Chapter Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
Annie
My heart thuds inside my chest like a frustrated bird trying to bash its way out of its cage. No regard for how it might get hurt. No thoughts about the repercussions. It only yearns and yearns and yearns.
When I saw him on TV and then searched for him online, I built this image of Callahan Leitner in my head based on what I wanted him to be: charming, intelligent, passionate, funny.
Then I met him and he seemed like none of those things.
Okay, intelligent, sure. But in a way that was so cushioned in pretension it negated any admiration I might have had for him.
Except now, after we’ve spent more time together, I see that he’s actually all of that and more.
Since the night I found the goose in his apartment, he’s been unfolding slowly like a piece of haphazardly creased paper, opening up to reveal bits and pieces of what’s written inside.
Now I have the strongest urge to unfold him the rest of the way, smooth it all out, see everything he keeps hidden behind that thin veneer of haughtiness and dry sense of humor.
Very few people have had the opportunity. And if he’s willing to offer it to me…
Well, I’m absolutely going to take it.
So when he unlocks Virtu’s front door and closes it behind us as we enter the dimly lit shop, I waste no time, turning around and reaching up to run my fingertips over his jaw.
His eyes are wide, pupils blown out so that his gaze is nearly all black.
He looks slightly terrified, yet entranced.
No one has ever looked at me quite this way, as if I hold the power over them instead of the other way around. I think I like it.
“I would like to kiss you, Callahan,” I whisper as I slip my fingers into his soft, dark hair. “Is that okay with you?”
Whether it’s my touch or my words, Cal responds by closing his eyes, almost as if he’s in pain.
I’m about to back away, to let him and the whole idea of this go.
But then his lips part, and the tip of his tongue swipes across the lower one.
“Please,” he says, sounding so desperate and annoyed about it that I have to stop myself from grinning.
Instead, I’m smiling as I lean into him, using my fingers in his hair to pull his head down toward me and my other hand to grip the lapel of his black wool coat.
Our lips meet, and I’m expecting his to be tense, but instead they’re soft, warm.
So ready for me. Most of the men I’ve kissed have treated it like a small-scale war, a battle for control that I let them win after putting up just enough of a fight so they’ll feel victorious when I surrender.
But Cal lets me explore, lets me take his mouth the way I’ve been dying to since last night when we were trapped in the mansion: slow, deep, thorough.
I retreat slightly, offering him a turn but not fully expecting him to accept it.
He surprises me, though, bringing his hands up to cup my face as he swipes his tongue over the seam of my lips, requesting entrance at the same time he guides me through the store until my tailbone meets a hard surface.
The counter. I reach back and grab the edge of it to steady myself so I don’t topple backward, my legs going gelatinous as the kiss shifts endlessly.
The minuscule brain capacity I have at the moment imagines it as a spectrum of sensations, the tactile equivalent of the rainbows produced by faceted crystal when the light hits it just right.
We part, breath heavy, as Cal works the buttons of my peacoat.
Once it’s open, he slides his hands inside, skating down the curves of my body as he brings me closer against him.
His head dips and he presses his mouth hungrily to my collarbone, my neck, the spot behind my ear.
“Take off yours too. I want to feel more of you,” I say.
As he undoes his own coat’s buttons, endearingly fumbling the top one three times, I lift myself onto the counter. He glances up from what he’s doing and gives me an exasperated sigh.
“Gonna yell at me to get down?” I ask.
“Not this time,” he says after considering it, shedding his coat and throwing it directly on the floor.
“But if you insist on sitting there like an objet d’art, I’m going to have to appraise you.
” His slightly swollen lips tilt into a playful expression that I’ve never seen him wear before.
For once there’s no tension, no stress engraved in his features.
It makes him look younger. Vulnerable, yet free.
Cal approaches and takes hold of one of my ankles.
His thumb slides over my skin in a back-and-forth motion, caressing, and I’m suddenly glad I decided against wearing tights this morning despite the forecasted cold front; I don’t think I could bear to have even that thin layer of material between us.
“Hmm,” he says, imbuing it with a quizzical quality as he lets his gaze slowly drift from where he’s touching me up to my face.
“Very interesting.” His hold on my ankle loosens and his fingertips follow the curve of my calf up to the back of my knee, which has never been a particularly erogenous spot before but has suddenly decided it might be up for it after all.
“American made, I believe. Definitely last century.”
I nudge his shoulder in faux outrage and he grins.
“While technically true, that is violence,” I declare.
His mouth falls into a more serious expression as he continues his slow examination. “I’m afraid this is where I’m a bit lost,” he says, tracing the hem of my dress where it rests over my upper thighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the privilege of handling anything so singularly beautiful before.”
The compliment sends heat rushing to my cheeks, but I also understand the admission as a request for reassurance. “I’m sure your experience has given you some idea how to proceed,” I say.
“My experience? I doubt it. My fantasies, though…” Cal looks me over again, more hastily this time, as if plotting out a course. “Annie,” he says in that same pleading tone as before.
I slide my hand back into his hair and urge his head down. “Then listen to your fantasies,” I whisper into his ear. “I promise I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”
He moves away a few inches to stare deep into my eyes, then nods slowly.
As he reaches behind me and lowers the zipper on my dress, his mouth leisurely explores the area between my neck and shoulder as more skin is revealed.
I reach back and unhook my bra to help speed up the process, and we work together to drag everything down my arms. The store is kept at sixty-nine degrees (nice), which is just chilly enough to send a shiver through me as Cal takes a minute to appreciate everything he’s uncovered.
He leans in and kisses me again, one hand cupping the nape of my neck in a way that feels softly, deliciously possessive.
“Lie down,” he whispers against my lips, easing me backward.
The wood of the counter is cool against my back, but I’m assuming some of that is just because of the contrast with the rest of my body, which is on fire.
Yet I somehow manage to get even hotter as Cal’s mouth covers one nipple while his thumb brushes over the other.
“This is good?” he asks, looking up in response to the unwitting sound I let out.
“Oh, yes. I like that a lot,” I respond, squeezing his bicep as he switches sides.
After he has me squirming, my shoulder blades digging into the wood surface, he stands up straight and takes hold of my upper thighs.
This time, he doesn’t stop at the hem of my dress, but slides the fabric up, up, up until it joins the top part pooling around my waist. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my floral-print silky underwear.
I lift my hips to allow him to slide them down my legs, where he maneuvers them over my yellow suede heels before they’re flung aside, joining his coat.
I lay there atop the counter, my legs dangling over the edge, naked except for my shoes and the dress scrunched up around my middle like the world’s least effective life preserver.
In fact, I feel on the verge of drowning as I let my knees fall open in response to his touch, exposing even more of me.
“My god. This,” Cal says, his grip on my hips inadvertently tightening in response to the view.
“This is what I’ve been thinking about every single day.
This is why you can’t sit on my counter, Annie.
Because when you do, I imagine this and the thought completely wrecks me. I can think of nothing else for hours.”
“Really? You’ve been thinking about me?” I ask.
He lets out a humorless laugh as he parts me with his thumb and runs it through the wetness gathered there.
“Only all the fucking time,” he says. His thumb glides up and down, sending delicious tingles shooting through my body whenever he brushes closer to the spot where I want him most. Finally he settles there, pressing gently. “Here?”
“Yes, or maybe…to the left just a tiny—oh god, yes, there,” I confirm on a strangled exhale.
Cal is a man who has been trained extensively to handle delicate things with both intention and care.
That is abundantly, wonderfully obvious in the way he touches me.
He observes my responses to each of his movements, to each variation of pressure, with the same deliberation in his eyes I’ve seen when he’s valuing antiques.
As if he intends to make my pleasure another thing in which he has expertise.
And my god is he a quick study. When he slides two fingers inside me, it takes almost no time at all for him to find the right angle. I’m already getting so close…
Which is why when he stops, I can’t restrain an embarrassing sob.
“Cal, why—” I start, but before I can ask him if everything is all right, he’s taking my shoes off, tossing them to the ground. “What are you…?” My question trails off again as he positions my feet flat atop the counter, spreading me open even wider for him.
“I know. Sorry,” he says. “But I need to…need to know how you…” Without finishing the thought, he braces himself by grabbing my knees and buries his face between my legs.
We both make a desperate sound in response to the first broad sweep of his tongue.
I reach for his hair, instinctively scrambling to keep him there.
“Perfect, yes, that’s perfect,” I manage to get out.
I’m already close again when he pulls back to take a deep breath, and the pause in the pleasure allows me to get a single thought in. “Wait,” I say. “The front door. Did we lock it?”
Cal glances up, and it’s such a titillating sight to have his eyes meet mine, my hand fisting his hair while my thighs frame his head. “Maybe,” he says. “Don’t know. But no way in hell I’m about to stop and go check right now.”
“What if someone doesn’t realize we’re closed and walks in?” I ask.
“Then I guess they’ll get to watch you come,” he says simply before lowering his mouth to me again.
And within seconds, I do.