Chapter 11 #2
“You just have that look.” Her voice softened. “Is the water helping?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” His hands slid along her waist. “You still hurt?”
“No.”
His lips moved over hers, then to her jaw, her throat, waking every nerve until she was aching for him again. “I want you so badly,” he said, the words strained against her neck. “But I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
“Same,” she whispered.
He kissed her slower now, as if he were trying to memorize her instead of take her. He moved with her through the warm water, guiding her toward the stairs. When they reached the top step, he eased her back against it, careful, reverent.
Then he rose over her, his silhouette dark and solid against the moonlight.
Her eyes traced him, drinking him in, until her gaze caught his again.
They both smiled, sharing an unspoken connection.
After a moment, he settled himself on top of her.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough with awe. “Do you know that? So damn beautiful.”
It felt like he was talking more to himself than to her. And somewhere deep inside, Brielle answered anyway with the quiet certainty that this wasn’t just lust.
“I want you inside me.”
She reached out to touch his face. He caught her hand and kissed the palm before resting it on his heart. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
His face lit up, like she gave him the biggest compliment in the world. His response was easing himself inside of her.
What had been a frenzied act the first time now had a quiet intensity. Everything felt sharper. Every breath, touch, brush of skin. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the way he moved over her with such care.
“You like this?” he asked, his breath tickling her cheek.
She nodded as she rocked back and forth, building a gentle rhythm with him. “Oh, Callum,” she whimpered.
“Take it easy, baby,” he cautioned. “Just relax.”
She moaned as she came, shuddering through it, and she felt him follow.
It was different than before. More like a surrender, or a covenant, more of a giving of himself rather than something he took.
He collapsed against her, heavy and warm, and she slipped her fingers into his hair.
Water streamed off the strands between her fingers, and his ragged exhales brushed against her chest.
“Jesus, Brielle,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself.”
She kissed the top of his head. “I wanted it just as much as you. In fact, I’m realizing we might share a lot of the same feelings. The same circumstances.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Because something had shifted. Not in her body this time, but in her mind.
His tenderness wasn’t just tenderness. His patience wasn’t just restraint. The way he understood her, like he’d lived inside the same kind of fear, like he knew exactly what it cost her to confess anything about her father. It wasn’t a coincidence.
It was recognition.
Her chest tightened as pieces that hadn’t fit before suddenly snapped into place with a sickening kind of clarity. The accident. The pressure. The invisible hand guiding outcomes. The way a powerful man could manipulate, and bend things until they broke.
Callum was her proof. He was just like her.
“Callum…your accident.”
His mouth barely moved. “What about it?”
Brielle inhaled sharply, the air thick with heat and the aftermath of everything that had just passed between them. Her heart beat hard, loud, insisting on the truth before she was ready to hear it.
“My father,” she blurted, voice breaking on the words. “He asked you to throw that race, didn’t he?”
Silence.
And Brielle understood, all at once, that she hadn’t just guessed correctly. She’d hit the exact wound.
“That’s it,” she whispered, more to herself now than to him. “It happened the same way it happened with me.”
“Brielle…” he lifted his head slowly, like saying her name physically hurt. “I can’t. I can’t talk about this with you.”
“Why?” she croaked, the ache in her chest turning sharp. “Because it’s the truth?”
“Because I can’t.” He slipped out of her lovelock and ascended the stairs. Grabbing a towel from the deck, he wrapped it around his waist. “Look, it’s late and my head is pounding. Maybe we should get to bed…”
“He’s got a hold over you, too, doesn’t he?” She prodded. “You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.”
For a moment he didn’t respond. He just stared at her, water dripping off his jaw, his expression tightening as if he could mentally wrestle the truth back down. “Okay,” he said finally, voice low. “So maybe I do have a personal interest in your situation.”
She stayed where she was, her arms folded on the pool ledge, her chin resting on top of them. She watched him carefully, the silence between them loud with everything he wasn’t saying.
“So am I right?” she asked. “Did you throw the Daytona because of my father?”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know,” she said, refusing to let him slide out of it. “You tell me.”
“Look,” he said, pulling on his boxers. “It’s late. I’m tired. You have practice in the morning. We’d both be better off if we got some sleep.”
She pushed herself out of the pool, the sudden cool air biting at her skin. She grabbed the extra towel and wrapped it around herself, but it didn’t help. Not really. The warmth in her body was gone, now replaced by something colder. Something suspicious.
His gaze drifted over her and softened. “Brielle,” he said, with a tone of apology. “I don’t want you to think I’m keeping anything from you. You know what you need to.”
“Do I?”
He came to her and brought her in his arms. “But if there’s one thing I absolutely want you to believe,” he murmured, his voice rough against her temple, “it’s what happened between us tonight. Nothing in the whole world is more truthful than that.”
Before she could find the right response, he led her to the bed. He lay her down gently, and climbed back in beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth again.
And that was it. Conversation over. In moments his breath was steady in the darkness. His arm came around her. Not possessive or demanding. Protective and she allowed herself to accept his intention.
She stared up at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle over them. She realized tonight hadn’t just changed what she felt about him. It had changed what she knew about her father. There clearly were so many other things lurking, after her, hell maybe after Callum, too.
And that was the real terror.
That once you saw the truth…you couldn’t unsee it.