27. Sienna
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sienna
Every goodbye leads to a hello
10:28 PM
The rooftop terrace is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city below. String lights zigzag overhead. Their warm glow casts soft shadows across the chic lounge chairs and low tables.
A light breeze dances across my skin, carrying with it the faint scent of spring—fresh and cool, with just a hint of the city’s edge. But it’s the view that steals my breath.
The skyline stretches out endlessly, glittering and alive, every building lit like it’s competing for attention. I step toward the railing, my fingers brushing the cool metal as I lean forward. "Callum," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. "This is amazing."
He steps closer, the sound of his boots is soft against the terrace’s stone floor. "Told you," he says, his voice low and warm. "Best spot in the city. Next time, let's get a bottle of wine and come up here. I can't believe we are the only ones taking advantage of it."
I glance back at him, and for a moment, it feels like the world tilts. The city lights blur in my peripheral vision, leaving only him—Callum, standing there like he owns the night, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that steals my breath.
It’s not just the way he looks, though that’s enough to make my pulse trip. It’s the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing he sees. He takes my hand and leads me over to the far corner, partly shielded by the smokestack exhaust of the building.
He stands at the edge, looking out at the city with his hands in his pockets. His dark hair catches the soft light from above and his jawline is sharper than it has any right to be. He looks so at ease. It’s almost as if he belongs here. But when his eyes meet mine, there’s nothing casual about the way he’s watching me.
"It’s perfect," I say, turning back to the view, my fingers tightening on the railing. "But you didn’t bring me up here for the view, did you?"
His low laugh sends a shiver down my spine. "Busted."
I glance at him over my shoulder, arching a brow. "You like showing off, don’t you?"
He grins, stepping closer until he’s standing beside me, his arm brushing against mine. "What can I say? I'm a performer."
I laugh softly, shaking my head. "I'm not mad about it."
I look up at him, my chest tightening as his gaze locks on mine. The air between us shifts, growing heavier, charged. He leans in slightly, his hand brushing against mine on the railing, and my breath catches.
"Callum," I whisper, my voice trembling just enough to convey my desires for him.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, his face close enough now that I can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his lips curve into the faintest smile.
"Thank you," I say, my voice soft but steady. "For telling me. For trusting me."
His smile fades, replaced by something deeper, more serious. "I always wanted you to know. Thanks for giving me a second chance to tell you."
His words land with a gravity that roots me in place, stealing any response I might have had. His hand shifts and his fingers brush against mine. I'm toast. The warmth of his touch pulls me in.
He leans down, brushing his lips against mine in the softest kiss. It's tentative and slow while also being hungry and rough. When I tilt my head, giving him more, it deepens instantly.
His hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me against him, and I melt into his warmth, my fingers curling into his shirt.
The kiss grows hungrier and more urgent, and when his tongue brushes against mine, a low sound escapes my throat.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes, and the heat in his gaze sends a shiver racing down my spine.
"Sienna," he murmurs, his voice rough with need.
I shake my head, pressing my lips to his again. "Don’t stop."
His hand slips under my shirt, his fingers skimming the bare skin of my back, and I gasp against his mouth. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his other hand tangling in my hair. The cool air brushes against my flushed skin, but all I feel is him—his heat, his strength, the way his body fits against mine like it was made for this.
The railing presses into my back as Calum leans into me, his hands exploring, claiming. My own hands slide under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he lets it fall to the ground without a second thought. His lips trail down my jaw to my neck, leaving a hot, tingling path in their wake, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes me.
"Callum," I breathe, my fingers slipping under his shirt, desperate to feel his skin.
"Say it again," he murmurs against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.
"Callum," I call out, my voice trembling with need.
I lean against the railing, the city lights of SoHo stretching out before me like a glittering carpet. Callum moves behind me, his hands sliding up my thighs and under my long skirt. I shiver as the cool night air hits my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against my back.
"God, you're so fucking hot," he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck.
I feel his fingers hook into the sides of my panties, pulling them to the side with a rough urgency that makes my breath catch. The thrill of being exposed like this, high above the city, sends a jolt of excitement through me.
"Callum," I whisper, my voice trembling with need. "Please take me."
His hand slides between my legs, and I gasp at the contact. "So wet for me already," he growls, his fingers exploring, teasing.
I grip the railing tighter, my knuckles turning white as I fight to keep my composure. But it's a losing battle. Every touch, every slide of his fingers is sending sparks of pleasure through my body.
"Tell me what you want, Sienna," Callum demands, his voice low and husky in my ear.
"You," I moan, pushing back against him. "I want you inside me. Now."
I hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of his zipper, and then he's there, pressing against me. I bend over slightly and he enters me in one swift, hard thrust. I cry out, the sound echoing across the rooftop.
"Fuck," Callum grunts, his hands gripping my hips tightly. "You’re so tight, so wet."
He starts to move, each thrust deep and forceful. I brace myself against the railing, my eyes fluttering closed as I lose myself in the sensation. The cool metal under my hands, the warm spring air on my skin, the heat of Callum behind me. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
"Look," Callum says, one hand leaving my hip to tangle in my hair, gently but firmly turning my head. "Look at the city while you come."
I open my eyes, taking in the glittering expanse of SoHo below us. The knowledge that we're out here, exposed, with the entire city spread out before us, sends a thrill of excitement through me.
"That's it," Callum encourages, his pace increasing. "You like this, don't you? Being taken like this, where anyone could see?"
"Yes," I moan, my voice breathy and desperate. "God, yes."
His hand slides around to the front of my body, finding my clit with unerring accuracy. I buck against him as he starts to rub in tight, fast circles.
"Come for me, Sienna," he commands. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
His words, combined with the relentless stimulation, push me over the edge. I come hard, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over me. I bite my lip to muffle my cries, all too aware of our exposed position.
But Callum doesn't slow down. If anything, my orgasm seems to spur him on. He pounds into me harder, faster, his grip on my hip almost bruising in its intensity.
"Again," he growls. "I want to feel you come again."
I didn't think it was possible, but I can feel the tension building in me once more. Every thrust hits just the right spot, and his fingers on my clit are relentless.
"Callum," I gasp, "I'm close. I'm so close."
"That's it, baby," he encourages. "Let go. I've got you."
My second orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, even more intense than the first. I cry out, not caring who might hear. Callum follows right after, his hips slamming against mine as he comes with a deep, guttural groan.
We stand there for a moment, both of us panting heavily. I can feel Callum's heart racing against my back, his breath hot on my neck.
Suddenly, the sound of a door opening startles us both. I stand up and let my skirt fall while Callum tucks himself and zips up. We turn to see a man in a suit step out onto the terrace about a hundred feet away. For a moment, we all freeze, staring at each other in shock.
Then Callum starts to laugh, the sound low and rich. I can't help but join in, the absurdity of the situation hitting me. We quickly adjust our clothing, gathering ourselves as best we can.
"I think that's our cue to leave," Callum whispers in my ear, his hand finding mine.
I nod, still stifling my giggles as we hurry past the stunned man and back towards the elevator.
"Your room?" I ask as the doors close behind us.
Callum grins, pulling me close for a searing kiss. "Definitely. We're just getting started."
Friday, April 4
Trinity Preparatory School
109 Nassau Street, TriBeCa
9:53 AM
The reception area of this country club fronting as a preparatory school in Tribeca is quiet, save for the muted hum of conversation behind the glass doors that lead to the headmaster’s office. These offices are nicer than any place I’ve ever worked, not to mention any school she’s ever attended.
The floors are polished to a mirror-like shine, and the walls are lined with framed photographs of alumni, some of them famous faces. I adjust my bag on my shoulder and my fingers tighten around the strap as the receptionist gestures for me to enter.
The office is just as pristine. Dark wood paneling, a leather chair that looks more like a throne, and bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes that are probably decorative. Headmaster Gregson sits behind his massive desk, his smile sharp and practiced.
"Ms. Walker," he says, standing to shake my hand. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."
"Thank you," I reply, my voice steady despite the nerves coiled tight in my chest. I glance behind me as Marcus steps in, his presence heavy and unwelcome.
"Marcus," Gregson says, his smile tightening just slightly. "I wasn’t expecting you."
Marcus gives him one of his polished grins, the kind that always makes my stomach twist. "I wanted to be here for this discussion. Ollie’s education is very important to me."
Gregson gestures for us to sit, and I lower myself into the chair, my back straight and stiff. Marcus settles beside me, radiating smugness as he folds his hands neatly on the desk.
"Thank you for submitting an application for your son, Oliver," Gregson begins. His tone is polite but formal.
"Yes," Marcus says smoothly. "I’m pleased to hear he’s been accepted. Trinity Prep is one of the best schools in the city and it's an honor our son has been considered."
"Wait," I say, my voice sharp enough to draw both their attention. "Accepted? I wasn't aware. When would we have gotten the letter?"
Marcus glances at me, feigning innocence. "Remember, I told you I was putting in the application. I must have forgotten to mention when I got the letter last week."
I'm sure he forgot to mention it. We don't talk anymore except through our attorneys is more like it.
I think Gregson is sensing the tension between us and jumps in. "The application was submitted at the end of February, just before the application deadline. It turned out we had one spot for first grade next year perfect for a high-caliber student such as your son."
My jaw tightens, and I glare at Marcus before turning back to Gregson. "I wasn’t aware. No one consulted me. This isn't something I have fully looked into. He is very happy at his school in Brooklyn."
Gregson hesitates, his eyes flicking between us. "Typically, we require signatures from both parents for enrollment. However, given the timeline and Mr. Walker’s enthusiasm?—"
"He doesn’t make decisions unilaterally," I interrupt, my tone colder than I intended. "I'm sorry if we wasted your time, but I thought this was an exploration meeting."
"Of course," Gregson says quickly, leaning back in his chair. "We’re happy to provide more time for discussion. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t say that Trinity Prep would be an excellent fit for Ollie. Our arts programs, in particular, are number one in the state."
"That’s interesting," I say, my voice tight. "Because Ollie’s doing great where he is. He loves his teachers, his friends, and his music lessons."
Marcus clears his throat, the sound pointed. "I think we can all agree that Trinity Prep offers more structure and opportunities for advancement."
"It’s not just about opportunities," I snap, turning to him. "It’s about what’s right for Ollie. And this—springing an application on me without even talking to me—isn’t it."
Gregson shifts uncomfortably, clearly regretting inviting both of us into the same room. "Perhaps we can schedule a follow-up meeting once you’ve had a chance to discuss things further. I have an opening next week."
I nod stiffly, standing. "Thank you. I’ll be in touch."
Marcus rises beside me, his smile still in place. "Thank you for your time, Headmaster."
As we step into the hallway, I whirl on Marcus, my voice low and sharp. "You had no right to do that."
He shrugs, his expression smug. "I’m doing what’s best for my son."
"Your son?" I repeat, my voice rising. "What’s best for him is not yanking him out of a school he loves just to satisfy whatever this is about."
Marcus’s smile falters, if only for a second, before he smooths it over. "He’ll adapt. Children are resilient."
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "You had no right to make this decision without me. You can’t just enroll him behind my back and expect me to fall in line."
Marcus doesn’t even flinch, his expression calm and infuriatingly smug. "I made the decision because you’re not thinking about what’s best for him. Trinity can foster his talents in ways his current school never could. You heard Gregson—he specifically mentioned the arts programs."
I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. "Oh, so now you care about his arts interests? Since when have you supported anything Ollie actually loves?"
"I thought going to a school that’s top in the arts department would make you happy," he barks sharply, his smile fading just slightly. "I guess nothing will make you happy because you're miserable."
"I was only miserable with you, Marcus," I fire back. "I am glad to know you're taking an interest in his creativity and love for music. Maybe channel all of that energy you're using to try to throw a wrench into everyone's lives and foster that, instead.”
Marcus’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to argue. But then he shakes his head, brushing it off. "It’s just a phase. Every kid goes through things like that. Next week it will be football and the week after that it will be math club. That is why a school like Trinity Prep is where he should be."
"It’s not a phase," I snap, my voice rising despite myself. "It’s who he is. But I'm done arguing with you. I won't be pushed into making this decision right here and now. I'll look it over and give my thoughts through our attorney."
Marcus takes a step closer, his voice dropping into something colder, sharper. "If you’re not willing to do what’s best for him, then I will."
"More idle threats. Get out of my face."
For a moment, we just stand there, locked in a silent standoff. Then he straightens, adjusting the lapels of his suit.
I glare at him, determined not to show any weakness. My hands shake with the effort it's taking to hold my ground. "You don’t scare me, Marcus. And you sure as hell won’t control me anymore."
I turn on my heel and walk away as my pulse hammers in my ears. As I push through the glass doors and step into the sunlight, I nearly lose it. Keep it together, Sienna, until you get to the car. Walk. Walk.