by Sarah Smith
I giggle through a moan. He’s hitting somewhere deep and fucking hell, it’s amazing.
Digging my nails into his back earns me a hiss, then a groan. “I don’t hate you anymore, Callum.”
“Good.” He leans up, deepening the angle between us. “Because I don’t hate you, either, Nikki.”
I hold my breath while he hooks his hands under my thighs. When he resumes, it’s faster, harder, and a whole new level of euphoria.
I press my eyes shut just as they start to roll back. That spot. That elusive spot every man had such a hard time locating is front and center now. I silently dub him the G-spot whisperer. Another deep thrust hits it again. Good thing I’m not trying to speak anymore, because I’ve lost all my words. All I have to offer are huffs of hot air and whimpering. Lots and lots of whimpering.
The edge of Callum’s mouth turns up, and I have to swallow to keep from choking at the divine sight. He looks like a god in this moment. His skin is a golden glow, painted in specks of sweat, highlighting every single cut muscle he possesses. And his expression—a cross between concentration and satisfaction. It’s hard physical work what he’s doing, but he relishes it. I can tell by the glimmer in his eyes, the way his hands cradle my legs so I’m comfortably supported. I can tell by the pinch of his jaw, those soft grunts he lets loose, that this is blowing his mind too.
For the second time in one night, pressure builds inside me. The feeling is almost too much, but all I want is more. These long, deliberate thrusts are the greatest physical sensations my body has ever experienced. I could explode at any moment, but I want this to last. Forever, if possible.
Arching my back, I press my head against the pillow. I cry out, sounding like a rabid banshee.
A muttered curse falls from his lips. “That’s it. Don’t hold back.”
Pressure and heat collide, and I couldn’t hold back if I tried. The deep thrusts keep coming like an endless loop of crashing waves. Callum and my G-spot are new best friends, it seems. Over and over, he hits it. Over and over, the sensations build to an overwhelming peak. His pace shifts from impressive to phenomenal. If Callum were a sex doll, I’d buy a dozen. His stamina, his technique, his adoration of me and my body, it’s all perfection.
When I burst, I’m even louder than before. And just like before, I’m ablaze from the inside out. Ecstasy pulses through every inch of skin and bone. My blood pumps hot, like lava flowing through my veins. Every muscle tightens, then loosens. Panting, I clutch Callum’s forearms and watch his face as he hits his own peak.
He’s a million times quieter than I am, and it’s endearing as all get-out. His teeth clench, his face reddens, his brow wrinkles, and every vein in his neck bulges. There’s a grunt, then a low groan. It’s so very masculine, and I wholeheartedly adore it.
Collapsing on top of me, he buries his face into the side of my neck. I wrap my arms and legs around his torso, my rapid panting finally easing.
“Good God, Nikki,” he wheezes into the pillow.
“Speak for yourself.”
He chuckles, rolls off of me, then grins as he settles to my side. I burrow my face into his chest, and he wraps his arms around my torso.
Afterglow sets in, and I’m instantly drowsy. After a while, through the fatigue, Callum’s words from earlier seep in.
I just want you.
I drift off, wondering what exactly the cost of bedding my enemy will be, how badly I’ll burn.
Chapter 10
I wake cradled against Callum’s bare chest, sunlight warm on my face. Eyes closed, I hum, satisfied. Then I check my phone on the nightstand and breathe a sigh of relief. No panicky texts from my aunt and uncle checking up on me. Thankfully, I had the foresight to text them last night just before falling asleep and tell them that I lost track of time during drinks and would stay with my “friend.” Again, that familiar tinge of guilt for lying to them hits, but I remind myself that their heads would explode if I told them the truth.
Underneath me, Callum stirs. When I peek up at him, he’s smiling. In an instant, every part of me relaxes.
“Morning,” he half yawns, half groans.
His open mouth is now just an inch from my face. I take the opportunity to nibble on his lip.
“Mmm,” he moans, letting me carry on for a few seconds before capturing my mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. “Now that’s a way to wake up.”
I gaze up at him, contentment coursing through me. Every muscle is relaxed, and I’m comfortably tucked in that happy-drunk mood that comes after epic sex and a hard sleep.
My stomach growls, a reminder that I haven’t eaten in the past eighteen hours. I was so nervous to meet Callum last night that I skipped dinner.
“Are you hungry?”
He looks at me, his eyes puffy from sleep. Still devastatingly gorgeous. He squints. “I am.”
I open my mouth to ask what he’d like to do for breakfast, but he grabs my wrists, pinning me to the mattress. There’s a slow trail of kisses down my chest.
“I thought you wanted breakfast,” I say between gasps. The feel of Callum’s lips trailing down my stomach is hands-down the hottest way to wake up.
“I do,” he says, his open mouth at my hip.
He resumes that filthy morning kiss, only this time between my legs. Callum is a quick study, remembering all the techniques from last night that sent me over the edge. Slow, long swipes of his tongue, that delicious suction technique that I’m going to tell him to patent once I regain my ability to speak. I’m squirming and panting, which soon gives way to shouts. It takes less than a minute and I’m gone.
He finishes with a soft kiss on the inside of each thigh. When he looks up at me, that smug smile remains.
“You were saying something about breakfast?”
* * *
• • •
Breakfast was a mistake.
Breakfast, which was a relaxed full English at his favorite pub in Marylebone, hooked me. Callum in his hometown is downright charming. Conversation flowed easily, and I didn’t want it to end.
So it didn’t.
We took a walk at Hyde Park, then stopped at a bakery for almond croissants, then he offered to show me around Marylebone the rest of the day. And I couldn’t say no. Because who the hell could say no to a hot English guy who’s dynamite in bed, an excellent meal companion, and who looks at me like I’m the only woman on his radar?
And that’s exactly why I’m sitting across from Callum in the supposedly delicious Max’s Sandwich Shop, which looks more like a hipster dive bar.
An animated, mad scientist–looking guy in glasses nods at us from behind the counter, then takes our order. We grab a table for two in the corner.
“You’re going to love the ham, egg, and chips sandwich,” Callum says. “It’s Finn’s favorite.”
“Is that what inspired the ham, egg, and chip toasty on your menu?”
He whips his head around to peer at the counter, which is empty.
“The guy who took our order headed back to the kitchen,” I say. “Is everything okay?”
“I just didn’t want him to overhear and think I’m stealing his recipes. He might ban us from eating here, and then I’d never be able to eat the greatest sandwich ever made again.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on. It can’t be that good.”
“Just wait.”
“Honestly, the sandwich you serve is amazing. Your idea to put a layer of fries between the ham and the egg is mind blowing.”
“That was Finn’s idea actually. And you’ve eaten our food?”
Heat crawls up my cheeks. “It was a moment of weakness.”
He narrows his eyes at me.
“Okay, fine. I wanted to know what I was up against, so I asked one of our customers to order food from your truck and bring it to me. Want to know why I despised you for so long? Beca
use one bite of that sandwich and I knew we were in trouble. You and your brother serve incredible food.”
The grin he lets loose is so sweet, it borders on boyish. “I’ll be sure to tell Finn,” he says.
I cross my arms, fighting to keep my pout from being too obvious. But then Callum leans across the table and grabs my hand. He laces his fingers through mine, and I forget to breathe.
“Your food is mind-blowing, Nikki.”
I pick at a loose thread in my jacket. “What dishes have you tried?”
“Your lumpia, pansit, the adobo wings. Finn and I also asked a customer to order from your truck one day to size you up. We waited till we closed one night and inhaled it all in minutes. I drove home with steam coming out of my ears because I was angry at how amazing you and your mum’s cooking is.”
I grin down at our joined hands. It’s one of the best compliments I could ever want, when my biggest competition admits how good I am.
Competition.
The joy is gone when I remember what’s at stake, how we’ve upped the ante by sleeping together last night and spending all day together.
And then I remember that promise I made to myself a little over a year ago, when I lost one of the most important people in my life.
“Listen, we should—”
The mad scientist sandwich maker returns, a wax paper–wrapped sandwich in each hand. I thank him, then stare at the table. Callum starts to tear open his sandwich, some delicious-smelling creation with kimchi, bulgogi beef, and fried sweet potato noodles. But when he notices me fumbling with my paper, he stops.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t mean to spoil this day. Spending it with you has been the best, but aren’t you concerned about what’s going to happen when we go back home and this time-out officially ends?”
When he frowns, I clarify. “We’re competitors, Callum. When we get back to Maui, we’ll be going head-to-head with each other every day, just like before. The Maui Food Festival is in less than a month. One of us is going to lose at the end of it. We can’t exist like this when so much is at stake.”
He frowns. “What exactly is at stake?”
I peel the wrapper off my sandwich. “My mom’s retirement savings. My career. Our livelihood.”
My feelings, my emotional well-being, the fact that I can’t have anything close to a relationship because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I won’t have the strength to make it through the inevitable end.
“How exactly?” he asks.
“Don’t you remember what Matteo said about last year’s winner? They lost the prize money when everyone found out they buddied up with another restaurant. You think they’d just let it slide if they found out about us?”
He squints at me, like he’s waiting for me to explain further, but I can’t fathom how he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about.
“Look, twenty thousand dollars could change my and my mom’s life. I don’t want . . . I can’t afford to lose out on that if somehow we win, and people find out that Tiva’s and Hungry Chaps were screwing around with each other.”
It’s not just that though. My doubts run deeper, but I’m not brave enough to say this next part out loud.
If Callum and I were crazy enough to make it official, it would most certainly end. Once a winner is declared, one of us will have to vacate that spot in Makena. That would sow resentment, jealousy, maybe even hatred. It would be the end for us, and I would be destroyed, just like I was when I lost my dad.
I won’t—I can’t survive another loss.
I take another breath to steady myself. No sense spilling all my emotional baggage to Callum. He doesn’t deserve to get bogged down in my past, in my pain. I opt for a PG-rated version of the truth.
“I like you, Callum. But my work and my mom are my priority. I can’t compromise on those; they mean too much to me. I just don’t have the energy to add anything more to my life right now when I’m juggling so much.”
Callum takes a sip from his beer bottle. His face turns stony, but after he swallows, he’s soft again. “So what exactly does that mean?”
“It means I can’t do a relationship.”
His eyes shine as he gazes at me. “We don’t have to make this into some big thing, Nikki. I’m willing to keep things physical and casual, nothing more. I’m going back to Chicago after the festival anyway. Until then, we can keep work at work and quietly see each other in our free time. If that’s what you want.”
I sip from my beer bottle, hoping the icy liquid cools the flush running through me. Just the mention of us in bed brings back all the hot memories from last night and this morning. It’s been forever since I’ve been with anyone, and I almost forgot just how divine it feels to enjoy regular orgasms, to wake up cuddled next to someone you’re insanely attracted to.
I’ve done hookups before, but not in an official no-strings-attached agreement like this. Can I manage this with Callum? Can I have him in my bed at night after competing against him all day, every day?
I have no idea.
I pause for another sip of beer. Maybe since we’re stipulating that this is casual and there’s an expiration date, we can swing it. I sure as hell would like to try.
“I’d like that,” I say. “But only if you’re okay with it too.”
“I’m fine with it.” This time when he smiles, it looks more like he’s pursing his lips.
“We’d have to be discreet about the whole thing.”
“I’m not going to run and tell any food bloggers or vloggers, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Of course not. Sorry, that’s not what I meant at all.”
A beat of tense silence follows with us just looking at each other. Callum takes a gigantic bite of his sandwich. I finally dig into mine and moan at the burst of flavor. It’s the perfect bite of ham, malt vinegar mayo, fried egg, shoestring fries, and focaccia bread. I offer him a bite, but he declines with a wave of his hand.
I swallow. “I just don’t want to be gossip for the foodies. And I don’t want to jeopardize this career opportunity. I know getting first place at the festival is a long shot, but I want to try—I want to commit myself to it one hundred percent.”
“It’s not a long shot. You have just as good a chance as anyone,” he says without looking at me.
His lack of eye contact reads like I’ve offended him. I refuse to do this unless he’s genuinely into it. I reach out and touch his hand. When he looks at me, the softness returns to his face; that kindness in his eyes still radiates.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” I ask.
“Yes.” He pauses to take another bite, then raises his beer in a toast. “Cheers on it?”
I let out a slow breath to ease the tiny knot that’s suddenly settled in my chest. There’s no reason to be anxious. There’s nothing wrong with a casual arrangement. I said it’s okay, and he said it’s okay. We’re two adults who are just being direct about what we want. We’re competitors-turned-friends-with-benefits.
I clink my bottle against his. “Cheers.”
* * *
• • •
Callum leads me with a hand on the small of my back through the doors of the Washington, a pub in Camden Town. It’s the day after we agreed to be friends with benefits, and we seem to be settling into things nicely. His parents are out to dinner with friends this evening, so he invited me over to take advantage of the empty house. And that’s exactly what we did for a solid two hours. We took advantage of his bedroom, the living room, and the shower. It seemed like the fitting thing to do the day before his flight back to Maui.
With our physical needs sated and our appetites raging, we take a booth in the corner of the pub. Callum goes to the bar to fetch us beers while I reply to a text from Mom.
Having a good time? Doing anything fun?
>
I swallow back the sudden bitter taste in my mouth. Just the thought of her finding out about my newly formed no-strings-attached arrangement with Callum sends me into hives. I stick to the truth but leave out any incriminating bits.
ME: Yes, it’s been so awesome! I went sightseeing with Auntie Nora today while Uncle Nigel was at work. They’re out to dinner with friends tonight, so I’m exploring the neighborhood right now. I’m taking them to brunch tomorrow to thank them for having me, then we’re going to Leadenhall Market.
MOM: Sounds fun. Be careful, Auntie will try to grab the bill at brunch. Or if you pay, she’ll try to slip you money later on.
I sigh. Ever since I was a kid, Mom and Auntie Nora have fought over bills at restaurants and other expenses. It’s only natural she’d try to do the same with me now that I’m an adult and can pay for things. But even though I appreciate her generosity, she and Uncle Nigel have done enough by flying me to England and letting me stay with them. The least I can do is treat them to a meal.
ME: I’ll be ready. Want any souvenirs?
Callum returns with two pints just as she texts back that she wants a refrigerator magnet with the Union Jack flag on it. I chuckle and show him the text.
He lets out a soft laugh. “Really? A magnet? Your mum doesn’t realize you don’t have to travel to London to get one of those? She can order one online.”
“Even if I told her, she wouldn’t care. She would still want me to get her one from here.”
We take long sips of our beers, and I peer around the pub. It’s bustling for a weeknight, with the after-work crowd filing in for a drink before heading home.
“I totally dig the pub culture here, by the way.” I tilt my head to the line forming at the bar. “We have happy hour in the States, but nothing like this.”
“It’s ingrained in us from an early age. Any excuse to day drink.” Callum takes another sip.
A trio of middle-aged men make their way to the table across from us, pints in hand. I focus on the one seated nearest us, who has an old-school flip phone tucked inside the leather cell phone holder on his belt.