by Hannah Ford
“This is fancy,” I remarked as my eyes scanned the menu. There was a slight hint of bratiness in my voice but if Callum noticed, he didn’t remark on it.
“They have the best French toast in the city.” He wasn’t even looking at the menu. Instead, he was leaning back in his chair and typing out a text on his phone. His casualness was borderline infuriating.
“I don’t like French toast,” I lied.
“Everyone likes French toast, Adriana,” he declared, raising my infuriation level from borderline to definite.
A waiter in a crisp white shirt and black pants appeared next to us.
“Can I get you started with something to drink?” the waiter asked. “Or perhaps you’re ready to order?”
“We’ll both have water with lemon,” Callum said, “and the French toast.” He was talking to the waiter, but his eyes never left his phone.
He was being rude.
And arrogant.
And controlling.
He might have had his way last night but if he thought he was going to have his way this morning, he was wrong.
“Actually, I’ll have an orange juice,” I said. “The biggest one you have. And I’ll skip the French toast. I’m not that much of a fan. I’ll have scrambled eggs and bacon instead, and wheat toast with butter.”
I handed the menu back to the water, watching as Callum finally looked up from his phone, his eye twitching.
“Very good, miss,” the waiter said, collecting our menus and heading back toward the kitchen.
“Is there something you’d like to talk about, Adriana?” Callum asked as soon as the waiter was gone. He set his phone down on the table next to him and sat back in his chair, like he was a judge getting ready to hear my case.
I almost laughed out loud. “Is there something I’d like to talk about?” I repeated. “What in the world would give you that idea?”
“Because you took a step back from me in the lobby when I touched you. Because you intentionally ordered a breakfast dish that you knew would be subpar, just to defy me. Because you seem to be taking pleasure in testing my patience.”
“The question was rhetorical.”
“Are you being sarcastic, Adriana?”
“Do you think I’m being sarcastic, Callum?” I shot back.
His eye twitched again. “I don’t like your smart mouth.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t ask questions that have obvious answers.”
The waiter returned to our table and set down two goblets in front of us, one of them filled with crystal clear water and a perfectly cut slice of bright yellow lemon, the other with freshly squeezed orange juice.
I reached for the juice and took a sip. The glass was heavy in my hand. It probably cost more than my rent. Although I guessed I didn’t have rent anymore. I had an apartment that I didn’t have to pay for.
Oh, you pay for that apartment, a voice in my head whispered.
I didn’t like the implications of that, so I set my glass down and pushed the voice right out of my head.
“So, where’s Brendan?” I asked. “You never told me if he was okay or not.” “He’s fine. I put him in a car and sent him home.” Callum said it casually, as if the fact that he’d brought a friend over to my apartment, one he’d admitted had been an instrumental part of his drinking problem, was no big deal.
Then his phone buzzed with a text, and he picked it up and looked at it. As he moved the sleeve of his perfectly cut suit slid up, revealing a slip of his tan forearm. Heat flooded my body and I immediately averted my gaze.
“Do you know how infuriating it is when you do that?” I demanded.
“When I do what?” His eyes flicked up, but he was seemingly unaffected by my tone. In fact, he looked almost amused. But he set his phone down and kept his gaze leveled on mine.
“Act like nothing happened!”
“Nothing did happen.” Now his tone was a little more clipped, a little more severe. He wasn’t shutting the conversation down, but he was about one step away from it.
“Callum.” I smoothed my napkin on my lap and tried not to let my emotions get the best of me. “You came home drunk. After you told me you weren’t going to drink.”
“Adriana,” he said, and his voice was softer now. He reached across the table and took my hand. “You have to understand, this wasn’t… “ He shook his head. “I wasn’t drunk.”
“But you drank.” “Yes. I did.” His eyes never left mine, and I found a small comfort in the fact that at least I knew he wasn’t a liar. He would put things out there that were uncomfortable, things I didn’t want to hear. He was guarded with his feelings and the details of his life, but if he didn’t want to tell me something, he would just tell me he didn’t want to tell me.
He wasn’t deceitful.
But still.
“It’s kind of the same thing.” I reached for my juice again and took a sip from the heavy goblet. The juice was delicious, refreshing and sweet, and I felt a muted sadness at the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to fully enjoy it.
“It’s not the same thing,” Callum said sharply, and I instantly pushed my chair back from the table. I wasn’t going to sit here and let him play games with words and try to get himself out of this on a technicality. No freakin’ way.
“Adriana,” he said, his tone softening. “Wait.”
I didn’t slide my chair further back but I didn’t slide it back in toward the table, either.
“Look, I had a moment. I was upset and I let myself get a little out of control. But I never allowed things to go past a dangerous point. I lost my shit a little, it’s true. But it’s under control now. I’m fine.”
“You didn’t seem fine in your office yesterday.”
“That was a moment of weakness.” He reached across the table for my hand, and I waited a moment and then reluctantly slid my hand through his. “I was upset. Rose and I…”
My breath caught at the way he said her name, but he shook his head.
“She put me through a lot.”
“Did you love her?”
“No.” His voice was calm and steady.
I looked down at the table to where his hand was wrapped around mine. I wanted so badly to believe him.
“Look at me.”
I couldn’t. I was afraid that if I looked at him, I’d tumble back into his deep blue eyes, and I’d believe anything he said, no matter how outlandish. It was impossible to know how I really felt when he was so close to me, so strong, so sexy, so demanding, so sure.
He cupped my chin and tipped it up until I was forced to look him in the eye.
I bit my lip and looked away. He sighed and took his hand from my face, leaning back in his chair and waiting for me to speak. I looked down in the cloth napkin in my lap, which I’d twisted into a wrinkled mess. I spread it out, and took a deep breath. When I looked up again, Callum’s gaze was fixed on something across the room.
I turned to see what he was looking at. A waitress holding a tray of mimosas weaved through the tables, setting them down in front of anyone who motioned for a breakfast cocktail.
“Are you looking at the mimosas?” I blurted.
“Jesus, Adriana,” Callum said, shifting forward on his chair. “Those aren’t mimosas. They’re fucking orange juice.” He raised his hand, and the waitress came over and set another juice down in front of me before continuing her journey through the restaurant.
“Oh,” I said, embarrassed.
“I. Am. Fine.”
He sounded so strong, so sure of himself.
Was I being crazy? It was confusing, because the truth was, he was right when he said nothing had happened. He hadn’t been drunk, he hadn’t been throwing up or freaking out. He was going to work this morning. If he was in the midst of a real relapse, wouldn’t he have been calling into work, running out and getting more drinks as soon as he could?
“Adriana,” he said again and the sound of my name on his lips coupled with the husky tone in h
is voice sent desire pulsing between my legs. He took my hand and raised it to his lips. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Do you trust me?”
I nodded. I did trust him. I trusted him completely, even though I had no reason to. But something inside of me told me he would never knowingly lie to me, that he would never do anything to hurt me.
“Then, please, can we move on?”
He looked so sincere.
And so I chose to trust him.
I chose to believe.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I can try.”
The waiter returned to the table then and set our breakfasts down in front of us. My eggs and bacon looked delicious, nestled in between triangles of thick cut wheat toast and crescent-moon slices of melon. But Callum’s French toast smelled heavenly. It was thick and sweet-looking and covered in powered sugar.
He saw me eyeing it.
“You should have let me order for you.” He picked up the syrup and poured it over his breakfast, then cut a piece of French toast and popped it into his mouth.
“I’m perfectly happy with my breakfast,” I lied. I ate a forkful of eggs. They were light and fluffy, but they were scrambled eggs – they could only be so good.
“Don’t lie, Adriana.” Callum took his fork and speared another piece of his breakfast and held it out to me.
I leaned over and took the piece of French toast into my mouth, the light and airy sweetness exploding on my tongue.
“Good?” he asked.
“Good.” My heart was pounding at the way he was looking at me, and he reached across the table and brushed a drop of syrup off my lip with his thumb.
My pulse raced at just the tiniest touch, because I never knew when it was going to turn, when a switch was going to go off inside of him, when he was going to decide that he wanted more than just the brush of his thumb against my lip.
“You want more?” he whispered.
I nodded and he gave me another bite, and this time, he leaned across the table and kissed me, sucking my bottom lip gently between his lips. When he pulled away, my body instantly wanted him back.
“You’re blushing, Lemon,” Callum said, his voice low and sexy. He reached for my knee under the table, sliding his hand up until it was on my thigh, his fingers moving in slow, lazy circles over my skin.
I reached for his hand, but his grip tightened and his eyes narrowed. “Do not try to push me away, Adriana. Or I will take you over my knee and spank you right here, in front of everyone.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I said weakly. “Someone would call the police.”
“And say what?”
“That a girl was being assaulted.”
He grinned at me, amused. “You think that’s what they would do? No, Lemon, they wouldn’t. They would watch and they would see how much you enjoyed it, how much of a bad girl you are.”
His knuckles skated over the outside of my panties, right over my pussy, and I inhaled sharply.
“See?” he said. “You like this, don’t you, baby?”
I bit my lip, holding onto the last little bit of self-control I had with a vice-like grip. But I could feel it slipping away, could feel myself about to give myself to him. I was powerless against him, against his touch, his words, his kiss. He was my drug and he tempted me with every look he gave me, every dirty thing he said. And the worst part was that he knew he had me addicted, knew I couldn’t resist him.
I went to push his hand away again, but he grabbed my hand with his free hand and pressed my fingers to the outside of my panties.
“Pull your panties to the side.”
“Callum…” I pleaded, feeling my face redden.
“Do you trust me, Lemon?” he asked huskily.
I didn’t answer, and his jaw set into a hard line. “Pull your panties to the side, Adriana, or I will make this much worse.”
He removed his hand from mine and placed it on my thigh, giving me back a bit of control. But it was even worse now, because the fact that he wasn’t touching me physically meant he knew he’d broken me, knew that I would do whatever he asked of me.
I reached down and moved my panties to the side. The cool air of the restaurant hit my bare skin and goose bumps bloomed across my body.
Both of Callum’s hands were on my thighs now, and his gaze locked with mine as he slowly pushed my skirt up until it was bunched around my waist.
I glanced down.
The tablecloth was covering me, but not by much. If I moved even a little bit, anyone walking by would be able to see between my legs.
“Would you like anything else?” the waiter asked, appearing at our table. If he thought it was strange that Callum had his hands under the table, he didn’t show it.
“No, thank you,” I managed, reaching for a sip of my juice and hoping the cool liquid would help bring my body temperature down. I knew my face was bright red. Why, oh why, did I have to be the type that blushed so easily?
“Yes, actually,” Callum said wickedly. “What do you have for dessert?”
“Oh, I don’t think we need dessert for breakfast.” The heat on my cheeks deepened and now my whole body felt flaming hot.
“We have an exquisite organic blueberry lemon crepe,” the waiter said proudly. “The crepes are handmade in our kitchen. Light as air.”
Oh, God. Lemon. I was never going to be able to stop Callum from ordering something lemon.
“I’m full,” I said quickly.
“I’m not,” Callum reported.
“I’m in a hurry,” I said.
His hand tightened around my thigh and moved higher, the pad of his thumb coming dangerously close to touching my pussy.
I slammed my legs together while at the same time trying to push his hand away. Oh, crap. That just made it worse, as now his hands were wedged between my legs. He grinned at me across the table, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“I can bring it right out,” the waiter said. “It won’t take long at all.”
“Take your time,” Callum said, giving him an easy smile.
The waiter left.
Callum’s eyes burned into mine.
He stayed quiet for a moment, prolonging the torture.
“Callum –”
“Spread your legs, Adriana.”
I closed my eyes.
I took a deep breath.
And then I spread my legs.
He slid his hand up further and brushed his thumb against my clit.
Heat and need thrummed through my body, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.
I knew I should tell him to stop.
But I didn’t.
Because the undeniable truth was that I didn’t want him to stop.
And then, just like that, he removed his hands from between my legs, placing them back on my thighs, holding my legs slightly open, his grip firm on my skin.
“Touch yourself.”
I shook my head. “No, please, I can’t – ”
“Adriana.” My cheeks blazed as I moved my fingers to my clit and began to rub myself under the table.
“Do you remember the first night you came to my apartment?” he asked.
I nodded.
“How you rubbed yourself for me until you got yourself off?”
I did remember it. I bit my lip as I remembered being there in his apartment, how I fingered myself for him as he stroked his dick while he watched me.
“Yes,” I breathed.
He put his hand on top of mine and began moving it faster. My breathing deepened.
“You’re so flushed, Lemon,” he said, amused. He seemed utterly unaffected by what was going on under the table, totally in control of his emotions and my body.
I didn’t trust myself to answer, and I had to bite my lip harder to keep from moaning. His thumb rubbed harder against my exposed clit, and the pressure of his touch coupled with the idea that he was doing this to me here, in public, where we could get caught, pushed me to the edge.
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“Come for me, baby girl,” he said. “Close your eyes and come.”
I closed my eyes and I came, my orgasm exploding through me. It was a fast, hard orgasm, fitting for what we’d just done, almost like my body knew what it needed to do.
When I finally opened my eyes, Callum’s gaze was still on mine.
He smiled in satisfaction.
His hands were still on my thighs, and he held them there for a few seconds before finally moving them up to my hips and pulling my skirt back down for me.
“This isn’t over, you know,” I said, referring to our conversation about his drinking.
“Oh, trust me, Adriana,” he said, obviously thinking we were talking about his domination of me. “I know.”
* * *
When we were finished eating our dessert, Callum drove me to work. The windows of his silver Aston Martin were tinted dark, but only one way – you could see out, but the people on the street couldn’t see in.
I watched the commuters through the glass as they hurried to work. A couple of tourists pointed at Callum’s car and a woman in an I HEART NY shirt even went so far as to snap a picture of it with her cell phone. Even in New York City, the land of wealth and excess, Callum stood out.
“I’ll have a dress messengered to your apartment for the event tonight,” he said as he drove. He was talking about The Celebration of Writing Dinner, and for once I was relieved he was going to take care of my outfit. Everyone there would be in Versace or Gucci or Alexander McQueen or whatever other designers were in vogue at the moment. I couldn’t afford any of that stuff and would have no idea what to buy even if I could.
“Okay.” I nodded and smoothed my skirt down over my thighs. I could still feel his hands on me, my skin burning as I thought about what he’d just done to me, what he’d just made me do to myself. “You know we won’t be able to talk there, right?”
He glanced over at me, disapproval clouding his strong features.
“People at my work still can’t know we’re together.” My hands twisted at the hem of my skirt nervously. I still hadn’t told Callum about what had happened with Kiersten, about how she knew I’d been seeing him.
He stayed quiet and I glanced over at him out of the corner of my eye. His blue eyes were transfixed ahead of him, his profile strong and dominant. Butterflies swarmed my stomach as I took him in, his broad shoulders defined in his perfectly cut grey suit, the back of his hair perfectly faded into his neck, his freshly shaven skin flawless, his lips full, his jaw so chiseled it could cut glass.
