Chapter Twenty-One
A shiver of expectation rolled over Grace.
She wasn’t hungry for dinner and watched Callum work his way through the living room like a predator stalking his prey.
His eyes swept the corners and shelves; he inspected the knickknacks and the stuffed fish that were hung on the wall.
He unscrewed air vents and electrical outlet covers.
Every now and then, he tossed a dish towel over a fish head, a bookend, and what had to be a security camera.
“Can they hear us?” she asked.
“Maybe. They’re probably watching right now and having a hell of a good laugh.”
“Are you going to get in trouble?”
“I didn’t permanently dismantle anything.” He checked the base of a bear-shaped lamp, crouched low to feel along the underside of a mounted deer’s head, and then pulled a knife out of his pocket to pry loose a vent cover painted to the wall.
He moved with practiced efficiency, as if he were actually at work, searching for trouble. Every move was calculated. Controlled. Sexy as hell. And raising her level of anticipation by a mile. “Why are there so many cameras?”
“In case of a breach. Different angles give different intel.”
Her stomach dropped. He’s sworn the safe house was the best place for them and that his work associates wouldn’t turn her over to Dominic. But the cameras supported her hypothesis. Anyone could be bought. Dominic could easily find her just as he had flipped witnesses.
“Don’t overthink the cameras,” Callum called.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Think about what I was going to do to you on that couch instead.”
Her stomach flipped. Oh. Hell. She twisted the bracelet on her wrist. “I’ll put dinner in the fridge.”
He stopped and stared at her.
Grace pretended not to notice her heart tripping. “I mean, if that is what we’re doing instead of eating. God, don’t look at me like that, Callum. If you can tear the house apart, I can put dinner up.”
But she suddenly understood the difference. Clearing the cameras meant they could get naked whenever. Putting the food up meant now. Now was written all over his face. The air squeezed out of her lungs. She was drowning, and he was the oxygen that could save her.
“One more minute.” He charged toward the bedroom like a man on a mission to save humanity. Callum Hale wasn’t trying to seduce her with sweet talk or touches. He was giving her privacy, offering her safety, and being up front and clear on what he wanted. Her.
She put the food they’d worked hard on into the refrigerator. Her heart galloped at the sound of his footsteps returning toward the kitchen—and he didn’t stop until she was backed against the wall. His forearm pressed over her head, and his body caged her in place.
She tipped her head back and fell into his stormy eyes. His free hand cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her parted lips. Her soft breathing stuttered.
“Not a damn soul can see you.” His jaw tensed. “Grace—”
She kissed him.
No hesitation. No room for second-guessing. She lived for the touch of his lips against hers. Just like every time before, need flared, flamed, and exploded as if the unspoken years of missed opportunity could burn.
The hand on her cheek dropped to her waist, and with a hard, hungry yank, Callum belted her against him. She arched to him, sweeping her tongue and deepening the kiss until her knees turned liquid.
He tore away, chest heaving. His gaze darted to her kiss-swollen lips, then Callum leaned closer, locking his eyes on her as if he could read her soul. “I’m not fucking you against the wall.”
The corners of her lips lifted. “What if I say please?”
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he rasped.
“Please—”
Callum swept her into his arms again. “Not yet.”
His lips claimed hers again. The yearning for him pulsed between her legs. Arousal ached in her pussy. Callum carried her into the bedroom, kicked the door shut, and lay her down as though she might break.
She burned so hot, she shivered. Years of wanting him, fantasizing over how he might look at her, was nothing compared to the way he stood before her now, memorizing her in bed.
His erection strained against his pants, and stripping off his shirt, he fell onto the bed beside her, pulling her mouth to his. Hot, wet strokes of his tongue delved past her lips. He sucked and teased and pushed her to the edge.
She inched away and tossed off her shirt. He didn’t miss a beat and snagged her shorts away. In her bra and underwear, she couldn’t be close enough. “You have on more clothes than me.”
Callum stripped, and she’d never seen a man more perfect. Hard muscles cut over harder muscles. His intensity was too much as he stroked his thick length, watching her, waiting with a ravenous need.
“God, you’re perfect.” His strong hands unfastened her bra.
He dragged his hands over her skin until he hooked her panties and dropped them to her knees.
Callum cradled her in his arms again as he had when he carried her into the bedroom.
Then again, carefully as though she might break, he laid her out and slid the fabric free of her legs. “Perfect.”
She’d never have agreed, but in his eyes, she believed it.
He lifted her foot into his hand and kissed her ankle. The velvet hot slide of his tongue worked up her calf and teased the indentation at the back of her knee.
Grace wriggled her hips. Anticipation coursed through her blood as he kissed higher, shouldering her thighs apart. She couldn’t catch her breath. “Callum.”
His lips hovered near the sensitive place at the top of her leg, breathing against where she wanted him the most.
She bit her lip. “Please,” she cried out, back arching with the stroke of his fingers.
His fingers and tongue parted her open, sliding against her. His approving growl reverberated through her pussy. The tip of his tongue circled the tight bud of needy nerves. Grace lifted her hips, begging for more.
His chin dropped, and Callum pressed his tongue into her.
She died at the intrusion. Sensation after sensation exploded.
He alternated his tongue and fingers, and she cried his name.
He sucked. His fingers plunged. The back and forth, the building pressure, brought her closer to the razor-sharp edge of heaven. “Please.”
He gave her what she needed.
Harder and faster and more, until she was bucking on his face, riding against his hand. Grace orgasmed like she’d never come in her life.
Her fingers threaded into his hair. “I need you inside me.”
He repositioned, flexing his rigid length against her wetness, meeting her eye as though he had so much to say. Instead, he reached for his pants, extracted a condom, and sheathed himself.
She reached for him. He covered her. The head of his cock pressed into her.
So much. So good. He stretched her, splitting her apart as her legs wrapped around his powerful thighs and her teeth bit his shoulder.
Her eyes rolled shut. Every part of her relaxed and tightened in a seesawing war of need and pleasure.
He worked in and out until fully inside her, and this intoxicating fullness had never seemed so possible. “Grace.”
“Please fuck me.”
The corners of his lips lifted—then he pulled away and plunged in. Over and over, Callum thrust and flexed and pushed her to the precipice of a blistering orgasm.
She clung to him and fell into rippling, spasming bliss. His name rang from her lips as she called to him, burying her face into his neck as he drove into her, building an orgasm again.
The climax exploded within her. Her body tightened around his, and Callum groaned, needing the release he’d given to her. He pumped harder, stretching her orgasm until he strained, hoarsely gasping, face buried in her neck, and came.
Goosebumps erupted down his back. His breathing hammered until he collapsed, pulling her to his side.
They stared at each other.
“Holy hell.” Callum rolled on his back and intertwined his fingers with hers. “What was that?”
“That was…” She tried to think of an all-encompassing word for the way he’d blown her mind. “Awesome.”