by Hannah Ford
Then he pulled the cups of my bra down, letting my tits pop free, my nipples hard and swollen. He lowered his head and sucked my tits into his mouth, his tongue licking and sucking, searing a fiery trail over my areolas, his teeth nipping me softly.
I groaned.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Lemon,” he growled.
Another groan escaped my lips, and he grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me, slow, soft, like he suddenly wanted to prolong the moment.
Then he unbuttoned his shirt, his hard body coming into view, his abs flexing as he moved.
“I need to feel you.” He pulled at my bra more, until my breasts were exposed completely, before pushing back against me and crushing them against his bare chest.
He kissed me again, moaning into my mouth, holding one hand against my neck and grinding his cock against me slowly. When he finally pulled away, he kept a grip on my neck with one hand and began to undo his pants with the other.
He pushed my panties roughly to the side and then his eyes locked on mine, and I tumbled into him, in a complete free fall as he looked at me, his expression mirroring everything I was feeling.
He hesitated, almost like he was considering something, and for the first time since I’d known him, indecision flickered across his face.
Then he reached up and unfastened me from the pole, but kept my wrists bound. He looped my arms over his head so that my arms were around his neck, my hands still tied together at the wrists with his belt.
One of his hands slid up under my shirt, pressing against the small of my back, pulling me toward him. His hand was warm, and strong, and big, and it made me feel small protected.
Callum reached down and slid each of my legs up his body slowly, until they were wrapped around his waist.
“Leave them there,” he whispered right into my ear, his breath tickling my skin.
He pushed his cock into my pussy slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the top of his shaft grazing my clit with every small push, until he was finally all the way inside of me. I gasped at how big he was, how he felt spreading me open, and I gripped the back of his shirt, twisting the collar as he thrust into me.
“Look at me.” His voice was a tender whisper.
I looked at him as he began fucking me, deeper and deeper, holding me tightly to him as the city spun around behind us, the lights bleeding into a pastel rainbow.
He kissed me and I could feel him in every part of me, my senses rushing together so that I could feel him with my mouth and taste him with my skin.
He fucked me harder, pumping into me, but the whole time his eyes were on mine as he kissed me.
I closed my eyes, but he tipped my chin back. “Look at me,” he said again. “ I want to see you.”
Again, he pushed into me, and my legs were wrapped around him, and my hands were around his neck and I couldn’t take it anymore, and I gripped his shoulders tightly as I came, my orgasm pulsing through me as I cried out his name.
A second later, his own orgasm ripped through him and he pumped his cum into me, shot after shot, warming me, making me his.
The whole time we were looking at each other, and the sensation of him shooting inside of me while his eyes were locked on mine immediately made me come again, my pussy contracting around his shaft.
He held me there, wrapped around him, his chest heaving against mine, before he finally let me go.
My legs wobbled as they slid from around his waist, and my knees were so weak I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stand straight.
“Holy shit,” Callum breathed, and he was looking at me like I was everything, like I was his, like he couldn’t live without me.
“Yeah,” I said. “Holy shit.”
He undid my wrists and I readjusted my clothes and then he pulled me to him and I leaned my head against his chest as Manhattan spun behind us in a dizzying circle.
* * *
Callum was silent and broody on the drive back to Manhattan, and I wondered if it was because we’d shared an intimate moment – him telling me about his family, and then the way he’d fucked me, making me look at him, putting my arms around his neck instead of keeping me tied to the pole behind him.
When we got back into the city, I realized we were heading into Midtown.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I told you we can’t go back to the apartment. It’s not safe after what happened this morning.”
“Okay. So then where are we going?”
“The Plaza.”
“Oh.” A hotel. Of course. I tried not to be disappointed about the fact that we weren’t going back to his apartment, his real apartment, the one that he actually lived in.
His phone rang again then, the caller ID flashing on the Bluetooth display of his car.
Rose.
Again.
Callum pressed the button to send it to voicemail, but this time he seemed agitated. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and turned up the music, something loud with an angry male singer and a pounding beat.
When we got to the hotel, he left the car with the valet, then led me through the lobby and up to the eighteenth floor, where he pulled a key card from his pocket and slid it into the lock.
The room was gorgeous, with an ornate bed and a gold tasseled comforter. There was a roll top desk in the corner, and a TV sat on top of a sleek minibar.
But the blinds on the windows were shut tight, the curtains heavy.
“There are approved pajamas and clothes in the closet,” Callum said. He was standing near the door. He’d carried my duffle bag in from the car, and he set it down on the floor.
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Wait, what?” I took a step toward him, but he moved back toward the door, and averted his gaze. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be in the room next door.”
“You’re not staying here?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think it’s better.”
“Better? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that sometimes I need space, Adriana. And tonight is one of those times.”
“Fine.”
“Adriana – ”
“No,” I said. “It’s fine. You made the rules very clear. I agreed to them.”
He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
And then he was gone, out the door, the only thing remaining of him the marks on my ass and the scent of his cologne hanging faintly in the air.
I opened the closet.
There was silky teal nightgown and an outfit for me to wear to work tomorrow hanging inside. I was too tired to even look at what he’d picked out for me. Instead I grabbed the nightgown off the hanger and grabbing my duffle bag. I changed quickly in the bathroom, washing my face and brushing my teeth before gathering my hair into a loose bun and sliding into bed.
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, wide awake, missing him, wondering why he’d left. My skin felt hot and cold, and I couldn’t get comfortable. At one point, I felt the tears starting, and I thought about leaving, just walking out of here and going back to my apartment and never coming back.
It was four in the morning when I heard the key card slide into the lock.
I wasn’t scared or nervous.
I knew it was him.
He didn’t say anything, just stood at the side of my bed in the shadows, before he pulled off his t-shirt and boxers and slid into bed with me, inching my nightgown up past my hips, over my breasts, until I was naked.
He pulled me to him, and held me, curving his naked body around mine.
The silence hung heavy in the room, and I waited for him to say something, to give me an indication of why he was here, why he’d come back.
But he didn’t.
Instead, a few moments later, I heard the soft, steady, sound of his breathing, letting me kn
ow he’d fallen asleep.
I relaxed into his arms, and a moment later, I was asleep, too.
It was about an hour later when I was woken by the sound of a phone ringing.
For a moment, I thought it was my stupid alarm again.
But it wasn’t.
It was the room phone.
“Hello?” I heard Callum say. He was sitting up in bed, awake, no trace of grogginess or sleepiness in his voice. “What? When? Okay… Okay. Thank you for letting me know.”
He hung up and I saw a flash of something on his face. Pain. Unbearable pain. He squinted his eyes and his hands were on his temples and his jaw was twitching.
“Callum,” I said, sitting up and putting my hand his shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rose,” he said, sliding out from under the covers and standing up. He began to get dressed in the pajamas he’d discarded on the floor.
“Is she okay?”
“No.” He shook his head. “She’s dead.”
The wind was knocked out of me in one sharp swoop, as if I’d been punched hard in the stomach. “What? How?”
“She went into multiple organ failure,” he said. “Her body couldn’t handle the trauma of what the drugs had done to her.”
“Oh, Callum,” I said, the tears filling my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I thought she –”
“I need to go back to my apartment and get ready for work,” he said. “I’ll pick you up tonight and we can go look at that apartment.”
“You’re going to work now?”
“Yes.” He was halfway to the door already, pulling his shirt on, the wounds on his back visible for a moment before the fabric of his t-shirt covered them. “I’ll see you tonight.”
The door shut behind him with a click, leaving me there, alone, wondering what the hell had just happened, and what the hell I was supposed to do now…
END OF BOOK SIX.
Click here to read Book Seven, BECAUSE HE PLAYS ME, available now!
