The Seasons of Callan Reed: An Enemies-to-Lovers Office Romance

by S. M. Soto

  My eyes widen. “What? You want it?”

  “I do.”

  My brows pull down skeptically. “Where are you going to put it?”

  He shrugs. “I’ll find someplace for it.”

  “Yeah. Sure, I guess.”

  His mouth quirks into a semblance of a grin. Reaching out for me, he tugs me into his body. Forgetting that my hands are covered in paint, I rest them on his shoulders. The blend of colors immediately stands out against the black material of his suit.

  My breath catches.

  I freeze, my eyes growing wide when I realize what I’ve done.

  Slowly, all the color drains from my face when I look up at Callan. I expect to find him glaring down at me, but he watches me, waiting to see how I’ll react. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, lifting my hands off him. “I’m so sorry.”

  My heart thunders in my chest as I wait for a reaction from him. After a few beats of stifling silence, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief, murmuring, “As if I didn’t notice.”

  He leans in, pressing his forehead against mine. “A beautiful fucking mess.” He reaches for something beside him, and much too late, I realize what it is. He swipes paint across my cheek. My mouth drops open, and a surprised laugh escapes.

  “Callan!”

  He chuckles, dipping his fingers in more paint and swiping it across my exposed flesh. Following his lead, I squirt a tube at him, making him laugh some more, and he does the same until we’re both a mess of paint—a swirl of colors.

  “That would really suck if this was toxic, wouldn’t it?”

  He tosses his head back and laughs. “Christ, what am I going to do with you?”

  “No, seriously, is this toxic?”

  With a shake of his head, he rolls his eyes. “It’s nontoxic. Didn’t know if you’d use it at home, so I figured with a baby around, this was safest.”

  I pause, my eyes narrowing. A slight grin spreads across my face. “I thought you said this was a gift?”

  His lips thin, and he turns his back on me to avoid my penetrating stare. “Oh, shut up.”

  A smirk steals across my face. “Who would’ve thought? He has a heart, after all.”

  When he turns back around, he’s smiling, and he looks so carefree. Reaching out to me, he strokes his thumb across my cheek.

  “Take your clothes off.”

  “What?”

  “I want to try something. Take them off. All of them.”

  The heat in his gaze has my heart hammering in my chest. I do as he says, slowly stripping out of my clothes. He watches intently, his eyes raking across my flesh. I pause when I’m in nothing but my bra and underwear. His gaze blazes a heated trail across my nude body. I swallow hard when his eyes meet mine.

  “Everything, Daisy.”

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I drag my underwear down my legs and unhook my bra. His jaw tightens as if he’s barely restraining himself.

  “Christ, you’re beautiful.” He reaches out, gently grazing the tops of my breasts. “Sit there and don’t move,” he murmurs, dropping his hand as he backs away from me. He works his jacket off, and I watch with rapt attention as he rolls up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. The whole time, his gaze is glued to my body, almost as though he’s inspecting me.

  I do as he instructs, sitting back on the plush ottoman, my nude body on full display for him. He picks up one of the blank canvases and grabs one of the pencils that is still left untouched.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he puts pencil to paper. It’s obvious, but some part of me still needs confirmation.

  “I’m drawing you.”

  I stay seated in that chair for who knows how long. The entire time, his face contorts with patience and concentration. He glances up every so often to meet my gaze, and each time, he holds it, telling me things with his eyes he’d never be able to say aloud. There’s so much to be read there—the lust, the regret, and something that looks a lot like love.

  Finally, he sets the pencil down, pushing upright.

  “Done?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he crosses the room, stopping before me. He stares down at me with so much warmth in his eyes, it has heat sailing through my veins. Stroking his thumb across my lower lip, he follows the movement, his eyes heating with lust. Then he kisses me. His warm hands slide around my waist, pawing at my ass. I moan into his mouth.

  When we break apart, he’s breathing heavily, and my core is aching. My breasts feel heavy with arousal. I glance behind him, and as if sensing my need to see the drawing, he lets go of me. With trembling legs, I pick up the canvas, and my breath catches. Emotion clogs my throat, and my eyes grow misty.

  The woman in this drawing is beautiful and sexy, not at all how I see myself. But I realize this is how Callan sees me.

  He paid special attention to the apex between my legs. My nipples are erect, and he’s captured the desire in my eyes so beautifully, it takes my breath away. My hair is a wild mess as it hangs over my shoulders in tousled waves. He drew a few strands that lie haphazardly across my slender throat, some laying across my collarbones. A few paint strokes are marked across my body from earlier. In a way, here, in this painting, he made these paint slashes look like something possessive. They’re his marks along my skin, for his eyes only.

  He steps up behind me, his front pressing against my back. His warm hand settles on my hip and glides around to my stomach. My breath catches when he slides it down, stopping just below my belly button. With the tips of his fingers, he traces tantalizing circles there.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  My lip quirks. “Awfully sure of yourself.”

  “It’s easy to make something beautiful when your muse is.”

  Dipping his hand down, he glides his fingers through my folds, and I should be embarrassed that I’m already wet for him, but I’m not. My arousal smacks around us, and when he slides a finger inside me, I gasp. My eyes slam shut, and I drop my head back against his shoulder.

  Callan rubs firm circles over my clit, driving me wild with lust. He dips his finger in and out of me, fucking me, drawing the moisture up to my bundle of nerves. I’m panting, my hips circling, seeking more friction.

  “I want you,” I breathe.

  He hums his approval, and I cry out when his hand leaves my sex. I hear the distinct sound of his zipper, then when I least expect it, he wraps his fist in my hair and tugs, bending me to his will.

  His fingers glide through my folds once more, only this time, I’m not expecting what he does next. His hand smacks against my clit, and I gasp. My body jolts, electricity vibrating through my veins like I’ve been struck by lightning. He does it again, slapping my pussy.

  I let out a whimper when I feel his hardened cock prod at my entrance. Callan presses a firm hand to my lower back and pulls on my hair, arching my spine at a painful angle, but I relish in it.

  He slides inside me at a painfully slow pace. It’s maddening, the way his cock glides in and out. The way he pulls all the way out, teasing his head at my entrance, then slides all the way back in.

  “Harder,” I breathe, squeezing my muscles around him.

  He fucks me then. My tits jiggle with each rough thrust. The noises climbing up my throat are animalistic. The sounds of slapping flesh, my moans, his grunts, and my wetness echo around us like a blaring alarm. Fire blooms in my core. His hand sails down, cracking against my ass, and my pussy clamps around him. I should be embarrassed by the sounds my body is making, but I’m not. I’m so turned on, so lost in what this man is doing to my body, that I can’t seem to process anything.

  I undulate against him, spreading my legs as far as they go, and arch my back. I let him take out his frustrations on my body as he grinds his cock into me. He pounds inside me, and I realize he’s going in so easily now. So fucking beautifully. I can’t get enough. Every time he
goes in, he jabs me in the womb.

  My legs shake from the force, and I feel like they’re going to give out on me at any second. He must sense it because he pulls out, guiding me across the room, his hold still tightly gripped in my hair. He pushes my body over the end of the couch and slides back inside. My toes scrape against the floor with each of his deep thrusts, and my moans bounce off the walls. He grips one of my thighs and angles it to the side, so his thrusts hit me in a deeper, new position.

  Pressing his thumb against my lips, Callan waits for me to open, and when I do, he presses his thumb on my tongue. I suck on him, my eyes fluttering shut as I imagine it’s his cock. Without warning, he removes his thumb from my mouth, and I tense when I feel him slide that lubed up finger over the crease of my ass. He circles my pleated hole, and I groan. The sound is guttural and so unlike anything that has ever escaped me.

  He emits a long grunt that reverberates through me, and when I least expect it, Callan slides his thumb in my ass. I shove my face into the material of the sofa, and I moan. I feel him moving his thumb inside me as he fucks my pussy. He’s fucking both my holes. The pressure starts building. I’m so close.

  “Have you ever been fucked here, Daisy?” he breathes hotly in my ear.

  My pussy spasms around his length. “N-no,” I choke out.

  “Good,” I hear his smile. “I told you, you’re mine, Daisy. Every single fucking part of you is mine.”

  My orgasm rips through me with a fervor I’ve never quite felt before. It steals the breath from my lungs, and my vision goes hazy. A scream climbs past my throat. He slaps a hand over my mouth, keeping me quiet so I don’t wake Faith.

  That doesn’t stop him, though. He pounds me into the couch, pumping into me with his expert thrusts. My ass is raw from his bruising grip and the slaps along my skin, but I can’t stop pushing back, trying to get my complete fill of him. With my hair wrapped around his fist, he tugs, arching my body in an uncomfortable position.

  “That’s it, baby. Fuck me back, just like that.” He yanks on the strands.

  I spasm around his thick girth, coming all over him.

  When he pulls out, dragging my wetness to my ass, my heart leaps. The intensity of this moment is quite literally stealing the breath from my lungs. It feels like we’re teetering on the edge of now and forever. This feels like him taking back something we should’ve shared together long ago. A first we never quite got to give to one another.

  Callan pauses with the warm head of his cock against my asshole as though he’s waiting for me to decide. I answer without words, thrusting my hips back toward him the slightest bit. In doing so, his head presses against the tight muscle, and he spits to lube me up, while simultaneously trying to push inside. The sting is instantaneous as is the pressure.

  “Please, Callan,” I pant out, anticipation driving me mad.

  Slowly, he moves his hips forward, working himself inside me, and I tense at the unbearable pressure and the stretching sensation as my body works to accommodate his length. I choke on my breaths, trying to coach myself through the slight pain, but beneath that pain is something else, something I’ve never quite felt before. It’s a delicious promise of something more.

  A moan rips past my lips when Callan’s fingers begin to strum my pussy while he holds still, the tip of his cock lodged in my ass. When he slides a finger inside my pussy and rubs skillfully at my inner walls, heat engulfs my body. It feels as though I’m on fire, with every hole filled, I feel wanton and so incredibly full. It’s chaotic, the enormity of the sensations he’s eliciting.

  When he slides his cock deeper and deeper, I dig my nails into the material beneath me, trying to suck in a single breath. I feel him everywhere. It burns, the unbelievable pressure, but doubled with the way he’s ruthlessly finger-fucking my pussy, I can’t ignore the way my body is craving more. Everything feels hot and so full, like I’m at capacity. He’s everywhere all at once. With each thrust of his hips, I can feel the pressure of his finger simultaneously rubbing against my walls, toying with my G-spot. I’m so close again. So damn close to that proverbial edge I can almost taste it.

  “Do you like it when I fuck you here, Daisy?” He grits through clenched teeth, sliding his cock all the way to the hilt, then all the way back.

  “Y-yes,” I groan, succumbing to the stirrings of my orgasm, pleasure swarming through me.

  “God, you’re so fucking tight here, babe. So fucking perfect.”

  His words, his praise for me and my body, are my undoing. A choked scream rips past my lips as another orgasm barrels into me. This one, though, is unlike any I’ve ever experienced. My eyes slam shut, and bursts of color explode behind my eyelids. The explosive sensation starts from my fingertips, then works its way down to my toes. It feels as though it goes on forever, wracking my body with violent convulsions.

  Callan doesn’t stop or slow his long-stroked pace, just keeps going until he comes inside me, his cock jerking violently. My body trembles with aftershocks, hyper-sensitive.

  It all comes crashing down when I hear the sharp cry of a baby. We both tense. He slides out of me, and as I try to shoot upright, I lose my balance and almost slip. Thankfully, he catches me in time, righting me.

  Gently, he sets me down on the cushion of the couch, tucking himself away. “Just sit here for a second. I’ll get you something to clean up with so you can get dressed and grab her.”

  As if Faith hears his plan from all the way over there and disapproves, she cries louder. We both wince.

  He looks torn for a few seconds before resolution crosses his face.

  “Give me a second.”

  I watch him leave, and as soon as he disappears, I close my eyes, trying to gather my wits. I tell my body to pull it together so I can walk.

  My eyes spring open, and I tense when Faith’s cries quiet down. My brows tug down, worry gripping my chest. Did she cry herself back to sleep? Did something happen to her while she was crying? Did she forget to breathe? Shooting up from the ottoman, I quickly slip back into my clothes, trying to adjust to the soreness in my backside. I’m just about to run out of the room when I hear Callan’s heavy footfalls. When he steps through the door, my heart slams to a halt.

  There, in his arms, is Faith.

  Who is no longer crying.

  My gaze pings back and forth between them as I try to process what I see.

  “You’re holding her.”

  He looks mildly uncomfortable, and I have a feeling this is the first time he’s held a child. “Well, I didn’t think you wanted to hear her cry, and I couldn’t exactly let you run in there to grab her naked.”

  I want to laugh at just the thought, but I can’t seem to do anything but stare. It seems that Faith is having the same problem. Her bright doe eyes are trained on Callan. She’s been staring up at him, not making a single peep. It’s as though she’s trying to figure out who the stranger is holding her.

  “Here,” he says, snapping me out of it. He hands Faith off to me, and I have to coach myself to stay focused. Who cares that this hot man is holding a baby? Who cares that my useless ovaries are exploding?

  Change her. Feed her. Ask questions later.

  “I’m going to change her. I’ll be right back.”

  I go through the motions, trying to make sense of the Callan tonight from the Callan at the airport. They’re nearly two different people entirely.

  After she’s changed and I have a bottle ready for her, I’m surprised when I find Callan in the same place. He’s standing in the center of the room, staring at my art piece still.

  “Deciding it isn’t so great, after all?”

  He hums. “Actually, I’m deciding where I’ll put it.” He turns, watching me. I sway with Faith in my arms, the bottle in her mouth already half-empty.

  “You’re so full of shit. You don’t have to blow smoke up my ass.”

  He cocks a brow. “I have no reason to blow smoke up your ass, Daisy. If I thought the painting looked like sh
it, I’d tell you.”

  I don’t doubt it.

  I don’t know why I assumed he was saying nice things about my work to spare my feelings. That’s not Callan’s way. He’s never done it before, and he most certainly won’t start now.

  “You’re good at that.”

  “At what?”

  “That,” he says, tipping his chin toward me. “Being a mom. Seems to come naturally to you.”

  My chest squeezes. “If only my body can get the memo.”

  He slips his hands into his pockets, watching me, watching us. “So, you can’t…at all?”

  I search his face, trying to gauge why he’d ask me this question. I’m sure at some point he’d want to start his own family, and with me, that’ll never be an option. I swallow my sadness and shake my head.

  “Doesn’t seem that way.”

  A tense silence ensues between us.

  “I’ll leave you both to it, then.”

  It feels like an ice pick is stabbing at my heart. A sad smile pulls taut across my face. “Good night, Callan.”

  “Good night, Dais.”

  The air in the car is awkward, much as my entire afternoon has been. My mother, who doesn’t know how to stay in her lane most days, decided that since Daisy is now living in my penthouse—though, not with me specifically—she should come to our weekly family dinners so she won’t feel left out.

  I couldn’t exactly say I didn’t think it was a good idea because she mentioned it in front of Daisy, knowing exactly what she was doing.

  The damned woman.

  It was as though Daisy sensed I didn’t want her to go. She came up with excuses about why she wouldn’t be able to make it, which, in turn, only made me feel like a raging fucking asshole, so I told her to go. That it would be fine.

  Even though inviting her into my life this way is crossing those invisible lines I’ve drawn. Lines I’m not sure I’m strong enough to keep from crossing anymore. Something about Daisy has always made me want to break my own rules. And now that I’ve tasted her, now that I’ve had her, I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop touching her and fucking her. Hell, I even find myself looking at her with Faith and seeing how perfect they are together. Even though I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved in that.