Chapter 15
Cate
I release the stays of my lace bodysuit, letting it drop to the floor. I scoot back onto the edge of the bed, needing the space from him, yet wanting his hands on my body already, lying to myself about how much I ache for him.
He surprised me earlier with his frank apology, the way he seemed to take in my words and my story without insisting on his own version.
At the orphanage, I could see how seriously he was absorbing the details, how the circumstances didn’t sit right with him.
It was easy to keep a wall up between us when this arrangement was about money and collecting information.
But it was a foreign feeling—to be heard, to be understood—and it did something to the armor guarding my heart.
I wanted him to reveal something damning, something that would make it okay for me to betray him, but Callum Reid never seems to do what I expect him to.
I watch him from the perch on my bed while the same kind of war flashes in his eyes. He wants me, but I can tell he doesn’t want to. I want him to touch me, and I know how dangerous that want will turn out to be. For both of us.
“Am I allowed to use my mouth?” Callum crosses the room slowly before crowding into my space; my legs part around him, my thighs settling around his hips.
My nipples tighten at the question. I push any hint of sentiment away and focus on the task before me. I can’t afford to let another chance slip through my fingers. “Hands and fingers only tonight.”
“Very well.”
Callum places his hand flat against my sternum, gently pressing me to lie back on the bed. I keep myself propped on my elbows so I can watch his ministrations. For educational purposes, of course.
I expect him to dive right in, but he takes his time.
His fingers trace the edge of my collarbone before trailing down the center of my chest, avoiding my breasts altogether.
His touch is as light as a feather over the plane of my belly, down one leg and up the other.
His eyes linger on my face, watching when my breaths quicken, when I hold back a gasp.
He notes the spots where his touch ripples through me and comes back to them again and again.
Finally he allows one hand to cup my breast. He doesn’t squeeze or knead it like many men are apt to do. Instead he works those nimble fingers, grazing the sensitive underside before focusing his attention on my nipples.
I can’t fight the gasp when he pinches one, rolling the bud between his fingers, using his free hand to provide the same delicious treatment to the other.
“Next time will you let me use my tongue, my lady?” His voice is hoarse, and a quick glance down lets me know he’s as aroused as I am.
“I would be a failure of a teacher if I didn’t show you how to please a woman with your mouth.” My hips buck at the thought of Callum’s head buried between my thighs.
“I can’t wait to taste you, Caterine.” He pinches my nipples, right on the border of too hard.
“You apparently don’t require any lessons on dirty talk,” I moan.
He doesn’t seem to really need these lessons at all. Yet I forget to question why we keep up the pretense when Callum’s hand skates down my stomach, cupping my sex with his large, hot palm.
“Sometimes you might need to provide lubrication if your partner isn’t aroused enough,” I warn, though I don’t see how that could ever be an issue for him or his partners. I’m well beyond damp and we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.
Callum paints a single finger through my center. “You seem to be plenty wet, my lady.”
I gasp at the touch, hips rising automatically, desperate for more contact.
“Touch me, Callum. Please.” I hate that I’m begging, but I also don’t care if I find the relief I need.
Today has been too full of emotions and I’m desperate for the physical release, the release I know only he can provide me.
Callum’s finger dances over my clit, moving exactly how I like it. He teases me, his touches light and fluttering. Gradually his strokes become firmer, circling the sensitive bud until my hips are thrusting.
He pulls his touch from me right as I’m about to topple over the edge. “Not yet,” he growls.
“I never expected you to be so demanding, Your Highness.”
“You bring out a different side of me, my lady.” He brings two fingers to his mouth.
I reach up and grasp them lightly. “May I?”
He hesitates for a long second before nodding his permission.
I take his two fingers in my mouth, careful not to smudge my scarlet lip paint, letting my tongue work over his skin.
His fingers are surprisingly calloused and I suck them until Callum’s blue eyes flutter shut, his own hips thrusting, looking for any measure of relief.
Releasing his fingers with a pop, I guide them into me, groaning at the fullness.
“Holy fuck,” Callum mutters, his cock twitching in his pants. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, Caterine. I’m aching for you.”
“Let me ease the ache, Callum. Please.” My hand drifts toward the button of his pants, the need to touch him burning through me, not a single thought of manipulating him in the aftermath in my mind. I want him, only him.
He presses my hand to his hardness as his fingers move inside me and we release matching moans. I stroke him once, then twice, before he captures my hand in his, linking our fingers and raising my arm over my head.
“Let me feel you come, my lady. Then you can do whatever you’d like to me.” His fingers continue to thrust inside me, curling around to find that perfect spot. His thumb massages my clit and the tension builds in my belly.
Callum is perched over me, and I want to pull his body down, pull him into me, see what those blue eyes look like when he reaches the pinnacle of pleasure, feel the fullness of him moving inside me. “Careful what you promise, Your Highness.”
“I’m always careful, my lady.” He lowers his head and mutters in my ear.
“I’ve been dreaming about you, Caterine.
Touching you, watching you fuck my fingers, burying my face between your thighs and never coming up for air.
How fucking gorgeous you look when you come for me.
” The room shimmers with the crimson truth of his lust for me.
“Callum—”
“How good my name sounds in your perfect mouth. Fuck, Caterine. I spend all day wanting you.” The air darkens, the crimson deepening to an almost black-edged lace, not thick enough for me to grasp, just enough to discern the truth. Nothing about his words is a lie. Callum wants me.
Just as much as I want him. The realization of our tightly wound connection is enough to push me right to the edge.
“Make me come, Callum.”
He pulls back, his eyes searching for mine, watching my face as my body tightens around his fingers, as I call out for him to give me more. As he obliges.
The release rips through me and my lungs inexplicably tighten for the briefest of moments.
For a second, I think Callum might find his own release with me.
But as soon as he works me through the orgasm, he puts space between our bodies—mine naked and his fully clothed.
This feels different from the other times he has run away.
Like he is forcing himself to give me the space to decide what happens next.
I sit up once I’ve regained my breath, reaching for him, needing him. He comes to me after just a second’s hesitation. I let my hand hover at the button of his pants. “Do you still want this?”
He leans into my touch and nods.
“Say the words, Callum.” I need to hear them, need him to show me this bit of himself, to trust me the way I’m coming to trust him.
“Touch me, Caterine.”
I kneel on the edge of the bed, bringing us to almost the same height. Running my fingers down the buttons of his shirt, I tug the bottom hem loose from his pants. After popping a couple of buttons free, he pulls the whole thing over his head.
I take my time drinking him in. The lean muscles of his chest, the ridges of his stomach, the trail of copper-colored hair leading into the waistband of his pants. My fingers follow the same path as my eyes, and he sucks in a breath at the light touch.
I press my lips to his chest, leaving behind a perfect crimson imprint. I mark him, a trail from his collarbone down to his stomach, the color fading as more of the paint is left behind on his skin.
He cups my chin in his hand and for a second I think he might kiss me. I think if he tried I would let him. “You’re beautiful,” he says instead.
I scoot closer to the edge of the mattress, my hand tracing his hard length through the cloth of his pants. “So are you.”