Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
NADIA
Iwake up alone in Callum's bed.
Not the guest bed. His bed. The massive king in the playroom that smells like cedar and sex and something I'm not ready to name.
Afternoon light streams through the high windows, which means I slept for hours after he wrung me out like a dishrag and held me while I cried for reasons I still don't fully understand. My body feels loose in a way it hasn't in years. Muscles I didn't know I was clenching have finally released.
I stretch against the sheets and take inventory. Slight soreness in my shoulders from the restraints. Tender spot on my ass where he spanked me. A deep, satisfied ache between my thighs that pulses when I press my legs together.
I want more.
The thought arrives without shame, which surprises me. I expected to wake up embarrassed. Expected the daylight to bring regret and rationalization and all the defense mechanisms I usually deploy after showing someone too much of myself.
Instead I just feel hungry.
I find my clothes folded neatly on a chair near the door, which means Callum came back at some point while I was sleeping. The idea of him watching me, unconscious and vulnerable in his space, sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with cold.
The cabin smells like food when I emerge from the playroom. Real food, not the protein bars and airport sandwiches I've been surviving on. I follow my nose to the kitchen and find Callum standing at the stove, stirring something in a cast iron skillet.
He's changed into fresh jeans and a gray henley that stretches across his shoulders in ways that make my mouth water. His feet are bare, which feels strangely intimate. Like I'm seeing something private.
"You cook."
He glances over his shoulder, and the look he gives me is warm enough to melt snow. "You sound surprised."
"I assumed mountain men survived on jerky and whatever they killed with their bare hands."
"I save the bare handed killing for special occasions." He gestures toward the kitchen island. "Sit. This is almost ready."
I slide onto a barstool and watch him work. Confident, efficient movements. No wasted energy. He cooks the same way he does everything else, with complete control and focus.
"What are we having?"
"Frittata. Caramelized onions, goat cheese, fresh herbs from the greenhouse." He plates two generous portions and sets one in front of me. "Eat. You need fuel after this morning."
The first bite makes me groan out loud. "Holy shit."
"Good?"
"This is incredible. Where did you learn to cook like this?"
"Necessity." He settles onto the stool beside me with his own plate. "Four boys, no parents, limited budget. We learned to make good food out of whatever we had, or we ate a lot of ramen."
"Your brothers cook too?"
"Declan's the best. He could've been a chef if he hadn't fallen in love with chainsaws." Callum takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Flynn burns water. Ronan's decent but he gets distracted and forgets he has things in the oven."
I try to picture it. Four orphaned brothers learning to take care of each other, building a life out of tragedy.
It explains things about Callum that I couldn't quite place before.
The caretaking instinct. The need for control.
The way he held me like keeping people safe was programmed into his bones.
"The snow's tapering off." He nods toward the window. "I'll plow the driveway this afternoon. If the county clears the main road by tomorrow morning, we can make the wedding with time to spare."
"And tonight?"
"Tonight we're still stuck here." His gaze holds mine. "Unless you'd rather I drive you down to the B&B once the roads are passable."
The question underneath his words aren’t lost on me. Do you want to stay? Do you want more of what we started?
"I don't want to go to the B&B."
"What do you want?"
I set down my fork. "I want you to finish what you started this morning."
"I did finish. You came so hard you cried."
Heat floods my face. "You know what I mean."
"I want to hear you say it."
God, he's relentless. Demanding. Infuriating in the best possible way.
"I want you to fuck me." The words come out steadier than I expected. "I want to know what it feels like when you stop holding back."
Callum's expression doesn't change, but I see the way his grip tightens on his fork. The way his jaw flexes.
"You think I was holding back?"
"I think you gave me exactly what I could handle this morning. Entry level. Training wheels." I lean closer, letting him see the challenge in my eyes. "I'm a fast learner, Callum. And I want the advanced class."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he stands, taking his plate to the sink before looking back at mine that is only half finished.
"Eat the rest of your food."
"I'm not hungry anymore."
"I don't care. You need the calories for what I have planned." He rinses the dishes without looking at me. "Finish eating. Take a shower. Meet me in the playroom in one hour."
My stomach flips. "One hour?"
"I have preparations to make."
He walks out of the kitchen before I can respond, leaving me staring at his retreating back with my heart hammering and my thighs already pressing together.
One hour. Sixty minutes to eat and shower and work myself into a frenzy of anticipation.
The man knows exactly what he's doing.
I finish the frittata because he told me to and because my body apparently responds to his commands even when he's not in the room.
The shower in the guest bathroom has excellent water pressure and I take my time, washing away the remnants of this morning and trying not to touch myself even though the temptation is overwhelming.
He didn't say I couldn't. But he also didn't say I could. And something tells me he'll know if I cheat.
I dry off and stare at my reflection in the steam-fogged mirror. My skin is flushed, my eyes bright with anticipation. I look like a woman about to do something reckless.
I look like a woman who can't wait.
The hour passes in agonizing slow motion. I check my phone and find messages from Yasmine, passive aggressive updates about the rehearsal dinner I'm missing. Mom wanting to know about my mystery date. Dad sending another photo, this time of him and his girlfriend at some scenic overlook.
I respond to none of them. My mind is elsewhere. Downstairs. In a room with burgundy walls and a man who sees right through me.
When I finally descend the stairs, my legs are trembling. I'm wearing nothing but a silk robe I found in the guest closet, figuring he's just going to take off whatever I put on anyway.
The playroom door is open. Warm light spills into the hallway, and I can hear something soft playing. Jazz, maybe. Low and sultry.
I step inside and lose my breath.
The room has been transformed. Candles everywhere, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The bed has been made with fresh dark sheets. And on the padded bench where he bent me over this morning, an array of items has been laid out with careful precision.
Rope in three different colors. A blindfold in black silk. A leather paddle that makes my pussy clench just looking at it.
Callum stands in the center of the room, shirtless now, wearing only those low slung jeans. His chest is broad and scarred in places, a roadmap of a life spent working with his hands and his body.
"Close the door."
I obey without thinking.
"Come here."
I walk to him on unsteady legs, stopping when we're inches apart. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his.
"What's your safe word?"
"Red."
"And if you need me to slow down?"
"Yellow."
"Good." His thumb traces my lower lip. "Tonight I'm going to push you harder than this morning.
I'm going to blindfold you so you can't anticipate what's coming.
I'm going to use my hands and my mouth and that paddle on you until you're begging.
And then I'm going to fuck you until neither of us can think straight. "
My breath shudders out. "Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, sir."
His smile is dark with promise. "Take off the robe."
I untie the sash and let the silk slide off my shoulders, pooling at my feet. His gaze travels down my body with open appreciation, lingering on my breasts, my hips, the wetness I can already feel gathering between my thighs.
"You're trembling."
"I'm nervous."
"Nervous isn't the same as scared. Are you scared?"
I consider the question honestly. "No. I'm excited. The nervous and the excited feel the same in my body."
"That's adrenaline. Your system preparing for something intense." He picks up the blindfold. "This is going to make it more intense. Take away your sight, and everything else gets sharper. Touch, sound, sensation. You won't be able to predict what's coming next."
"I usually need to predict what's coming next."
"I know. That's why we're taking it away." He steps behind me and settles the blindfold over my eyes. "Tell me your color."
Darkness. Complete and soft and terrifying in the best way.
"Green."
His hands settle on my shoulders, warm and grounding. Then they slide down my arms, raising goosebumps in their wake. I feel him circle me slowly, the heat of his body appearing and disappearing as he moves.
"You're so responsive." His voice comes from somewhere to my left. "Every nerve on alert, trying to figure out where I am."
I turn toward the sound, and he laughs softly.
"Stop trying to anticipate. That's not your job tonight." His breath ghosts across the back of my neck. "Your job is to feel. To take what I give you. To trust that I know exactly what you need."
Something soft trails down my spine. The rope, maybe, dragged featherlight across my skin. I shiver and resist the urge to turn around.
"Hands in front of you."
I extend my arms, and he binds my wrists with practiced efficiency. The rope is different from this morning, rougher and thicker, leaving me more aware of every point of contact.
"Walk forward. Three steps."