17. Callum #4
And when she relaxes her chin, letting it hang low, like she can’t be bothered fighting against the earth’s pull on her, I struggle maintaining a slow pace. I stop moving my hand entirely, trying to take a break, calming myself down, so I don’t go too fast.
“You can,” she says breathlessly.
My voice is hoarse. “Can what?”
“Go faster, more intense, if you want.”
Another thread of restraint snaps inside me, and I squeeze her breast in my hand.
“Callum. My leggings.”
Her sense of urgency matches mine, and she lies flat on her back. I stroke down the middle seam of her leggings, the fabric already damp. Pressing my fingertips against her, I draw back to look at my hand before bringing it back between her legs. “How long have you been wet like this?”
“When we… When you were talking about doing this to me, walking me through it, I started to get wet, and it’s so… It’s so fucking good.”
Her voice melts away into the dark, along with the last of my composure. I delve into her leggings, feeling trimmed, short hair before finding her drenched, hot clit. One touch, and my own need feels electric. It has nothing to do with my being out of practice and everything to do with Peyton.
I dip two fingers inside her, coating them in her arousal, before bringing them back to her clit. She moans as I rub in small circles.
“Callum. I… Lower. To the right. Lower. Yes, oh my God. Right there,” she whimpers.
“The sounds you make, Pey.” My cock hurts, throbbing with desperation behind the zipper of my jeans. “They’re killing me.”
“Just like that. Don’t stop,” she begs.
I don’t move an inch, doing the exact thing she asked, touching her in that same spot, rubbing over and over and over again.
Her thighs start to shake, and she closes her eyes. “I’m going to… I’m coming.”
“Fuck,” I grit out, trying to contain my own need and failing miserably. Come spills into my jeans, the rush of pleasure quickly followed by a wave of relief.
“Callum, you can’t… It’s too much… You have to stop, or I’ll...” Peyton says breathlessly.
The word “stop” pulls me out of my head, and I realize I’m still rubbing her clit.
The heat I feel in my stomach creeps up toward my cheeks, and I yank my hand from her leggings. “Sorry.”
“No, no. It’s too good. I don’t want a second one right now, though. I’m still coming down from the first,” she says softly.
“Oh. So it was…”
Peyton releases a happy, satiated sigh. “It was.”
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur. “You’re so beautiful when you come.”
The shy duck of her head tells me she’s blushing in the dim light of the lantern. She props herself up on her elbow, facing me. “But you…? Do you need…”
“I, uh, came, too.”
“You came?”
“Yeah.”
Peyton smirks. “Bet you’re regretting wearing hard pants right now.”
I groan and grab a clean cloth napkin from the picnic basket, wiping into my jeans as best as I can before nudging her backward. “Lie down with me.”
She snuggles closer, and I reach around her to rub her back in lazy circles. Then, I run my fingers through her hair, idly twirling the ends.
“How are we feeling, Pey?”
“We’re feeling perfect. I’ve never felt better, actually.”
The surroundings seem to come back into focus when we both look at the screen. I’m shocked to find we’re already near the end of the movie. Harry’s giving his big speech to Sally at the New Year’s Eve party, and the countdown begins.
Even though we’re in the back of the field, away from the other cars, we hear distant voices counting down with the movie.
Peyton whirls her head toward me. “Fun fact: I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. Even I’ve had a few New Year’s kisses.”
She glares at me with mock outrage. “Who was the first? How old were you? Where? What’s her social media handle? Am I prettier and smarter than her? Do you know her favorite flower?”
The countdown hits zero, and some of the movie-goers cheer. Auld Lang Syne sings through the lot, and I face my girlfriend.
“Kelly McMann, her parents’ basement, twelve years old. I don’t have social media, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m almost certain you’re smarter than a seventh grader. No clue what her favorite flower is, gotta be honest.”
“I guess that’s fine.” She scrunches her nose. “Damn. The countdown’s over. I missed my chance.”
“Nah, real New Year’s Eve is coming up soon enough. I’ll take care of it then.”
Peyton tilts her chin up. “I’ll still take a kiss now, though, if that’s okay.”
My heart leaps as her mouth covers mine. I gently suck on her bottom lip, then release it to ask, “What’s your favorite flower?”
Her eyes are still closed. “Hm?”
Lightly brushing my thumb up and down the column of her throat, I say, “I want to know your favorite flower.”
“I’m not really into flowers, to be honest. They die so fast, and I barely get to enjoy them. I’m a plant girl. Succulents, herbs, indoor house plants, doesn’t matter. I even have a little patio off my apartment for some sunlight.”
Another detail about her gets tucked away while I tenderly trace the line from the corner of her lip to the top of her cheekbone. “Can I run into you again?”
“When?” she asks coyly.
“How does tomorrow sound?”