.” Somehow he manages to keep the slow, even pace while talking. “But I can dislike someone and also think she’s hot. I’m a bloke, remember?”