Chapter 22
Tess didn’t know how long she talked about her terrible memories—hours? more?—but Callum listened to every word. When she finished, she felt empty, wrung out—but in a way that felt kind of liberating and revelatory? Like all the shame and self-hatred and anger and fear she’d been carrying for three years was finally leaving her body, leeching out of her pores and vaporizing into the air.
There was something particularly calming about having Callum next to her in this moment—his slow heartbeat, his cool skin.
“How do you feel?” he asked. “What do you need?”
“I feel…sleepy.” She smiled, and he did too.
“Then I’ll let you rest. Should I take you back to your room?”
He rubbed her knee reassuringly, and she sighed as she nestled against him. Tess had been so alone for the past three years; she didn’t realize how much she missed the comfort of another person’s touch.
“Can I sleep here?” she asked.
“Of course. Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”
Tess looked up at him, and he was so kind, so tentative, she wondered how she ever could have seen him as a threat.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
He took her by the hand, and she followed him back to the same bed where she’d slept beside him only yesterday—but things felt very different now.
Strangely, she wasn’t nervous at all tonight, even though Callum had confessed his desire for her. She thought back to Joni’s party, to the anxiety she felt when her old classmate Oscar had flirted with her the tiniest bit—she attributed that feeling to not really knowing him, not knowing whether he was the sort of man who would respect her wishes or do whatever he wanted despite them. With Callum, there was no longer any question in Tess’s mind that he would never, ever push her into something she didn’t want. So she felt easy with him. It was such a fucking relief.
“Do you need anything?” he asked as they both settled under the covers. “Some water?”
“I’m okay.” Tess smiled. “What about you? How does your leg feel?”
“I feel like a new man,” he said quietly. Tess wondered if he was talking about more than just the leg. Because the truth was, she felt like a new woman too.
—
Tess woke early the next morning, ravenous with hunger. Callum was asleep, and given that he was recovering from his injury (miraculously quickly, but still), she wanted to let him rest as long as he needed. So she found a scrap of creamy paper and a pen on his desk, and left him a note that she’d gone to eat and shower.
Somehow, everything about her beautiful rooms felt even better this morning; the coffee and pastries Sylvie had left her were divine. (Was Sylvie refilling them, or did they simply have magical properties that kept them from going stale? Because that was magic Tess could get behind: carb-based magic.) After she ate, she finally got into that big copper soaking tub she’d been meaning to try since Sylvie first glamoured it. There was a glass bottle on the rim of the tub labeled blue lotus oil, and Tess tipped a generous amount into her bath—it turned the water a shimmering cobalt and smelled like absolute heaven.
Tess soaked for the better part of an hour, letting the heat and steam unknot her muscles. Her mind wandered through a highlight reel of Callum Yoo: The way his eyes flashed when he teased her. The feel of his strong arms gripping her as he lifted her off the ground. The look on his face when he told her he wanted her.
I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time we went into that forest.
What was he thinking? She suddenly felt desperate to know.
Tess’s skin was hot from the bath and slick from the oil. It was hard to resist imagining what Callum would do if he was in this tub with her, the way the water would slosh as he slid his hands over her body.
She automatically tried to shove her thoughts in another direction—but then she paused to consider why. If he wanted her, and she wanted him, and she trusted him…what was stopping her?
When Tess finally dragged herself out of the bath, she was bursting with anticipation for the next time she’d see Callum. As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait long: She had just pulled on a buttery dark green wrap dress when she heard a knock at her door—she rushed to open it.
“Hi.” She flushed with pleasure at the sight of him. He looked even more handsome than she remembered in another set of his insanely chic dark sweats.
“All right?” he asked. He had a bit of a nervous smile, and she felt a twinge of pleasure that he was anxious to see her too. She opened her arms to hug him, and he beamed as he pulled her close. “God, you smell good.”
“I took a bath,” Tess murmured, leaning against his chest as he inhaled the scent of her hair.
“I don’t think it’s the bath,” he said, and she could feel the vibrations of his voice against her cheek.
He followed her into the room, and they sat on the little velvet settee Sylvie had glamoured—the same place Tess had found Callum when she emerged from her shower that first morning on the Isle. How long had it been since then? It felt strangely impossible to imagine that there had ever been a time when she didn’t know this man.
“How are you, though?” she asked. “Is your leg—are you feeling…”
“Good.” He swallowed hard. “I feel…I’m not quite sure how to describe how I feel, actually.”
“Me neither.” Tess bit her lip.
“Your heart’s racing,” Callum said quietly. “Are you afraid?”
“You can hear it?” Tess leaned toward him, and he nodded. He seemed tentative—tense, even. “No, Callum. I’m not afraid.”
She looked up at him; his eyes were steady on her as his breath grew shallow.
“I’ve been thinking…” She laid a hand on his arm, and his muscles went rigid beneath her touch.
“Tell me,” he urged. His face was open, vulnerable; it reminded her of the way he’d looked just before he laid his hands on the angel statue, the specific pain of allowing yourself to want something so desperately.
She needed him to understand that she wanted him just as much.
She moved her hand down his arm, took his hand, and laced her fingers between his. He looked down at their hands, then met her gaze—she felt like there was a piece of twine connecting her body to his, pulled so taut it might snap if she didn’t kiss him right fucking now.
“Tess,” he said her name in a way that came out half plea, half moan, and she couldn’t take this for one more second—she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.
He made a noise when she kissed him, a low, guttural sound, and his lips were so soft, his body so thick and strong, she felt like she might break from how badly she wanted him.
“Callum,” she breathed. She couldn’t take this slowly—her body was screaming for her to give in to everything she wanted, everything she’d denied herself for so many years. She climbed into his lap, raking her fingers through his hair, kissing him hard. The connection felt electric, like he understood her body perfectly, the way he took her bottom lip between his teeth and nipped it gently, his lips moving along her jaw, her neck, the decadent surrender of his tongue in her mouth. Her hips started to rock against him, she wanted to feel his hands pulling at her, grasping her, touching every part of her body, except—
Except, she realized, his hands weren’t on her at all. They were balled up in fists, clenched at his sides.
“What is it?” she asked, laying her hands gently over his. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t want—I mean, I wouldn’t want to…” He trailed off.
“Do you not want this?” Tess asked, a pit forming in her stomach. Was it possible she’d somehow read this—and him—completely wrong? “Should I stop? Oh god, it’s okay if you want to stop.”
“Tess, no. ” He took her hands and held them against his chest. “I want you more than I can remember wanting anyone. I just—after everything you’ve been through…I don’t want to do anything you don’t want. Not one thing.”
Her heart was pounding—with adoration for this man, with adrenaline, with desire—as she placed his hands firmly on her hips.
“Then let me show you what I want,” she breathed. “Let me show you how much I want you.”
She kissed him again, and she fucking loved the feeling of his fingers digging into her, pulling her closer, her chest pressed to his as his hands roved up her back. She needed to feel him against her skin, needed to get out of this stupid dress—
She went to tear the damn thing off, but he reached up to stop her.
“Hey.” He smiled at her. “There’s no rush. I’m literally immortal.”
“But I’m not.” She grinned. “And I’ve been waiting long enough.”
Callum considered it a privilege to sleep with any woman—an opportunity he endeavored to earn through an arduous devotion to all things pleasurable. Before the Isle, Callum had slept with more women than he could possibly count, let alone remember. Women of all ages, races, and sizes, cis and trans, he took joy in all of them and tried his best to give them joy in return. (And in his own humble opinion, he rarely disappointed in that regard.)
Sleeping with Tess was different. Not just because of her past—Callum was no stranger to navigating a woman’s triggers, noticing her responses if something he’d done caused discomfort and changing course to give them both a better experience. He’d expected this from Tess; after what she told him, he thought their first time would be stop and start, cautiously moving from one moment to the next, ever watchful for the one where she’d get upset or change her mind.
But Tess was so tender with him, so open. Every new place he kissed her, every new sound she made, new shock of pleasure or gasp of delight, all of it felt like discovering something holy.
He wanted to take this first time slowly, but once she took off her dress, she was tearing at his clothes, then pulling him into her bed, smiling and bright, her pale skin luminescent in the Isle’s lavender morning light. He knew she wanted to have sex, but he worried about the pain he might cause—physical or otherwise.
“Are you sure?” he asked, poised above her. She pulled him down to kiss him, and he felt his skin melt against hers, her flesh even warmer and softer than he’d dreamed it.
“I’m ready,” she whispered. When he moved inside her, she made the smallest, most exquisite noise; her cheeks were flushed, her hips moved against him, all of it was so tense and perfect he thought he might lose his mind. He made himself go slowly, refusing to prioritize his needs over hers, but when she wrapped her legs around his back and moaned out more, he let himself move the way he wanted to, faster, deeper, always closer to her, always together.
He didn’t want her to feel pressure to come—and he certainly didn’t want her to feel like she was letting him down if she didn’t. But when he moved his fingers between her legs as he fucked her and she shook and cried out against him, he felt a surge of gratitude for this woman, how vulnerable she’d been with him, how close he felt to her. He let himself finish too, and they collapsed under the covers, affable and sweaty and cool beneath the heavy blankets.
“Callum, I’m so happy,” she murmured. He loved the weight of her head against his chest, the vibration of her voice thrumming through him, his blood still buzzing from the intensity of being together.
“You should always be this happy.” He sighed. “The entire bloody world should rearrange itself by any means necessary to accommodate your complete and constant happiness.”
“So you’re saying we’re never leaving this bed?”
“I’m game if you are.”
She laughed softly and repositioned herself against him, then let out a little yawn.
“Are you tired, sweet?”
“No,” she pouted. “I mean, yeah. Very.”
“Then sleep.” He kissed her hair and gently rubbed her arm.
Even after a long night’s rest, he was tired too. Between the severity of his injury and the relief of the recovery process, the emotional experience of hearing Tess’s story, and the incredible release of being with her physically, the last few days had taken a toll on him. But he stayed awake to watch her fall asleep, to feel her breath become heavy as her body rose and fell against his. Her sleeping face looked so peaceful and relaxed, so utterly content. In more than a hundred years, he wasn’t sure he’d seen anything so beautiful.