4. Calum
CALUM
“ H ow much more?” she questions, the desire subsiding, overtaken by the details. “How long is this . . . Arrangement?”
“I’ll decide that.” Irritation rolls through me, tensing my body. She’s already thinking of limiting her time. “I want everything from you. Including your time. As much of it as I desire.”
I could give her everything and anything she wanted, but all she wants is to know when it will be over before it’s even begun.
“I need to know.”
“You don’t need to know anything other than how I want you.” My words are harsh, and I’m quite aware. She was eager and ready, but panic has reached her eyes.
For the first time since I met her eyes and stalked her steps at that party, regret lingers in the air between us. My anger quickly dissipates, and the hint of fear bleeds into my thoughts. I almost have her. Ever since I saw her years ago, I’ve wanted her. I can’t let a minor detail take her away from me.
“Did you think one night would pay it all off? That in one night I’d have my fill?” Slipping my hand around the back of her neck, I nip her bottom lip in admonishment, ramping up the desire I know she has for me.
“Calum.” Her throat tightens as she swallows. “Please, I need?—”
“You need to do as I say,” I command her, and my tone resonates, but still she hesitates. I fucking loathe it.
“I will,” quickly spoken, her eyes wide and her body willing. “I promise I will. But I need . . .”
“Make it very clear and be quick, Annabelle. My patience is running thin.”
“You want to use me, fuck me, and I swear I want you too. How can I agree to letting you do as you please with no way out and no way to stop this . . .”
“When I’m done with you tonight, that won’t be a worry. Now, get on your knees.”
She gasps, the sound both alarming and tantalizing.
The image embeds itself in my memory.
“You can only have me at night.”
“No.”
“You expect me here for how long?”
“When I’m here; you’re here.” My voice is firm. “This isn’t negotiable. You’ll be taken care of and you’ll be ready for me whenever I need.”
“And my life?”
“It is owed to me.”
“For . . . for however long you decide?”
I can see the likelihood of the next series of events. The fear, her wanting out. She’ll make it difficult. More difficult than it needs to be.
“I would prefer not to give you a date. I’d rather give you a word. If you feel the need to be alone. To be without me for a moment. You will come back, and you will continue to be mine in all ways. But if it becomes too intense . . .” My pulse races as she slowly unravels under my offer. The way her eyes turn darker and peer into mine and her lips part just slightly inform me that she’s willing, that the offer tempts her.
“Give me a word. Or a statement. Tell me what you’ll say if you need . . . a moment. I’m only willing to give you a moment.”
“I say this word and you’ll let me go?”
“For a day. I’ll give you one day and then you must come back.”
“A word . . .”
“Or a phrase.”
“Deep red rose.”
“Deep red rose,” I repeat.
“So the terms are: I’m yours to do with as you please. But if it’s too much, I have one day if I tell you ‘deep red rose’.”
Nodding, I hold her gaze, refusing to let it go as she stands in front of me, taking it all in. Did she really think I’d only want her for a night?
“I’ve grown tired of terms, Belle.”
With a sudden inhale, she nods slightly and the tips of her fingers play at the hem of her dress. “How would you like me?” she questions, and I swear I couldn’t get harder if I wanted to.
“Good girl,” I commend her and take a chance, stalking around her in a slow circle to her back. When I rest my hand at her neck, brushing her hair out of the way, she shivers, and her head falls back slightly. Her quickened breath and the sound of her dress unzipping is all that fills the room. The heat from behind us swells until her dress falls to the floor, followed by her undergarments, and I leave her standing there, bared to me as I unbutton my shirt behind her.
She steals a glance over her shoulder, and I allow it. Taking my time as she stands nervously waiting.
When I unzip my pants, she shifts her weight, her thighs clenching and the blush turning darker against her skin.
With puddles of cloth beside us, I circle her again, gripping and stroking my length. Precum beads on my head and I spread it, stoking myself again.
If I wasn’t already an arrogant man, the sight of her eyes widening and her lips parting with a gasp when she stares down at my cock would certainly turn me into one.
With my other hand, I test the weight of her breasts, holding them for a moment and running my thumb against her hardened nipples. Her soft whimper begs for me, and she leans in slightly until I tsk at her.
She’s quick to correct herself, even if need is etched into every aspect of her expression.
Her reactions and obedience are perfection. I didn’t make a mistake. I was right that she was the perfect one for this.
“Down on your knees and lick,” I command her, and she’s quick to do just that. I grip myself at the base as she leans forward, gliding her tongue along the veins of my cock. A shudder runs through me as her scandalous tongue slips between my slit, gathering the precum.
My toes curl against the carpet, and my pulse quickens with need. Just as she parts her lips to suck, not lick, I scold her and command her to get on her hands and knees.
The curve of her ass is only outmatched by the glistening folds that await me. She’s ready for me. I don’t need to run my fingers along her pussy to know it. But I do. Just to feel her arousal. That small insignificant touch, my fingers drifting from her center to her clit, elicits the sweetest sounds from her. Her eyes close, and she bites down on her lip until I scold her once again.
“I want to hear what I do to you.” My wish is spoken as I slip my middle finger inside of her warmth, feeling how tight she is. A strangled gasp fills the air, and I swear I can’t take anymore. She’s sensitive to every touch.
I could take her slowly, but I have needs, and she should know I’m not a gentle lover. I won’t do her the disservice of pretending that I am.
I steady her with one hand gripping her hip, and her body tenses. In a swift stroke I fill her, burying myself to the hilt. Her gorgeous body bows, and she cries out the sweetest sound of pain mixed with pleasure. Staying deep inside of her, I wait for her to adjust, and I’m barely able to contain myself. Leaning down, I rest my chest to her back and kiss just below her ear. With a deep inhale, she peers back at me, looking up through her thick lashes.
Her lips stay parted and her eyes are on mine as I pull out ever so slowly, watching how her eyes dilate and the dangerous cocktail of sinful pleasure rolls through her.
Another thrust, and her head falls forward. With both hands on her hips, I take her brutally and roughly, just as I promised. I groan in time with the sound of our flesh meeting, and Belle cries out her pleasure. It’s not long before she tightens around me, nearly making me come before I’m ready as she finds her release.
I allow her another, holding my breath and fucking her until she can no longer stay on all fours. With her front on the carpet, I piston my hips, loving how she writhes under me. I forcefully take her again and again until she cries out my name as if it’s a plea. Only then can I finally find my release.
Still recovering and breathing heavily, I lay gentle kisses along the center of her back, running the length of it up to her shoulder. Once I’ve met the crook of her neck, I slip out of her, and she winces.
Using my shirt, I clean what I can between her thighs. All the while I kiss her, and she turns, facing me and exploring with her own small touches. Her fingers travel up my chest, her nails slipping gently along the grooves of muscle.
“Calum,” she moans my name, maybe still lost in the pleasure. I love the sound of my name slipping from her lips. My kiss meets hers, and if only I was still hard, I’d take her again, right here in front of the fire.
In an effort to run her lips along my jaw, she parts those sweet lips, but I back away. Even with the dim light and the stubble, she’ll feel the indentation, her soft kisses will travel along the scar. It’s a sharp knife of betrayal that pushes me away from her touch.
“Deep red rose?” she says the phrase I loathe, her escape, but before I can fully absorb it, she corrects herself. “Is that your limit? That’s what I meant. You don’t want me to touch your scar?”
“No. I don’t see why you’d want to.”
“Can I?” she questions, her voice full of exhaustion. Ignoring her question, I lift her limp body to the sofa and lay her down.
“Let me get you a blanket . . . or rather. . .” Not finishing the thought, and not bothering to dress myself, I leave her where she is. Replaying the last moment obsessively.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t seem to have any fear at all when it comes to the scar. She doesn’t cower at the man I am. Her gentle touch is at odds with everything else. After dressing, I grab the box and return to the living room to find her spread out under the simple throw from the back of the sofa, her hair in a halo, her curves hidden under the luxurious fabric, but still very much on display.
“Can I touch you now?” Her sultry voice carries through the room.
“No.”
“Is holding me after out of the question?” she asks, not hiding the longing in her voice.
“Needy girl,” I comment, sitting on the end of the sofa where her head rests. The furniture protests with a groan as I take my seat, then I lift her head and set it down onto my lap.
A moment passes of quiet, the glow of the fire our company, and the only conversation the crackling and snapping of the wood.
“How long have you lived like this?” She whispers her question as I pet her hair. How many nights have I sat here alone, lost in work and thoughts of vengeance?
“Like what?” I ask to clarify.
“Alone in such a large place.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
With a saddened tone, she responds, “Small talk never does.”
Disliking the way her eyes close and the very idea that she’s done with the small talk itself, I answer, “All my life.”
It’s quiet again, and all I can think as I steal glances at her, with her eyes closed and her dark red lips resting nearly against my leg, is that she’s going to say ‘deep red rose’ any minute. I need to be careful with her, or she’ll run.
“You want me to stay here.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s already thinking about it. I never should have offered that clause.
“Yes.
“And you won’t tell me how long?”
“. . . No. But I gave you my word. Your one condition I’ll allow.” My voice is hard, in stark contrast to hers.
“That’s dangerous.”
“You’ll stay here. You’ll do as I like. And the debt will be forgiven.”
The fire snaps and hisses with my treatment of her.
Turning slightly on her side, she toys with the blanket between her fingers. Her bare breast peeking from just under the throw.
Lowering my lips to hers, I whisper, “I already want you again.”
That gets her attention, and a bit of shock too if her wide eyes peering up at me is anything to go on. They’re a beautiful hazel, not unlike the amber fire before us.
“I like that you want me, Mr. Harrison.” She hesitates . . . and I wait for it with bated breath. Her escape clause to be uttered from between those gorgeous lips I’ve yet to use to the fullest.
“I think I like it a little too much. I think you’re going to ruin me.”
Let me ruin you. The command goes unspoken, and it’s only when she rests her head again that I look up at the clock on the mantel, an ancient thing, but the tick of it is barely audible, and so it stays.
“You have a phone call to make.”
“My father?” The cadence of her answer is dreadful.
“Yes, but before that . . . I got you a gift.” She’s forced to sit up as I pluck the box from the coffee table. This moment is a disturbance, but so long as this is taken care of, I’ll have more of her and more of this tonight.
The box leaves my hand and rests in her lap as she sits cross-legged next to me, the throw pooling around, falling slowly, until it’s nothing but a puddle of chenille.
It’s been a week since I purchased the fine garment and had it delivered. She holds the matte-black box adorned with a satin ribbon.
Instead of opening it, she only runs her fingers along the silk. “You just met me tonight.” She tilts her head, questioningly and accusatorily. It stirs something inside of me. Her obedience mixed with curiosity is alluring. I want more of it.
“I knew you’d be there. I knew you’d come home with me.”
“You said you knew I wasn’t invited.”
“I say a lot of things to get what I want.” My answer seems to satisfy her.
She unties the ribbon and lifts the silk.
“A silk robe? Rather presumptuous.” She doesn’t look me in the eyes until the final statement, her slender fingers still running along the fine silk.
“I prefer the term ‘confident’. It was only a matter of time, Belle.”
“You went through all of this . . . for me?”
“I said I wanted you.”
“Why me?”
“Because I saw you, and I imagined something different than what I had for the first time in years. Now put your robe on, it’s time to call your father.”
It was years ago. For years I’ve wanted her. If she thinks she can create an end date for this arrangement, she’s so very wrong.
“Tell him you’re staying here indefinitely.”