Chapter 3 - Kelly #2
The lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely, plunging us into darkness.
"Crap," Callum mutters, and I hear him moving around. A moment later, the beam of his phone's flashlight cuts through the dark. "You have candles?"
"Kitchen drawer by the stove," I say, trying not to let my voice shake. I've been afraid of thunderstorms since I was a kid, and being trapped in the dark during one is pretty much my nightmare scenario.
Callum finds the candles and a lighter, setting several around the kitchen until there's enough light to see by. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, making everything feel intimate and otherworldly.
"Power's probably out for the whole street," Callum says, checking his phone. "Could be a few hours before it comes back on."
Another flash of lightning illuminates the windows, followed immediately by a crash of thunder that makes me jump. I can't help the small whimper that escapes.
Callum's attention snaps to me immediately. "Hey. Come here, sweetheart."
The endearment catches me off guard, but I don't question it. When he holds out his hand to me, I take it without hesitation.
He pulls me closer, until I'm standing between his legs where he's leaning against the kitchen counter. His hands settle on my waist, big and warm and reassuring.
"Better?" he asks, and his voice has dropped to that low, soothing tone.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Being this close to Callum is overwhelming in the best possible way. He smells like pine and rain and something masculine that makes me want to bury my face in his neck.
Lightning flashes again, and I can't help flinching. Callum's hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer until I'm pressed against his chest.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my hair. "You're safe with me. I won't let anything hurt you."
I am safe. Safer than I've felt in months, maybe years. There's something about Callum that makes me feel protected, cherished, like nothing bad could touch me as long as he's here.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I know it's stupid to be afraid of storms—"
"It's not stupid." His hand moves up to cup the back of my head, holding me against him. "Everyone's afraid of something. There's no shame in needing comfort, Kelly."
The acceptance in his words makes tears prick at my eyes. Derek used to mock my fears, call me childish for being scared of things he deemed irrational.
"I feel safe with you," I admit, the words muffled against his chest.
"Good. That's how you should feel." Callum's hand strokes through my hair slowly, rhythmically. "That's what I want. For you to feel safe and taken care of."
We stand there in the flickering candlelight, rain lashing against the windows and thunder rolling overhead, and I can feel the moment everything shifts between us. The air is charged with more than just electricity from the storm.
"Kelly," Callum says, and there's a warning in his voice. Like he's giving me one last chance to step away before we cross a line we can't uncross.
Instead of stepping away, I rise up on my toes and kiss him.
Callum goes completely still for a heartbeat, like he can't believe what's happening. Then his control snaps, and he's kissing me back with a hunger that takes my breath away. His hands move from my waist to cup my face, tilting my head exactly how he wants it so he can deepen the kiss.
I've been kissed before, obviously. But nothing in my experience has prepared me for this – for the way Callum takes complete control of the kiss, the way he tastes like coffee and something darker, the way his tongue strokes against mine with just the right amount of pressure to make me moan.
"Hell," he breathes against my lips, and the rough word sends electricity straight to my core. "Kelly, we can't."
"Why not?" I'm breathing hard, probably looking desperate, but I don't care. "I'm an adult, Callum. I can make my own decisions."
"Your brother—"
"Isn't here." I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. "And what Tyler doesn't know won't hurt him."
Callum's eyes go dark with want. I can see him wrestling with himself, trying to do the right thing even though we both know it's a losing battle.
"Please," I whisper, and something in Callum's expression shifts.
He spins us around so I'm the one pressed against the counter, then lifts me onto it like I weigh nothing.
The casual display of strength makes me gasp.
His mouth finds mine again, kissing me with a desperation that matches my own.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and the feeling of his hard body pressed against mine makes heat pool between my thighs.
"God, you're perfect," Callum murmurs against my throat, pressing hot kisses to my pulse point. "So perfect, baby."
His hands slide under my sweater, rough palms skimming over the soft skin of my ribs. When his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts through my bra, I arch into his touch with a whimper.
"Is this what you want?" he asks, pulling back to look at me. There's something commanding in his voice, like he needs to hear me say it.
"Yes," I breathe. "Please."
"Please what, sweetheart?" The question is gentle but expectant.
"Please touch me," I whisper. "Please take care of me."
"Good girl," he says, and the praise makes me dizzy with want. "Such a good girl, using your words for me."
His hands move higher, cupping my breasts through my bra, and I can't hold back the moan that escapes me. Everything about this feels right in a way that nothing with Derek ever did. Callum's touch is confident but gentle, demanding but caring, protective.
"We should go upstairs," I manage to say between kisses. "To your room."
Callum pulls back to look at me, and I can see the war playing out in his expression. Want versus propriety, desire versus responsibility.
"I want this," I say, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw. "I want you to take care of me."
That seems to be all the permission he needs. Callum lifts me down from the counter, then takes my hand and leads me upstairs, grabbing a candle on the way. His hand completely engulfs mine, and the size difference sends a thrill through me.
The guest room looks different in the flickering light – more intimate, more like a place where secrets are shared and boundaries dissolve.
Callum sets the candle on the nightstand, then turns to face me. For a moment, we just look at each other, the weight of what we're about to do settling between us.
"Come here, baby," Callum says softly, and I go to him without hesitation.
He kisses me again, slower this time, like we have all the time in the world.
Like he's savoring every second. His hands move to the hem of my sweater, pulling it over my head with careful movements, like I'm something delicate that might break.
His eyes move over my body like he's memorizing every detail, and the appreciation in his gaze makes me feel beautiful in a way I haven't in months.
"Gorgeous," he murmurs, running his hands over my bare shoulders. "Absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart."
Before I can answer, he's kissing me again, his mouth moving from my lips to my jaw to my throat. I let my head fall back, lost in the sensation of his lips on my skin.
"Tell me what you need," Callum says against my collarbone. "I want to take care of you. Want to make you feel good."
The words send a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool air. This is what I've been craving without even realizing it – someone who wants to take care of me, who gets pleasure from making sure I'm satisfied.
"I need you to touch me," I whisper. "I need you to make me feel safe. Make me forget everything except this."
"I can do that," Callum says, and there's a promise in his voice that makes my knees weak. "But I need you to trust me, okay? Can you do that for me, baby?"
"Yes," I breathe, and I mean it. I trust Callum in a way I never trusted Derek, trust him to know what I need even when I don't know myself.
"Good girl," Callum says, and the praise makes warmth bloom in my chest. "My good girl."
His hands move to the clasp of my bra, unhooking it with sure movements and sliding the straps down my arms until I'm bare from the waist up. The cool air makes my nipples tighten, and Callum's sharp intake of breath tells me he notices.
"Perfect," he murmurs, cupping my breasts in his large hands. The size difference is striking – his hands completely engulf me. His thumbs brush over my nipples, and I arch into his touch with a gasp. "So responsive. I bet you're sensitive everywhere, aren't you, sweetheart?"
I can't form words, can only nod as Callum continues his gentle exploration of my body. When he lowers his head to take one nipple into his mouth, I cry out, my hands fisting in his hair.
"That's it," he says against my skin. "Don't hold back those pretty sounds. I want to hear everything. Want to know exactly what makes my girl feel good."
He lavishes attention on my breasts until I'm trembling with need, then guides me backward toward the bed. I sit on the edge, looking up at him, and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.
"Lie back for me," Callum says, and it's not a request. "Arms above your head."
I do as he says, stretching my arms over my head and gripping the pillow. The position makes me feel exposed, vulnerable, and the way Callum looks at me – like he's going to devour me – makes warmth spread between my legs.
"Good girl," he says, running his hands from my wrists down to my ribs, mapping my body. "Such a good girl, following instructions. You like being told what to do, don't you, baby?"
"Yes," I whisper, surprised by how much I mean it.
"I thought so." There's satisfaction in his voice. "You've been waiting for someone to take charge. Someone who knows what you need."