Chapter 23
Callie
I wake gradually from the kind of deep, consuming sleep that seeps into your bones and lingers in your muscles long after your eyes have fluttered open. The room is quiet, the light subdued, and my body feels boneless, wrapped in warmth and something even rarer.
Security.
It takes a second to register it. A beat longer to realize how foreign this complete sense of safety is. Like I’ve finally stopped bracing for the next hit. It’s been so long since I’ve let myself relax. Since I’ve allowed myself to sink into the comfort of it.
The reason for that hits me.
River.
The thought spreads through me like a ripple across still water. Gentle but impossible to ignore.
I’m curled into him, my cheek pressed against his hard chest, where the steady thump of his heart drums against my ear. One of my legs is tangled with his, my knee slung over his thigh. His skin is warm and firm beneath mine. His body is all strength and quiet steadiness.
How did I not notice the effortless way he makes me feel small and protected all at once?
As if nothing outside this bed could harm me.
And, God, the man smells delicious. Like soap and something I can’t name but instantly recognize as him. I should move before he wakes up and realizes I’ve practically crawled on top of him.
Before I forget that this isn’t real.
Instead, I remain motionless. The heat radiating off him feels way too good.
He feels way too good.
And even more than that, I don’t want to.
After years of keeping my guard up, I’m not seconds away from falling apart. I feel safe.
The kind of safe I didn’t even know I’d been craving. The kind that makes me ache because I’d forgotten it was even possible.
Zane never made me feel like this.
Not even when things were good.
Or when I tried to convince myself he loved me.
And now River is doing it without even trying. He calms the storm that rages inside me just by being himself. There haven’t been any grand gestures or sweeping declarations. There’s just been this quiet, unshakable presence that makes everything in me loosen.
I shift slightly, attempting to untangle the mess of thoughts crowding my head, all the while trying to convince myself I’m not already too far gone. That’s the moment I feel his thick erection beneath the covers, straining against the thin cotton of his boxer briefs.
My breath catches and my eyes fly open.
Oh.
Heat floods through me like lava.
I don’t move.
Or even think too hard.
If I do, I might not be able to stop myself from wondering what it would feel like if I reached out and touched him.
That’s all it takes for temptation to build low in my belly, until it’s impossible to ignore, simmering just beneath the surface and spreading warmth through every inch of me.
My fingers twitch as the need to touch him pulses through me with a force that’s impossible to shut down.
I really need to stop.
Or roll away and take some much-needed space, all the while reminding myself why this is a terrible idea.
Before I can list every reason I shouldn’t do this, my hand slowly moves.
A knot pulls tight within me. I haven’t even laid a hand on him yet and already I feel like I’m on the verge of exploding.
“You can touch me, Callie. I promise, I won’t mind one bit.”
His comment cuts through the silence, and my head jerks up so fast, I nearly give myself whiplash.
His eyes are open, and there’s nothing casual about the way he watches me. There’s no trace of uncertainty or doubt. Just steady, unflinching hunger.
I should stop before the situation spirals further out of control.
Instead, I throw back the covers. My hand trembles as I reach for him, pressing my palm against the front of his briefs and wrapping my fingers around his hard length.
His hips twitch as a sharp inhale hisses through his teeth.
His muscles tighten beneath my touch, as if he’s holding himself together by a thread.
Need rolls off him in heavy, suffocating waves.
It’s almost shocking just how much I want this.
Not just the physical part, but the way he looks at me like I’m something he never thought he could have.
Something worth waiting for.
It doesn’t take long before the cotton beneath my hand dampens with moisture.
A low groan rumbles from him, and I swear it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
His restraint, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands stay clenched at his sides, it all makes my pulse skitter.
He’s allowing me to set the pace and giving me the space to choose.
And that choice is its own kind of power.
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “How long has it been for you?”
Almost immediately, I regret the question.
If he says something careless, something that breaks the fragile connection forming between us, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from pulling back and rebuilding every wall I’ve allowed him to pull down.
I brace for his answer.
He doesn’t look away or even blink. “Three years.”
My eyebrows pull together. “Seriously?”
He nods.
I search his face for a tell, any hint he’s lying. “I don’t believe you.”
One side of his mouth lifts into something that’s not quite a smile. “It’s true. I got tired of hookups that didn’t mean anything.” His voice dips, turning rough around the edges. “Plus, it didn’t help that the woman I wanted was with someone else.”
I don’t ask who he’s talking about because I already know.
That’s all it takes for the sexual tension between us to ratchet higher, the silence growing so heavy it presses in until the rest of the world slips away into nothingness.
There’s just River.
And me.
Along with the attraction that pulls us together with a force I don’t fully understand.
“No matter how many times I tried to pretend with other women,” he says quietly, “they just weren’t her. Not even close.”
My fingers still as the words hit hard.
They’re too much.
Too honest.
Too real.
And some stubborn instinct tells me to turn away, to shield myself before I get pulled in any deeper.
No matter how much I try to deny it, a piece of me still aches to believe him. To trust that this is different. That what’s happening between us isn’t another mistake I’ll regret down the road.
The hardest thing is how real it feels. Like a truth that burrows deep and settles into my bones.
Still, I know better than to fall for pretty promises that never come to fruition.
Instead of pulling away, I move slowly, watching the way his body reacts to my touch. The tension in his jaw. The way his chest rises faster, breath quickening, hips twitching beneath my hand, as if he’s fighting every instinct not to lose control.
His head falls back against the pillow as his eyes squeeze shut. “Callie…” My name comes out sounding more like a rough warning. “I won’t last long if you keep that up.”
There’s no way I can stop.
Not when I’m the one in control and making him come undone.
The significance of what’s about to happen pools low in my stomach.
This isn’t just about giving back what he gave me last night.
It’s about the knowledge that I can affect him so easily.
That I can be the one to pull him apart when he’s always so composed.
The realization is intoxicating. It makes me feel powerful, wanted, and achingly alive in a way I’ve never experienced.
His fist tightens in the sheets, knuckles turning bone-white, while his other hand wraps around my wrist. The hold isn’t rough or meant to stop me. It’s steady. Like he needs that point of contact to keep himself tethered to the earth.
“I mean it,” he grits out. “I’m gonna come. And that’s not something I was planning on.”
The warning sends my pulse racing as my thighs press together in sharp anticipation. My steady grip tightens around him. “Good. I want to watch you fall apart.”
The low sound he makes is like a groan of surrender, and it rips straight through me. His hips jerk once, twice, before finding a desperate rhythm, thrusting into my hand like he can’t help himself anymore. The muscles in his stomach flex under my gaze, each hard line shifting.
He’s completely at my mercy now.
Every rough, erratic thrust pushes him closer, the tension winding tight through his body until it finally snaps. With his head tipped back, a hoarse curse rips from his mouth as heat spills, hot and thick, into my palm, soaking through the thin cotton of his briefs.
Even when the waves of his release ebb, his chest continues to rise and fall in jagged pulls as sweat beads his temples.
My fingers stay wrapped around him, easing the pressure as my strokes turn slow and coaxing.
My thumb traces lazy, feather-light sweeps over the damp fabric, feeling every twitch and aftershock.
His lashes flutter and his mouth relaxes as I continue touching him.
In the quiet that follows, with his body loose under my hand and his control stripped away, I realize this moment isn’t just about his surrender.
It’s about mine too.
When his eyes finally open, they’re darker than before, and yet, somehow softer. “Holy shit. That was intense.”
The air between us shifts. Not just from what we did but how it felt. Something deeper settles in, something I’m not sure I’m ready for.
He catches my wrist before I can pull away, his fingers wrapping gently around it. Then he slowly lifts my hand and presses a kiss to the inside, right over my pulse. It’s unbearably tender. And, somehow, it unravels me more than anything else.
“I hope you realize that wasn’t just about getting off,” he says, gaze fastened to mine. “It meant something.”
The crazy part is that I feel it too.
But the words refuse to come.
They sit in the back of my throat, too tangled in fear to push forward. I don’t know how to say them without risking everything.
Instead, I force a small smile. It’s weak and doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
“You should probably clean up.” I’m already pulling back the covers, needing to put some space between us. My feet hit the floor, and I cross the room on shaky legs, heart thudding so loud it drowns out everything but the sound of my own fear.
Because he’s right.
It did mean something.