29. Callum
TWENTY-NINE
CALLUM
I backed her into the bedroom, my hands gripping her waist, her breath coming faster, matching my own. The door clicked shut behind us, the only sound in the space aside from the low hum of the night beyond the windows and the heavy, uneven rhythm of our breathing.
Elodie’s lips were parted, swollen from my kisses, her pupils wide as she tipped her head back to look at me. “Cal?—”
“Yes, Darling?” My voice was low, rough with everything I was holding back.
She swallowed hard, but she didn’t look away. Didn’t waver. “Touch me.”
Fuck.
Heat surged through me, blazing and fervent, but I reined it in. She deserved more than rushing. More than a frantic fuck against the nearest surface—though the temptation was there.
Instead, I slid my hands up her sides, slow, deliberate, feeling the way she shivered beneath my palms. Her body melted against mine as I pulled her closer, pressing my mouth to the curve of her jaw, then lower, tracing my lips down the column of her throat.
Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping tight like she was anchoring herself to me.
I wanted her desperate for me. I wanted her wrecked, and I wanted to be the only man who ever got to see her like this.
I took my time stripping her bare, pushing the fabric of her gray T-shirt up, baring smooth, golden skin inch by inch. She trembled as I peeled it over her head, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, running my thumbs along the delicate dip of her waist.
A slow smile curled her lips, teasing and warm. “I know.”
I chuckled, my mouth finding hers in a deep, slow kiss, one hand sliding up to cup the weight of her breast through her sheer bra, feeling the hard peak of her nipple against my thumb.
Her breath hitched, and I swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, learning exactly how she liked to be touched from the way her body responded.
She arched into me, pressing closer, chasing the friction.
“You’re also impatient,” I murmured against her lips.
Her fingers fisted in my hair, tugging just enough to send fire down my spine. “I’ve waited long enough, Callum.”
Christ.
I lifted her, wrapped her legs around my waist, and carried her to the bed, laying her down against the soft sheets.
I hovered above her, drinking her in. Elodie’s skin was warm beneath my hands, her breath uneven, her pupils blown wide with something that echoed in my own chest .
I trailed my fingers down her side, savoring the smooth skin and the delicate curve of her ribs. She lifted her arms to stretch, her breath hitching as my fingers explored. My hands skimmed lower, brushing over lace, a barrier I had no patience for.
My fingers slid beneath the band of her bra, unhooking it in one smooth motion. The straps slipped from her shoulders, and I caught my breath at the sight of her—bare, flushed, and perfect.
“Elodie,” I murmured, reverence thick in my voice.
She reached for me, fingers skating over my chest, the ridges of my stomach, making my restraint damn near impossible.
I pushed up onto my knees, watching her as I made quick work of her jeans, dragging them down her legs, along with those tiny socks she always wore around the farm.
She shivered as the cool air kissed her skin, but I was already warming her, my hands gliding back up, slow and deliberate, teasing.
“Look at you,” I muttered, my gaze sweeping over her.
Her lips parted, her body arching into my touch, a silent plea. I was more than happy to answer it.
I stood just long enough to shed my own jeans, my boxer briefs, every last barrier between us. Her eyes followed the movement, dark and hungry, a flush spreading across her neck.
I climbed back over her, caging her in with my arms. “Like what you see, Darling?”
She didn’t answer with words—just a slow, sinfully satisfied smile as her fingers slid over my stomach, down, wrapping around my cock in a way that had my body locking tight.
Fuck .
I gritted my teeth, leaning in, brushing my lips over hers.
“Careful,” I warned, my voice rough. “Or this is going to be over before it even starts.”
Her laughter was soft, breathless, but it cut off into a sharp inhale as I rolled my hips, pressing against her heat, teasing the edge of something inevitable.
My fingers found her pussy, wet and waiting for me.
I tested and teased, gliding through her before circling her clit.
By the time I slid in one finger, then two, she was gasping and arching into my hand.
I watched as my tattooed fingers disappeared inside her.
My thumb applied pressure to her clit as my fingers pumped in and out, drawing her orgasm out of its cocoon.
Her fingers curled around my biceps, nails pressing into my skin as she arched, inviting me in.
I didn’t rush—not yet. I wanted to savor this.
The way her body moved, the way her lips parted on a sharp inhale as I adjusted.
My cock teased her entrance, tracing and savoring her softness with languid strokes.
Slowly, I pressed into her, inch by inch. She stretched around me, and her breath shuddered against my neck.
Her hands slid up my arms, over my shoulders, tangling in my hair as she gasped. And then, finally , I sank deeper until I was fully seated, and nothing else in the world existed.
Heat met heat, bare skin on bare skin. Her hands mapped my back like she needed to memorize every inch, her touch confident and claiming.
She gasped again as I rolled my hips, letting her feel exactly how much I wanted her.
“Cal—”
“I’ve got you,” I rasped, trailing my lips down her body, tasting her, teasing her, driving her to the edge before pulling her back just to do it again. I wanted her shaking, gasping, coming apart beneath me.
Heat pooled low in my spine as her pretty little cunt clenched around me, tight and perfect, like she was made for me—like she had been waiting for this as long as I had.
I pulled back, just enough to watch her. Her eyes were dark, her lips swollen, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
“You okay?” I was barely holding on, my control fraying at the edges.
She nodded, breathless, her fingers tightening against my skin. “More.”
I let out a low curse, pressing my forehead against hers as I pulled out just to sink back in, slow and steady. A drawn-out, torturous rhythm that had her moaning, her body rolling up into mine, desperate for more.
“You feel so good,” I murmured, my lips brushing her cheek, her jaw. “So fucking perfect.”
Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer, her body arching to meet every deep thrust.
I wanted to make this last. I wanted to drag her over the edge and follow her down. I wanted to stay wrapped in her warmth, her softness, her fire.
Her breath hitched again, her nails biting into my back as she tightened around me and came apart. Her body trembled, pleasure unfurling between us, wrapping around my spine, and pulling me under.
“Elodie,” I groaned, my head dropping to the curve of her shoulder as I gave in, let go, let myself feel everything.
The last thing I knew was her whispering my name, her lips pressing against my temple, her body shaking beneath mine.
The tremors racked through her, little aftershocks that made her breath wash over my skin. My own heart was still hammering, my body heavy, sated, yet unwilling to move away from her warmth.
I pressed my forehead against hers, trying to steady my breathing, to ground myself in the feel of her—soft and pliant beneath me, her legs still loosely wrapped around my hips, her fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over my back.
I exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss against her temple before rolling us onto our sides, bringing her with me, not willing to separate from her just yet. The sheets tangled around us, a sheen of sweat cooling on our skin, but neither of us moved to fix it.
She tucked herself against my chest, her lips brushing over my collarbone, her breath still uneven. “Holy shit,” she whispered, voice husky and warm.
I let out a low chuckle, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. “Not bad, huh?”
Her hand smacked against my chest, but there was no real force behind it. Just warmth. Just something that felt dangerously close to contentment.
We stayed like that for a while, just breathing, just existing in the quiet aftermath of something that neither of us had expected but both of us had needed. I ran my fingers up and down the curve of her spine, and she sighed, melting deeper into me.
Then, softly, almost absently, she traced her fingers over one of many old scars on my chest. Elodie’s fingers ghosted over my skin, tracing the jagged line of the scars that ran over my shoulder and down the length of my arm.
They were reminders of a past life, a past version of me I had stuffed into a box and hadn’t thought about in a long time.
“Where are you from?” she murmured, like she wasn’t just asking about geography, but about who I used to be .
I swallowed, exhaling through my nose. “Somewhere you’ve never been. A little nowhere town in Nevada.”
She was quiet for a beat, absorbing that, before she said, “And you came here because of Mary.”
It wasn’t a question.
I stared at the ceiling, my fingers stilling on her bare back. “Her family was here—Wes, her parents. When she got pregnant, it made sense to put down roots.”
Elodie stilled, her fingers no longer moving over my chest. “You loved her.” There was no jealousy, only warmth in her voice.
I hesitated, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because the truth was complicated. It always had been.
“It was complicated,” I admitted, my voice rougher than I intended.
Elodie didn’t push. She didn’t fill the silence with meaningless words or try to fix something that didn’t need fixing. Instead, she reached up, cupping my face in her hands, tilting my chin so I had no choice but to meet her gaze.
Her eyes searched mine, not demanding, not expecting—just waiting.
So I told her.
I told her how Mary and I had been a moment, not an epic love story. How we’d been young and reckless, caught up in something easy, something that was never meant to be permanent. How we weren’t even seriously dating when she got pregnant.
I told her how I didn’t hesitate when she told me.
“She wanted to do it alone,” I admitted, my voice quiet. “But I wasn’t going to let that happen. I made a promise. To her. To the baby. To my best friend. I promised that I’d show up, that I’d be there no matter what, and there was no going back on that. ”
Elodie listened, her fingertips brushing slow, absentminded circles over my shoulder. She didn’t judge. She didn’t even flinch. She just absorbed my words, the way she seemed to absorb everything—fully and completely.
“I grew to love her,” I finally said. “But maybe not in the way I was supposed to. Certainly not in the way she deserved, but she was my family. And Levi ... I have loved him from the second I knew he existed. That’s never changed.”
She studied me for a long moment, like she was trying to see the cracks, the pieces of me that had been reshaped by the weight of my past.
Then, softly, she asked, “Do you ever regret it?”
I didn’t even have to think. “Not for a single second.”
Her lips parted, something unreadable flashing in her expression. “You are such a good man, Cal.”
Imagine that—the one woman I had set out to hate, thinking I’m a good man.
I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.” She pressed a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. “I think the only thing I actually hate about you is how impossible you make it to actually hate you. Especially after that first night you barged in on me with a baseball bat, but left me Band-Aids after.”
A laugh bubbled in my chest. I couldn’t hold back anymore, because she saw me, because she didn’t just listen—she understood—I kissed her again.
This time, there was nothing careful about it. This time, I poured myself into the kiss and showed her exactly how much she was changing everything.