Chapter 5 — Tess
He's staying.
James Callahan just told me he's been half in love with me for fourteen years, and now he's standing in my hotel room with his hands on my face, looking at me like I'm something precious, and I can barely breathe.
"I'm sure," he says again. "I'm completely sure."
I pull him down and kiss him because I don't have words for what I'm feeling. Relief and want and the particular weightlessness that comes from realizing you're not alone in something you've been carrying for years.
He kisses me back slowly, thoroughly, like we have all the time in the world. Like he's trying to memorize the taste of me.
When we break apart, I'm shaking.
"Tess." He runs his thumb along my jaw, his grey-green eyes dark. "Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking that I can't believe you're here. That you said all of that. That you—" I stop, take a breath. "I thought I was the only one who felt this way."
"You're not. You've never been."
"Then why didn't you say something? Fourteen years ago, why didn't you—"
"Because I was scared. Because I convinced myself that wanting you was selfish, that the age gap meant I didn't have the right to ask you to stay. Because I've spent my whole life being the person who takes care of other people's needs and I didn't know how to admit I had needs of my own."
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight.
"I was so hurt when you let me go," I tell him. "I spent years thinking I wasn't enough. That I was too young, too much, not worth the complication."
"You were never not enough." His hands frame my face, holding me steady. "You were everything. That's what scared me. You made me feel things I didn't know how to handle, and instead of telling you that, I hid behind the age gap and convinced myself I was doing the mature thing."
"And now?"
"Now I'm done hiding." He kisses me again, softer this time.
"I want you to know exactly how I feel. I want you to know that when you walked into my station yesterday, it took everything I had not to pull you into my arms right there.
I want you to know that last night wasn't a mistake for me.
It was the first honest thing I've done in fourteen years. "
The words break something open in my chest.
"I wanted you too," I admit. "The second I saw you, I wanted you. And it terrified me because I thought—" My voice catches. "I thought it would just be the same thing all over again. That we'd have sex and it would be good and then you'd decide the timing was still wrong."
"The timing's not wrong anymore."
"How do you know?"
"Because we're not the same people we were at twenty and thirty-four.
Because we've both spent fourteen years figuring out who we are and what we want.
Because I'm done pretending I don't want you.
" He leans his forehead against mine. "I want this, Tess.
I want you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it work. "
I close my eyes and let myself feel it. The relief. The want. The terrifying hope that maybe this time it'll be different.
"I want that too," I whisper.
His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me closer. "Then let me show you."
"Show me what?"
"How much I want you. How much I've always wanted you."
The words send heat straight through me.
He kisses me again, and this time there's hunger in it. Not the frantic need from the truck, but something deeper. More deliberate. He's taking his time, learning the shape of my mouth again, and when his tongue slides against mine I make a sound I can't control.
His hands move under my shirt, sliding up my sides, and I shiver at the contact. His palms are rough and warm and when they reach the underside of my breasts I arch into the touch.
"Can I?" he asks against my mouth.
"Yes. God, yes."
He pulls my shirt over my head, and I'm standing in front of him in sleep pants and nothing else. The hotel room air is cool against my skin, and I fight the instinct to cover myself.
At twenty I was self-conscious about my body in ways I tried to hide. At thirty-four I'm better at hiding it, but the insecurity is still there, lurking under the surface.
James sees it.
"Hey." His voice is soft. "Look at me."
I force myself to meet his eyes.
"You're beautiful," he says, and the way he's looking at me makes it impossible to doubt. "Every inch of you. I've thought about seeing you like this again for fourteen years, and you're even more gorgeous than I remembered."
His hands come up to cup my breasts, and I gasp at the contact. He's gentle, reverent, thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that makes my knees weak.
"I love how soft you are," he murmurs, squeezing gently. "Love how you fill my hands."
He lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, and I nearly come apart right there. He works me with his tongue while his hand kneads my other breast, and the dual sensation makes my head fall back.
"James—"
"Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you."
He straightens, his eyes dark with want. "Where's the bed?"
I gesture behind me, and he walks me backward until my legs hit the mattress. But instead of pushing me down, he turns me, pressing my back against the wall next to the bed.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he says, his hands sliding down to my hips. "About getting you alone. About touching you properly."
He gets my sleep pants and underwear down, and I kick them off.
And then I'm completely bare in front of him while he's still fully dressed, and something about that makes me feel more exposed and more wanted at the same time.
His eyes track down my body slowly. Taking in my breasts, my stomach, the curve of my hips, my thighs.
When his gaze reaches between my legs, I feel it like a physical touch.
"Fuck, Tess." His voice is rough. "You have no idea what you do to me."
He drops to his knees in front of me, and my brain short-circuits.
"James, what are you—"
"I didn't get to taste you properly last night." He looks up at me, and the hunger in his eyes makes my stomach clench. "Let me fix that."
He grips my hips and pulls me forward slightly, and then his mouth is on me and I forget how to form words.
He licks into me slowly, thoroughly, like he has all the time in the world.
His tongue finds my clit and circles it with just enough pressure to make me gasp, and when I try to move he holds me still.
"Stay right there," he says against my skin. "Let me make you feel good."
He works me with his mouth, alternating between long, slow licks and focused attention on my clit, and I'm coming apart with embarrassing speed.
My hands go to his hair, tugging, and he groans against me and the vibration nearly sends me over the edge.
"James, I'm going to—"
"Come for me," he says, and sucks my clit into his mouth.
I break with a cry that I barely manage to muffle, my whole body shaking, and he works me through it until I'm pulling at his hair because the sensation is too much.
He stands, and his mouth is wet and his eyes are dark and he looks like he wants to devour me.
"Bed," he says. "Now."
I move to the bed on shaky legs, and he follows, stripping off his shirt as he comes. I've seen him shirtless before, but this is different.
This is him undressing for me, his eyes never leaving my face, and when he gets his belt open my mouth goes dry.
He shoves his pants and boxers down, and his cock springs free, thick and hard and exactly how I remember.
I want it in my mouth. I want to make him feel as good as he just made me feel.
But before I can say anything, he's on the bed, pulling me under him, settling between my thighs.
"I need to be inside you," he says, and there's something almost desperate in his voice. "Need to feel you."
"Yes. Please."
He reaches down and lines himself up, and I feel the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He's big, I remember that, remember the stretch, but my body is ready for him, wet and open, and when he starts to push inside I arch up to take him.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel so good."
He pushes in slowly, giving me time to adjust, and I can feel every inch of him stretching me.
It's almost too much, the fullness, the pressure, but then he bottoms out and pauses, buried completely inside me, and it's perfect.
"Okay?" he asks, his voice strained.
"More than okay. Move."
He pulls almost all the way out and pushes back in, slow and deep, and we both groan at the sensation.
He sets a rhythm that's deliberate and thorough, hitting something deep inside me with every thrust that makes my toes curl.
"Look at me," he says.
I open my eyes and find him watching my face, his expression intense.
"I want to see you," he says. "Want to watch you take me."
The words make me clench around him, and he groans.
"That's it. God, Tess, you feel so fucking good."
He picks up the pace, thrusting harder, deeper, and I wrap my legs around his waist to take him as deep as possible.
The angle shifts and suddenly he's hitting exactly the right spot and I cry out.
"There?" he asks.
"Yes. Right there. Don't stop."
He doesn't stop. He drives into me with perfect precision, his hips angled to hit that spot with every thrust, and I can feel the pressure building again.
"You're going to come again," he says, and it's not a question. "I can feel it. Can feel you getting tighter."
"James—"
"Let go. I've got you."
Three more thrusts and I'm coming again, harder than before, clenching around him so hard he has to slow down.
He works me through it, his movements gentler now, and when I come back to myself he's still hard inside me, still watching my face.
"Not done with you yet," he says.
He pulls out and I whimper at the loss, but then he's moving me, positioning me on my hands and knees.
"Want to see all of you," he says, his hands sliding over my ass, squeezing. "Want to watch myself disappear inside you."
He pushes back in from behind and the angle is completely different, deeper somehow, and I drop to my forearms with a moan.
"That's it." His voice is rough. "Take all of me."