16. Callum
Callum
“Color! What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams.” — Paul Gauguin
T he look of pure horror on Sophie’s face when she was talking about the coral color after I just shared a piece of information I never allow to see the light of day made me lose it.
I was a hair-length from falling into that dark ocean, because that’s what happens every time I bring them up. I was ready for it. I braced for it when she comes out with “My favorite is orange but not coral” and goes on and on about it.
God, where did this girl come from?
When was the last time I laughed like this? I honestly can’t remember. It must be years—many, many years. But just like that, with one simple sentence, she snaps me back into the realm of living .
And I have a feeling this little menace knew exactly what she was doing. I saw it in her eyes, she felt what I felt. Somehow, she knew I wasn’t willing to go there and didn’t push me. Hell, I’m surprised I said as much as I did, but for some reason I wanted her to know.
Or rather, I trusted her to know, and she not only kept that trust, she gave me more. My fake wife doesn’t even realize what she just did.
“Callum Clover Lovinski! Are you laughing at me?” Sophie asks with those comically wide eyes.
I rub a hand over my face, trying to calm myself from this laughing fit and barely manage it.
“Where is all this hate for coral color coming from? I think it’s a perfectly nice one,” I tell her, rolling my lips to help with the expression, but when her jaw drops theatrically, I lose the battle and another burst of laughter escapes me.
“Take that back!” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at me.
“No—ouch,” I yelp when she smacks me with a pillow. “Coral did nothing wrong to me—ouch!”
Sophie smacks me again, and I can’t stop laughing.
“It offended your wife in another life. So now, it’s your enemy number one as well.” She keeps plowing me with that pillow with every word, and I’m at a point of wheezing as my body slides off the couch and to the floor.
Sophie doesn’t waste a second, climbing on top of me until her all-too-serious face is right in front of mine. “Say it,” she demands, her short hair falling over as like a curtain.
I’m about to burst into another fit of laughs when the little menace pinches and twists my nipple through my shirt, making me nearly jump off the floor.
“Dear God!” I squeal. “Sophie!”
“Say. It.”
“Fine, fine.” I lift up both my hands. “Coral is the worst color out there. We hate coral. There will be no coral in this household.”
She releases my poor nipple with a satisfied smile on her little, evil face. “That’s a good boy.” She shifts in her spot with satisfaction, and both of us freeze, just now clueing in to the position we’re in. The one where her pussy is directly on top of my quickly hardening dick.
Sophie’s gaze glides over me, then over her hands that are pressed against my chest, and those dusty-pink lips part.
My eyes flicker over to her parted lips for a fraction of a second, but that fraction is enough to send a jolt through my cock, and almost immediately—instinctively—her pussy grinds over it.
Sophie’s eyes widen at what just happened, locking with mine.
Fuckkk…I felt her. Through jeans and sweatpants, the heat of her pussy is unmistakable. Fuck, fuck, fuck .
“ Theè mou, ” she yelps, her body moving along mine, and I almost let free the groan I’ve been biting back because she once against shifts over me.
My hands reach out, gripping her hips. “Sophie?”
“Yeah?” she squeaks out, those brown eyes traveling to where my hands are clasped over her upper thighs, halting her.
“Got any other questions?” My voice sounds almost strangled, and the little menace bites her lip as the corners of her mouth tilt up in a smile that only translates enjoyment. She’s enjoying my tortured state right now.
“Yes, a ton, but now I’m also hungry.” She jumps off me.
Dear Lord, me too , I think when she strides over to the kitchen. Those baggy clothes doing nothing to calm my ragging cock.
Calm down, asshole, you’re not getting any today, tomorrow, or the next year for that matter.
But she’s our wife, we can get it. I can practically hear my dick whine.
Nope, we’re not crossing any lines. You were living just fine without getting any, now all of a sudden you’re throwing a tantrum?
Have you seen our wife? How am I supposed to survive a year with that?
Not my problem, figure it out—
“Shrek? Are you okay there?” Sophie’s voice breaks my conversation with my own dick. Thank God.
And yes, I’m aware I need help. So much fucking help .
“Yep, all good.” I rise from the floor, fixing the rock-hard bulge in my jeans as covertly as I can manage and follow Sophie into the kitchen. “I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow. Since I’ll be living here, I’d like to contribute. Oh, and rent, I’ll cover it fully.”
Sophie cocks an eyebrow at me. “Splitting it halfway works just fine for me.”
“Well, it doesn’t for me. What are you looking for in there?” I ask, switching the subject that is not negotiable. Sophie is standing in front of the open fridge, just staring inside it.
“Something edible, but I don’t think old takeout boxes qualify.” She sighs, shutting the door.
“Let’s add some new boxes so the old ones aren’t lonely in there.”
Sophie snorts at my wannabe joke, and I turn away, not wanting her to see the satisfaction on my face that I made her laugh.
If only I didn’t have to feel all warm and gooey because of it on the inside.
Jesus, when’s the last time I cared about something so trivial, or hell, even bothered to joke. My sarcastic relationship with Luke and Griffin not counting. That’s not humor, that’s my idea of kicking their asses without their knowledge.
I take out my phone, scanning the Peace-Out diner menu for what she could possibly like. I’m just about to read her the options when my eyes catch on one particular item and I quickly add it to cart, without asking her. Adding my own order in I pocket the phone and tell her, “All done.”
“What? But you didn’t ask me what I wanted. What did you order for me?”
I smirk. “You’ll see.”
She pushes out one hip, placing her hand on it. “Yeah, that’s a level of trust I’m not sure I’m ready for.”
“Have some faith, wife.” I chuckle, surprising myself once again, because the last time I laughed so much was probably in high school. In fact, the last time I felt this at ease was probably around that same time as well .
Sophie drums her fingers on the counter, lips puckered as she considers it. “I’m a picky eater. And before you say anything, it’s not my fault.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
“I’m serious. My mom was a magician in the kitchen.
Then my brother went ahead and became an incredible chef.
That’s not to mention his wife is the best damn chef in the world with like a thousand restaurants!
See? I’ve been spoiled rotten. So, just tell me what you ordered so I can get myself something else. ”
“Yeah, not happening.”
“Shrek!” She stomps her foot, and I cock my head, amusement dancing across my face.
“Did you just really stomp your foot?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Cute.” I turn around and head back to the couch to wait for our order.
“Ugh,” Sophie groans, and although I can’t see it, I swear she stomps her foot again. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” She flops next to me on the couch with a huff.
God, how I wish I could teach this little brat a lesson. My hand—and cock—itches for it.
Not going there. Not gonna happen .
Instead, I sit and watch as she tries so very hard to just sit there, not uttering a single word to me in her defiance and try to hide my own amused grin. Why is there never a dull moment with this girl?
I’m so used to my peace and quiet that her loud, boisterous presence should be entirely disruptive, bothersome, and at the very least, annoying…
yet it’s none of that. I’ve known her for a handful of days and each second of each encounter is so filled with a whole spectrum of emotions I wasn’t even aware there were that many to begin with.
A minute into this silent game, I spy her trying to sneak a peek at me, completely unable to remain still and quiet for that long, and as soon as she catches me full-on watching her, she groans, rolling her eyes and relaxes back into the couch.
“Done being a little brat?” I cock an eyebrow .
“Oh whatever, but if I hate it, don’t complain when I make you get me something else.”
I cross my heart. “I’d never dare.” She gives her eyes another rolling workout but then moves so we can be face-to-face.
“Okay, back to the questions.”
“You have more?”
“Duh.” She gives me a look. “I don’t know anything about you except that you are Shrek impersonated, live at your job, and are afraid of a bunch of grandmas.”
“Well, that about sums it up.” I clap my hands. “What else is there?”
“When’s your birthday?” Sophie asks, not missing a beat.
“July twenty-ninth. Yours?”
“Ooo,” she coos dramatically while waggling her eyebrows. “You’re a Leo.”
“Let me guess, you’re into all that astrological bullshit?”
“A, it’s not bullshit. B, yes, yes, I am. And C, I’m an Aries born on April thirteenth,” she says with a knowing, mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What does it mean?”
A slow, salacious smirk forms on her lips. “I thought you didn’t believe in all this astrological bullshit.”
“I don’t, but as your husband, I should know this.”
“Uh-huh, sure, as my husband .” She’s clearly not buying it any more than I am, but hell if I’ll admit that I’m actually curious what that means about us. I raise an eyebrow, prompting her to get on with it and that smirk of hers turns into a full-on grin.
“Leo and Aries are both fire and quite complicated signs which makes it difficult to find the right partner for each of them. But funny enough, they are perfect for each other.”
“We are?” I sit back.
“You and I?” Sophie raises that smirking eyebrow of hers. “TBD, but the signs are.”
“What the fuck is TBD? ”