Chapter 19
Callum
Morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds, casting pale gold across my navy satin sheets and the bare curve of Gabrielle’s shoulder.
She was still asleep, her hair a soft, tangled halo against my pillow.
One arm was tucked beneath her head, the other draped across the sheet she’d dragged to her side during the night.
She looked impossibly peaceful. Like she belonged here.
I should’ve felt something heavier—regret, at the very least. Shame, maybe. We’d crossed every line, broken every rule. But watching her sleep, all I felt was a dangerous kind of warmth.
And peace.
And if I were honest with myself, an ache that wasn’t entirely physical.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and sat up slowly, careful not to wake her.
My body protested, sore in all the best ways.
She’d left her mark—in the tiny crescents from her nails, the ghost of her mouth along my collarbone.
My body was a map of the night before, and I had no desire to forget the terrain.
I stood, padded to the kitchen for a glass of water, then returned to the bedroom doorway. And there she was.
Still asleep, just beginning to stir—brow furrowing, lips parting with a soft sigh.
God help me, she was beautiful.
She blinked once, twice, then looked at me through sleep-heavy lashes. “You’re awake.”
“I am,” I said, voice lower than I’d intended. I stepped closer, leaning against the bureau as she stretched. “Still half convinced I’m dreaming. Thought I’d wake up alone and heartbroken.”
She gave me a slow, languid smile. “Are you always such a tragic romantic first thing in the morning?”
“You have no idea.” I sat beside her and placed the glass of water on the nightstand. “How are you feeling?”
She rolled onto her back, tugging the sheet to cover herself. “A little sore. But smug.”
“Oh?” I leaned down to kiss her bare shoulder. “Why smug?”
She turned to me with a smirk. “Because I’m the one who got the grand tour.”
I groaned, half laughing as I buried my face in the crook of her neck. “That line is going to haunt me forever, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said sweetly, brushing her fingers through my hair.
“Mmm.” Eyes closed, I leaned into her touch. “I feel like a pampered house cat.”
“A house cat?”
“Not even a cool one,” I added, looking up at her. “One of the fluffy ones with no survival instincts.”
She laughed—head thrown back, hair tumbling over the pillows like sun-drenched silk—and it hit me again, full force: I didn’t regret this. Not even a little.
And that should’ve terrified me.
But all I could think about was how long I could keep her in this bed before life made me let her go. Before the world reminded us why we couldn’t stay.
She let out a sigh, soft and reluctant, and rolled to her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “If I don’t get up soon, I’ll never leave.”
“Then don’t.”
She blinked at me, caught off guard for half a second—then gave a quiet smile. “Tempting. But I need coffee.”
I leaned closer, brushing a kiss against her shoulder. “I can do coffee. Somewhere between good and excellent, depending how awake I am when I make it.”
She laughed under her breath, then stretched, catlike and unhurried. “Shower first.”
“I could be persuaded to join you,” I said, brushing my knuckles down the bare line of her spine.
She tilted her head, amused. “You offering help, or just hoping for an encore?”
I didn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”
“Cute. But that wasn’t a yes or no question.”
I sat back just enough to meet her eyes. “Yes to both. I’m excellent with soap and shampoo.” I slid my hand beneath the sheet, wrapping around to graze the delicate flesh of her inner thigh. “And I remember precisely how you like to be touched…”
Her breath caught. Her resolve wavered, just for a moment, before she laughed and pushed at my chest. “Shameless man. I’ll never get out of here, will I?”
“Not if I have any say in the matter.” I kissed her shoulder again, then nudged the sheet down to expose a milky, sumptuous breast. “Shall I remind you”—I grazed my teeth across her nipple—“of all the ways you like to be touched?”
The soft sound she made was somewhere between a groan and a sigh as she fell back against the pillows, surrendering. “God, yes.”
I smirked. “And we’re back to worship.”
I pulled the sheet from her body, her bare skin warming under my gaze. She was breathtaking—every curve and hollow, mine to explore. To memorize.
I slid my fingers along her inner thigh, and she shivered in response. When I grazed over the center of her, she moaned—low and wanton—a sound I could have lived in forever. She was achingly wet. I parted her thighs with reverence, savoring the way she opened to me so easily, so beautifully.
“Perfect,” I murmured, voice rough with awe. “Already so wet for me.” Tension rippled through her as I slid a finger inside—hot, slick, devastating—finding the spot that made her gasp and pressing into it.
Her hips bucked. “More,” she breathed—half-demand, half-plea.
“Greedy girl,” I said, pride curling through my voice as I added another finger. Skin flushed, she arched into the sensation—writhing now, chasing more with her hips as I held her open.
“There?” I asked, curling my fingers to stroke her faster.
Her answer was a cry—pure need, exquisite and unrestrained.
I didn’t relent. Couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to. Every fiber of me locked on her—watching her come undone beneath my hands like she had last night.
No, not like last night. Last night had been about breaking through caution, restraint, and convention. Now that those walls had been obliterated, this was about heat, passion, and untethered desire.
Her head tipped back against the pillow, lips parted around ragged breaths.
She was endless—a constellation of sensation—and I meant to map every star.
She clenched around my fingers, and I answered—faster, deeper—building her higher, pushing her further.
She arched nearly off the bed, and then she shattered—coming so hard I thought she might break my hand.
I eased the pressure but didn’t stop moving inside her, riding the waves of her release until they finally subsided. She lay gasping, chest rising like she’d run miles.
She thought I was finished. I saw in the way she started to close her legs and sink back into the pillows.
“Oh no,” I said, smirking as I pinned her open. “You’re not getting off that easy.”
Before she could speak, I lowered myself between her thighs and drew her swollen clit into my mouth—licking and flicking relentlessly. She cried out—surprised, desperate—a sound that sent raw heat surging through me.
“The ability to have multiple orgasms,” I said between licks, savoring her tremors, “is a beautiful female gift.” I sucked gently until she writhed again. “Which I intend to fully explore.” The words were muffled, vibrating against her flesh. “To make sure you get everything you deserve.”
She moaned, deep and low, as I teased her with the tip of my tongue. Her body was slick with sweat, flushed and luminous. She was close again—already—but I had no intention of letting up. Not until she came so many times she forgot her own name.
I slid a finger inside, and she clenched around it, desperate. I added another, pumping in rhythm with my mouth. She was liquid heat and velvet, wet and tight, and everything I’d ever wanted.
“You,” she gasped, writhing beneath me, “are insatiable.”
I smiled against her skin. “As are you, my dear.” My voice was a growl, unrestrained from someplace primal. “I want to see how many times I can make you come.”
She fisted her hands in my hair, urgent, frantic, pulling me closer as I drove her higher. I felt every tremor—every shuddering wave—as she went taut and called my name like a prayer.
She shattered harder this time—shaking so violently it rocked me.
I couldn’t have pulled away if I tried, not with her entire body clenched around my fingers and her thighs quivering against my shoulders.
I wanted to stay there forever, hear her beg and moan and cry out until she was hoarse, but there were limits to the human body.
Even hers. I drew back and let her catch her breath, skimming my mouth along the trembling insides of her legs.
“Numb.” She laughed, voice barely coherent. “My fingers…and my toes…everything.”
I smirked against her skin, then bit down, gentle but firm. “Shall we try for number three?”
Her groan was pure exasperation. Pure want.
I drank her in—sprawled on the sheets like some fallen goddess, gold hair tangled around flushed cheeks, skin dewy with sweat. She was breathtaking like this—wild and wanton and fully mine.
“Jesus,” she breathed—half protest, half invitation. “Give me a minute.”
I dragged a hand down her leg, savoring every silky inch. “Is that really what you want?”
She made a sound low in her throat—one that sent another delicious shiver through me.
“That’s what I thought.”
She squealed as I took her clit into my mouth again.
Her hands were everywhere in a frenzy of exquisite need.
She thrashed with every stroke of my tongue, one hand twisting the sheets, the other raking fire across my skin.
I pinned her hips and sucked. Flicked harder.
She clawed at my shoulders as if she could pull me inside her—hold me there forever. Her thighs locked around me, trembling.
“Cal,” she panted, voice breaking on my name. “God… Cal!”
I pressed two fingers inside her, knowing right where to touch, and buried them deep.
She shattered again, arching in a burst of sound and ecstasy—coming so hard and fast it nearly undid me.
The way she tensed and twisted around me was breathtaking.
She was incoherent when I finally gave her a reprieve.