Chapter 33 Callie
Callie
The elevator doors slide shut as Willow and her family take off for the night.
And just like that, it’s the two of us.
Willow’s hug still clings to me as her words echo louder in my head than they should.
“I love you with my brother. I hope you realize how much he does too.”
I tried to laugh it off.
To deny it.
But she only smiled like she knew a secret I didn’t.
Now, Nora’s asleep. The lights are low. And River’s watching me from across the room like he can read my every thought.
I move around the penthouse like I’ve forgotten how to be still. I straighten the throw pillows, stack a few books on the counter, and pick up one of Nora’s crayons from under the table, pretending I need to put it away.
The entire time, I feel his gaze and the quiet press of this moment.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I start to nod before stopping halfway, my head moving side to side. “I don’t know.”
He doesn’t push or crowd me with a demand for answers. He stays put, watching me like he’s willing to wait all night if that’s what it takes.
“I don’t know what this is,” I finally admit, my arms wrapping around myself, as if that might hold me together. “You and me. It’s not supposed to feel like I can finally breathe. It’s not supposed to be—” My voice falters, words slipping away.
“Real?” he offers, quieter now.
I blink, throat tight. “Yeah.”
He pushes off the kitchen island and crosses the room with slow, deliberate steps.
“That’s the problem,” I admit. “I’m not afraid of you. And maybe I should be.”
Instead of flinching from my honesty, his hand finds mine before lifting it to his chest and pressing my palm over the steady thud of his heart. “Do you feel that?” His gaze locks on mine. “That’s for you, Callie. Every single beat. All of it.”
I look up, searching his eyes for the truth. I’ve been wrong before. I don’t want to be wrong again.
When he leans in, I don’t hesitate. I meet him halfway, pulled by something that’s both invisible and undeniable.
Our lips brush, lightly at first.
They’re tentative, almost testing.
More of a quiet question suspended in the air.
My breath catches just before he answers with a deeper kiss, one that unfurls slowly, like he’s giving me time to decide, to lean in or pull back. His hand slides to the nape of my neck as his thumb brushes over my skin in a gentle caress. The silent message it conveys is unmistakable.
You’re safe here. Stay with me.
How can I not melt into him?
The kiss deepens, growing fuller, warmer, edged with the kind of aching tenderness that steals all the thoughts from my mind. My hands find the hem of his sweater, curling into the fabric, clinging like I might fall if I let go.
With a groan, he pulls back just enough to search my eyes, almost like he needs to be sure we’re on the same page.
He must find what he’s looking for because without a word, he lifts me into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist and my fingers tangle in the back of his hair as I press my lips to his again. This time with more certainty.
He carries me to the bedroom, his mouth never far from mine, each kiss fanning the slow-burning heat that coils deep inside me. Every stroke of his lips, every exhale between us, feels like a promise I didn’t know I needed.
I don’t feel unsure or scared or like I’m walking into something I’ll regret.
I feel desired and cherished in the best way possible.
Instead of fighting it, I let myself fall.
When he sets me down, there’s no rush. No greedy hands or frenzied movements. Just River as he undresses me with deliberate care. One piece at a time, as though every layer he removes isn’t just clothing but another barrier I’ve fought so hard to keep in place.
His fingers skim over the slope of my shoulder before ghosting along the dip of my waist and lingering along the inside of my thigh.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs over and over, like the words aren’t just for me, they’re for him too.
As if he can’t quite believe he gets to say them.
With each repetition, something inside me unravels. Maybe it’s the way he says it like it’s the undeniable truth, and not something up for debate. It doesn’t take long before I begin to believe it too.
His mouth finds places I thought had gone quiet forever, coaxing them back to life with a tenderness that feels both brand-new and achingly familiar.
The hollow just below my ear where his warm breath sends a shiver racing down my spine.
The curve of my hip. The back of my knee.
Each kiss is deliberate, a vow whispered against my skin.
He doesn’t move like a man who’s trying to prove something.
He moves like one who already knows. Like I’m not a body to be conquered but something to be cared for. Something worthy of tenderness.
Arousal pulses low and thick in my core, but it’s layered with something deeper. Something weighty and fragile and real.
I tug at the hem of his sweater, needing him just as bare as I am.
Just as vulnerable.
“This needs to come off.”
He pulls back enough for his gaze to search mine. “You think so?”
I nod. “Yes.”
I want this man naked so I can see all of him.
Every gorgeous inch.
More than that, I want to feel his skin against mine. The weight of him. His undeniable strength. The warmth that is so much more than mere body heat. What I’ve already seen is more than enough to make me ache.
But now?
I want all of him.
Everything he’s willing to give.
“All right.” He lifts the sweater over his head with a smirk. “If you’re so eager to see the goods, then that’s exactly what I’m going to give you. What my baby wants, my baby gets.”
My lips curve despite the fire in my veins.
His attention stays locked on me as he tosses the wadded-up material to the floor. A few seconds later, his T-shirt follows, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the subtle flex of muscle, the ink that winds along his skin like a story etched in permanence.
My gaze drifts to the tattoo on his ribs, Willow’s name woven into the design. After meeting her today and watching the way she played with Nora and looked at her brother like he hung the moon in the sky, it hits harder than expected.
That kind of love and bond…
What kind of man tattoos his sister’s name on his body?
A good one.
A loyal one.
The kind who makes you feel safe without even trying.
There’s the clink of metal as he unfastens his belt.
My stomach flutters in anticipation.
Why is that so damn sexy?
He slides the leather from the loops, the motion unhurried, almost teasing. When he drops the belt to the floor, the sound feels heavier than it should.
Final.
There’s the quiet rasp of fabric as he pops the button on his jeans and lowers the zipper. My gaze drops, lips parting when I see how hard he is beneath his boxer briefs. His erection strains against the cotton, sparking a rush of heat under my skin.
The denim catches on his muscular thighs before he shoves it down and steps free. With nothing but confidence and quiet intensity, he peels off his socks and finally, the boxers. The last barrier between us falls away, leaving him completely bare.
Unapologetically exposed.
River Thompson is seriously gorgeous.
Hard and thick. Sculpted like a work of art. He’s power and grace in perfect harmony. And the way he stands still, letting me take him in, tells me this moment is as vulnerable for him as it is for me.
I don’t realize I’ve spoken the words out loud until he says, “No, baby. You are.”
His tone melts something deep inside me.
“You’re the gorgeous one,” he murmurs, climbing onto the mattress. The bed dips beneath his weight, and the second he reaches me, our gazes find each other and cling. There’s nothing playful about his expression.
It’s heated and raw.
“All the nights I spent dreaming about you didn’t do you justice,” he says, lips brushing over mine.
It’s the kind of kiss that makes your heart ache. Then he deepens the caress until it becomes slow and searching. Our tongues meet and tangle. I moan into his mouth as he devours me like a man starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy his hunger.
When he finally pulls back, I’m trembling with the need to be claimed.
Even though he must sense my desperation, he doesn’t rush a single moment. His mouth drifts lower, kissing the underside of my jaw and then the delicate hollow of my throat. I don’t think about tipping my head back and baring my neck.
I just do it.
A silent offering.
He lingers there, bathing my pulse with open-mouthed kisses that make my skin prickle and my toes curl. His lips trail down to my collarbone as his hands glide over my body like he wants to take as much time as necessary to learn me.
When he palms my breasts, I arch into his hold, needing more. He cups me, his fingers teasing the sensitive peaks until they’re stiff and aching.
And when he finally takes me into his mouth, I feel everything.
Not just the arousal or heat, but the tenderness.
The worship.
I arch against him as he draws one tight bud into his mouth, sucking before pulling it deeper with a languid stroke of his tongue. Heat zips down my spine. My fingers slide into his hair, holding him in place.
A low groan breaks loose from him, and the sound vibrates against my skin before he releases me with a soft pop. His mouth trails to the other peak, and he lavishes it with just as much care. He licks and teases my body until I’m trembling beneath him.
And then he’s on the move and sliding lower.
Each kiss he plants is like a silent promise that this time will be different. That I am different. That I’m wanted, not just for how I look or what I can offer, but for every fragile part of me too.
By the time River settles between my thighs, I’m already shaking.
He pushes my legs wider, coaxing them open with hands that are equal parts strong and gentle. When his eyes lift to mine, the force of his gaze pins me in place. I feel seen in a way I never have been before.