21. Callum #2
My hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, and she shivers. I do it again, more deliberately, and she makes a sound that’s half-laugh, half-moan.
“Ticklish?” I ask against her mouth, unable to help my grin.
“Shut up.”
She kisses me harder, her teeth catching my bottom lip, tugging, and I groan at the sharp sweetness of it.
My hands find the clasp of her bra, and I pause, looking at her, asking permission without words.
She nods, just barely, breath held, and I undo it slowly and slide the straps down her shoulders with deliberate care and let it fall away.
I have to stop and just stare at her once again.
She’s beautiful. She has always been beautiful.
I’ve known that since the first day of culinary school when she walked in with her knife roll and her walls already built high.
But like this — bare from the waist up, sitting on my prep counter with her hair wild and her lips swollen and her skin flushed pink — she’s devastating.
“Like what you see?” she whispers, and there’s vulnerability underneath the teasing.
“You’re stunning.” The word doesn’t feel like enough. “You’re perfect.”
I lean down and press kisses along her collarbone, across her chest, soaking in the way she responds to different pressures and speeds.
She threads her fingers through my hair, holding me there, and the small sounds she makes guide me, telling me what she likes and what she wants more of without needing words.
My thumbs brush just under her breasts, and she arches into the touch, silently begging for more.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmur against her skin.
“You. I want you.” Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and she pulls me closer, eliminating what little space was left between us. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me flush against her. Her voice is desperate, filled with urgency. “Please.”
“Be specific.” I kiss along her collarbone, trailing hot kisses upward, making my way back to her lips.
“Callum —” Her breath catches audibly. Her head tips back, exposing the line of her throat. “Please.”
“Please what?” I drag my fingers down her spine, tracing slow circles against her bare skin while I work my way up her neck with my mouth, feeling her pulse jump under my lips.
“Touch me.” The words come out breathless, almost broken. Her hands slide from my shoulders down my chest, nails scraping lightly against my bare skin in a way that makes me hiss.
“I am touching you.” I press my hips forward in one fluid movement, pinning her harder against the counter. She gasps, and I feel it vibrate through both of us.
“You know what I mean.”
I pull back to look at her, and she’s glaring at me, frustrated and wanting and so beautiful it physically hurts.
“Say it properly,” I tease, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite the heat coursing through me.
“Touch me properly.” Her voice has an edge to it now, rough with frustration and need. Her legs tighten around my waist again, heels digging into the small of my back. “Stop teasing and just —”
I kiss her to shut her up, and my hands finally move where she wants them, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound.
I can feel her warmth radiating against me, the heat between us escalating with every heartbeat. “Like this?” I ask, my hips pressing against her, teasing her with the promise of what’s to come.
“Yes.” Her back arches, pressing her chest into my hands, and the hunger in her eyes drives me wild. “God, yes.”
Her hands are everywhere now. My shoulders, my back, sliding down to my waist, fingers hooking into my belt loops to pull me closer, demanding and desperate.
Her legs are locked around me, and I can feel every line of her body pressed against mine.
I can feel the heat of her even through the layers between us, and it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
Her hands fist in my hair and she kisses me with desperation, all teeth and tongue and need. Her legs lock tighter around my waist, and she uses the leverage to rock against me, creating friction that makes us both groan.
We should slow down. We should talk about what this means.
The thought cuts through the haze of wanting her.
This is not just physical. It’s never been just physical with her, and we both know it.
This isn’t scratching an itch or satisfying curiosity.
This is five years of unfinished business.
This is every what if and might have been.
This is everything I’ve tried to bury and failed at completely.
If we do this, if we cross this line, and she leaves anyway, I don’t know if I’ll survive it this time.
I should pull back and put some space between us. Let us both catch our breath and think clearly for five seconds. I should ask her what she wants, what this means, if she’s planning to stay or if this is just a distraction from the stress of the collaborative dinner.
She makes a sound against my mouth, low and desperate, and every single one of those thoughts evaporates.
Fuck it.
I work my way back down her throat, my mouth trailing heat across the soft skin of her chest as my hands find the waistband of her leggings. I look up at her, my gaze locked onto hers, a mix of hunger and mischief swirling in the air.
She lifts her hips without being asked, an invitation that sends a thrill through me.
I pull them down slowly, savoring every inch of skin that’s revealed.
The gentle curve of her hip, the delicate line of her thigh, the way her body arching invites me in.
My mouth follows the path of exposed skin, trailing kisses.
By the time I’m done, she’s bare sitting on my prep table in my empty kitchen, and the sight of her is enough to completely undo me.
I stay where I am, on my knees, drinking in the view.
She looks down at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and want so raw fills her eyes, it makes my pulse quicken.
Her breath shudders out, pleading, as my hands slide up the insides of her thighs, fingertips grazing the soft skin. “Chef. Please.”
“Please what?” I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, letting my lips linger. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
“I want your mouth on me.” The words tumble out in a rush, tinged with desperation, and I feel her tremble under my hands. “Please. I need —”
I don’t let her finish. I pull her closer to the edge of the table, my mouth finding its destination. The moment my lips touch her, the sound she makes echoes off the stainless-steel surfaces of my empty kitchen.
“Oh God,” she gasps, her hands flying to my hair, fingers gripping hard as if anchoring herself to reality. “Cal. Chef. Oh God.”
I take my time, savoring every moment, every sound, every taste.
I’ve been waiting years for this, and I intend to use every single second.
My hands hold her thighs open, thumbs tracing slow circles against her skin, and her body responds, arching into my touch as I work my mouth, exploring her like she’s the finest dish I’ve ever prepared.
“Right there.” She gasps, her hips rocking forward, pleading. “Please don’t stop.”
I don’t stop.
“Good girl,” I murmur against her, a low growl in my throat. “Just like that. Let me hear you.”
She does, her voice rising. Her thighs tremble under my hands, her whole body wound impossibly tight, every sound she makes urging me on.
“Cal, I’m going to —” Her voice breaks, and I know she’s close. “I’m so close, please, I need —”
I pull back just enough to look up at her, and the expression on her face is wrecked, desperate, entirely undone. She’s never been more beautiful. I could get lost in her forever.
“What do you say?”
“Please.” Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me back in. “Callum. Please. Don’t stop, I need —”
“Such a perfect girl.” I give her exactly what she’s asking for, my mouth returning with intent. I work her through every wave of pleasure, and she shatters almost immediately, my name a sweet chant on her lips, her thighs clamping around my head as her body trembles with each wave.
When she finally goes still, breathing in ragged pulls, I press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh and rise to my feet.
She looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes, hair completely tousled, cheeks flushed deep pink, lips parted in a way that drives me wild.
“Hi,” she says, a playful glint in her eye that’s so entirely Vivi that I have to bite back a grin.
“Hi.”
She reaches for me, pulling me back to her mouth. Her hands are already working at my belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, and I jump to help her, needing this, needing her, needing —
Thunder rolls in the distance, rumbling across the water, getting louder and closer, until it crashes overhead with enough force that the windows rattle in their frames and the bottles on the bar shelves clink together like wind chimes.
The overhead lights flicker once, casting us in darkness for a heartbeat before buzzing back to life.
Vivienne goes still. Her hands stop moving on my belt. Her legs loosen slightly around my waist. Even her breathing seems to stop for a second.
Then she pulls back, just enough to break the kiss.
“Did you hear that?” she whispers against my lips, her breath coming in short pants.
“Yeah.”
We stay frozen like that for a second, our foreheads pressed together, both breathing hard while we listen. Her fingers curl into my waistband, not letting go but not pulling me closer either. My grip on her waist tightens instinctively, like I can anchor her here if I just hold on tight enough.
Another roll of thunder cracks through the kitchen, closer this time. The windows rattle again, and I can hear the wind picking up outside, whistling around the corners of the building.