21. Freddie
Freddie
I don’t know if all Scottish men kiss this well, or if Callum McKinley is just a bloody anomaly.
His mouth is hot and sure against mine, and then he’s ducking lower, dragging open-mouthed kisses down the slope of my throat until he reaches the neckline of my dress.
The second his lips close around my nipple I make a noise that is, quite frankly, embarrassing.
He’s sucking—slow pulls that send sparks straight between my legs—and his tongue is doing something wicked and rhythmic that has my magic roaring up under my skin like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.
I’ve never felt it this vibrant, this…alive.
It pulses in time with every draw of his mouth.
“Off,” I pant out, my knuckles white in his hair.
Realizing I sound like a cavewoman who has lost the basic human capability of finishing a sentence, I try again. “Dress. Off.”
Honestly, it sounds no better. I’m two for two on monosyllabic grunts. Oh fucking well. I need his bare hands on my bare skin, right now, or I’m going to spontaneously combust.
Luckily for me, the detective is a remarkably good listener.
One hand stays cupped under my breast while the other slides around my back, finds the zipper, and yanks it down hard.
He lets go of my nipple that was in his mouth with a wet pop just long enough to peel the dress down my back.
I shimmy the rest of the way out and kick it somewhere.
I’m standing there in nothing but the black lace thong I wore under the dress, and the air in this half-renovated room is cool against my damp skin.
Callum’s dark eyes sweep over me, his gaze heavy and hot enough to leave physical burns. “No bra, huh?”
“My boobs don’t need a bra in that dress,” I manage to say, my breath coming in short, uneven hitches.
“Touché,” he smirks, his thumb tracing the curve of my hip before his gaze locks onto mine. “You’re fucking beautiful, Win.”
A lump instantly catches in my throat. I swallow hard over it, completely caught off guard by the sheer sincerity in his voice.
Before I can decide what to do with that emotional landmine, he’s already moving—one arm locking around my waist, the other sliding under my knee.
He stands in one smooth motion and takes me with him.
My legs wrap around his hips on instinct.
His mouth finds mine again like he can’t stand not kissing some part of me, and he walks us backward until my spine meets the cold glass of an old full-length mirror screwed to the wall.
Dust motes dance in the weak moonlight coming through the grimy windows.
I lock my arms around his shoulders and roll my hips against him. He makes a low, broken sound against my mouth. “Fuck, I—”
With one hand still firmly holding me up against the mirror, his other hand goes down to the button of his jeans, working it open.
He shoves them down over his muscular thighs and my eyes widen as I look down—the heavy bulge of his dick tenting the front of his dark briefs makes my mouth instantly go bone-dry. He’s fucking huge.
Both of his broad hands grip my thighs again, anchoring me securely against the glass. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling sharply against my skin.
“Are you sure about this, Win?” he murmurs against my collarbone. “Are you sure you want this?”
“I’m sure,” I whisper instantly.
I’ve never been more certain about anything in my entire life. I have never felt more sure about having sex with anyone. Callum makes me feel…safe. Grounded. Adored. I don’t know that I’ve ever actually felt adored by a man before, without any conditions or performance attached to it.
He pauses, his eyes searching my face. “I don’t have a condom on me. I can pull out if I need to—”
“No,” I cut him off, my cheeks burning with a hot flush. I sound completely desperate, but I don’t care. “No, I want you inside me. Completely.”
I lift one hand and point to the small, raised scar on the inside of my upper arm. “I’ve been on birth control for years. And I just got a full panel done two months ago—I’m completely clean.”
“I am too,” he says. His brow raises. “You’re sure?”
“Me too,” he says softly. He tilts his head, lifting one dark eyebrow. “You’re positive?”
I let out a breathless laugh, reaching out to capture his jaw, pressing a hard kiss to his lips. “If you ask me if I’m sure one more time, McKinley, I swear to God I’m hiding your knitting needles.”
Callum barks out a surprised laugh that echoes off the rafters. “Okay, that’s low. Even for you, Winifred.”
He doesn’t hesitate anymore. In one swift motion he hooks his fingers into the thin lace of my thong and rips it clean off, the fabric giving with a sharp tear that echoes in the quiet room.
Then he’s shoving his briefs down to his knees.
I gulp at the sight of him. He’s thick, heavy, and vein-mapped, surrounded by a dusting of rich auburn hair.
I shift my weight, grinding my core directly against the thick head of his cock, urging him to just get on with it and put it inside me.
Callum lets out a sharp hiss, blowing a harsh breath through his nose as his grip on my thighs tightens to steel. “I told you I was going to take my fucking time with you,” he grumbles, his voice gravelly. “What little of it we may have. And you’re going to be a good girl and let me.”
Before I can even formulate a sarcastic protest, his long, thick finger sinks straight inside me.
A loud gasp tears from my throat, my back arching off the mirror. He’s urgent and possessive, instantly finding a rhythm that makes my vision go hazy. He presses his lips to the side of my neck, sucking softly against my pulse point as his finger glides in and out.
“Look at that,” he whispers huskily against my skin, his thumb finding my sensitive clit and rubbing a slow circle. “You’re already so fucking wet for me, Win.”
I gasp, my fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders as a second finger slips inside me.
The stretch makes my breath hitch sharply in my throat, a high, needy whimper breaking from my lips.
It’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone that I might as well have been re-virginized at this point.
Callum’s free hand slides down and grips my ass hard, his fingers digging in with a delicious sting. I know for a fact there’s going to be a handprint bruised into my skin tomorrow, and the thought of it makes my core throb around his fingers.
“I’m dying to come inside you, Win,” he rumbles against my jaw, his breath scalding hot.
“Fuck, I’m dying to. But I want to eat you out first. I need to taste you.
” He slows the drag of his fingers just enough to make me whine, his thumb pressing firmly against my clit.
“Can you be a good girl and ride my face for me?”
I let out another pathetic whimper, my head rolling back against the cool glass of the mirror as his fingers keep working inside me.
“I need to hear you say it, Win,” he rasps with command.
“Yes,” I pant, my knuckles white in his hair. “Yes, please, Callum.”
A slow, wicked smirk touches his lips against my throat. He shifts his weight, maneuvering me before he drops unceremoniously to his knees, hooking my knees over his broad shoulders and lifting my legs until I’m open to him completely.
He starts high, pressing a lick right to the middle of my stomach. My breath catches as he drags his tongue down, dipping into my belly button, before spreading my thighs wider over his shoulders.
He looks up at me, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I’ve been waiting all night to watch your body writhe under my mouth.”
He buries his face directly into my core.
The soft prickle of his mustache scrapes deliciously against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, making my hips jerk towards him.
Then his tongue finds me, flat and hot, licking a long, slow stripe straight up to my clit before taking it between his lips and sucking hard.
A loud, uninhibited cry tears from my throat. “Callum!”
My hands fly down, my fingers tangling tightly into his thick hair, instinctively pulling his head closer. He makes a low, approving sound and slides his hands under my ass, angling me exactly how he wants so he can fuck me with his tongue.
“That’s it,” he says between long, filthy strokes. “Let me hear you. Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined.”
He circles my clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucks hard enough that my vision whites out for a second. Two fingers push back inside me, crooking at an angle that has my thighs clamping around his head and my heels digging into his back.
“Callum, I’m—fuck, I’m going to—”
The wave hits me before I can even finish the sentence.
This orgasm hits differently than any other ever has.
It’s not the usual tight spiral and crash.
My magic surges up under my skin like it’s been waiting for this, and for a few seconds I feel like I’m floating, weightless, like my Resonance is rewarding me for finally letting go.
I come with a broken sound that echoes off the bare plaster walls.
Suddenly, a sharp hiss and a loud, violent crackle echo through the silent room. Callum freezes, his fingers still buried inside me, his head snapping toward the far wall.
Over in the stone hearth—where there hasn’t been a fire in probably fifty years—a roaring, golden flame has suddenly burst to life, crackling loudly and casting dancing amber light across the peeling wallpaper.
Callum looks back up at me, his breathing ragged, his mustache damp, his indigo eyes wide with awe. “Is that…your magic?”
I lie back against the mirror, panting heavily, my chest heaving as the aftershocks roll over my hips. “Yes,” I gasp out, a weak, breathless laugh escaping me. “Yeah, that’s…that’s me.”
Callum lets out a low laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at me like I just hung the moon. “You’re the best bloody thing I’ve ever tasted.”