30. Vivienne
CHAPTER THIRTY
Vivienne
It’s desperate and fierce and years of missing each other compressed into one moment.
His mouth is demanding and urgent, like he’s trying to say everything he can’t find words for.
His hands are shaking slightly where they cup my jaw, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with a tenderness that contrasts with the hunger in his kiss.
I’m already reaching for him, my fingers curling into his soaked jacket, pulling him closer even though he’s drenched and cold and getting me wet.
I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except the fact that he’s here.
He came for me. He drove through a storm because he couldn’t stand the thought of me being alone.
He tastes like rain and salt and coming home.
He kisses me like he’s been drowning and I’m air.
His hands are still framing my face, and I can feel him trembling from restraint.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes are closed, water from his hair drips onto my face.
“I love you,” he says, the words rough and raw. “I’ve loved you since Paris, and I never stopped. Not for a single day. Not when you disappeared. Not when I tried to convince myself I was over it. Not ever.”
My heart is hammering so hard it hurts.
“I know you need time. I know you’re still processing everything. But I need you to know.” His eyes open, finding mine, and the intensity in them makes my breath catch. “I’m not going anywhere. However long it takes, whatever you need, I’m here. Always.”
“I love you too,” I say, and my voice breaks on the words. “I loved you in Paris. I loved you when I was working in London and Boston and every city after. I loved you through every restaurant I consulted for and every hotel room I stayed in and every morning when I woke up alone.”
Tears are streaming down my face now. “I loved you even when I made the decision that broke us both. Even when I thought I was doing the right thing by disappearing. Even when I convinced myself you’d be better off without me.”
I cup his face in my hands, feeling the scrape of his scruff against my palm, making sure he hears every word. “I’ve been looking for you in every kitchen for five years, Callum. And I finally found you. I’m finally home.”
Relief and joy and desire all tangle together, erupting across his face.
And then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine, claiming me. His hands slide from my face down to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I make a sound against his mouth and feel him respond, his grip tightening.
The cottage groans around us. The wind screams. Water pours through the broken window and the damaged roof.
Callum breaks the kiss long enough to look at me, his eyes dark with want.
“Bedroom,” he groans, his voice rough. “Now.”
Before I can respond, he’s bending down, one arm behind my knees, the other around my back, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing.
I gasp, my arms coming around his neck automatically. “Cal! This whole place is one strong gust away from coming down.”
“The bedroom’s an add-on.” He’s already moving, navigating around the broken glass with ease, his voice steady.
“It’s poured concrete foundation with reinforced roof joists.
Built to a different code than the rest of this place.
It’s the most structurally sound room in the cottage and the safest place we can be right now.
” His eyes drop to mine, dark and certain.
“And I’m going to make sure you don’t even notice the storm. ”
I stare at him. “How do you even know all that?”
The corner of his mouth curves up beneath his mustache. “Small town.” Then the smirk softens into something hungrier, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Vivi, it is genuinely very difficult to think about load-bearing walls when all I want to do is ravish you against them.”
I laugh. “Okay. Okay, I trust you.”
“I’ve got you.” He kicks the bedroom door open with his boot and carries me inside, setting me down gently on the edge of the bed. “I’ve always got you.”
Then he’s on his knees in front of me, his hands careful on my ankle as he lifts my foot to examine it.
“It’s not deep,” he mutters, his thumb brushing near the cut. “But we need to clean it.”
“Later.” My hands find his face, tilting it up so he’s looking at me. “Callum. Later.”
His eyes search mine. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He stands in one fluid movement, and then his hands are on me again, sliding up my sides, pushing under my shirt. His palms are warm against my skin, and I’m reaching for him, pulling at his soaked jacket, needing it off, needing him closer, needing skin.
The jacket hits the floor with a wet slap. His shirt follows, and I lose my breath at the sight of him. The tattoos covering his forearms and creeping up onto his shoulders and chest, the ink dark against his skin. The muscle definition that makes it clear he does a lot more than just cook.
“You’re staring,” he says, and his mustache quirks up with a smirk.
“I’m admiring.” My hands trace the lines of ink on his forearm. “You’re beautiful.”
“Vivienne.” My name comes out rough and strained. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to go slow.”
“Then don’t go slow.”
His expression goes hungry and predatory.
His hands find the hem of my shirt, and I lift my arms, letting him pull it over my head. His eyes travel down, taking me in, and the way he looks at me makes me feel like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Stunning,” he murmurs reverently, his hands skimming up my sides, his thumbs brushing just under the curve of my ribs. “I’ve thought about this every night since that night after graduation. About you.”
I reach for him, my fingers working at his belt, fumbling slightly with the wet leather. “Show me.”
He captures my mouth again, and this time there’s not an ounce of hesitation.
His hands are everywhere — sliding up my back, finding the clasp of my bra and flicking it open with ease, tangling in my hair, relearning the shape of me like he remembers every curve, every dip, and every place that makes me gasp.
His mouth leaves mine to trail down my jaw, my neck, and lower. When his lips close around my nipple, I arch into him with a moan I can’t suppress.
“That’s it,” he groans against my skin, his tongue circling, teeth grazing gently. “Let me hear you, Vivi.”
I pull him down with me as I lie back on the bed, and he follows, covering my body with his, settling between my thighs. His mouth trails from my breast to my jaw to the sensitive spot below my ear.
“Give it to me, baby,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot. “Every sound. I want all of it.”
The storm rages outside. The cottage threatens to come apart around us. But in this moment, with Callum’s hands on me and his mouth trailing fire across my skin and years of wanting finally being answered, nothing else matters.
His jeans come off, the wet denim peeling away. Then he reaches for mine, and he takes his time, kissing down my legs as he pulls them off, his lips brushing against my thighs, my knees, my calves. Each piece of clothing a barrier removed, each inch of skin revealed another discovery.
Another homecoming.
When I’m finally bare beneath him, he sits back on his heels and just looks at me.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, his hands praising as they trace up my legs, over my hips and waist. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
I can see how much he wants me. I can see it in the hard length of him straining against his boxer briefs. His hands tremble slightly as they explore my body.
I arch into his touch, my hands sliding down his back, feeling the muscles shift and flex under my palms. “Cal, please.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“You. Just you. All of you. Forever.”
He makes a sound low in his throat — half groan, half growl — and then he’s kissing me again, his body pressed against mine, and I can feel every hard inch of him through the thin fabric between us.
I reach down and hook my fingers in the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down. He lifts his hips to help me, then he’s finally bare, and I wrap my hand around him.
He’s hot and hard and thick in my palm, and when I stroke him once, experimentally, he drops his forehead to my shoulder with a shuddering breath.
“Fuck, Vivi.”
“Yes,” I breathe against his mouth, stroking him again, feeling him pulse in my hand. “Please, yes.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine one more time, giving me a chance to change my mind. “You’re sure?”
“Callum, I’m begging you. Stop asking me that and fuck me already.”
“Such a dirty mouth.” He smirk and shifts his hips. The head of his cock is pressing against me, hot and blunt, and I’m already so wet for him it’s almost embarrassing.
Then I freeze.
“What?” His eyes find mine immediately, his whole body going still. “What’s wrong?”
“I —” My voice comes out small. “It’s been a long time. Since Paris. Since you. I haven’t — there hasn’t been anyone else.”
His expression shifts through several emotions at once. Surprise, relief, and then a tenderness so profound it makes my eyes sting.
“Vivi.” He cups my face with one hand, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “There hasn’t been anyone for me either.”
I blink up at him. “What? But you were engaged?”
“No.” He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine.
“We never — I couldn’t. Every time she tried, I just …
” He takes a shaky breath. “It was always you. In my head, in my heart. It was always you and I couldn’t —” His voice cracks slightly.
“You were the last person I was with. And you’re going to be the last person I’m ever with. ”
“Cal.”
“I mean it.” His forehead comes to rest against mine. “This is it for me. You’re it for me. You always have been.”
Tears spill over, running down into my hair. “I love you.”
“I love you.” He kisses me so gently. “And I’ve got you. I promise. I’ve got you.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”
“Tell me if anything hurts. If you need me to stop. If —”
“Callum.” I pull his face down to kiss him. “I need you. Please.”
He nods, and then he’s there again, pressing into me, and I breathe through it, my body opening for him, accepting him.
“Vivienne,” he breathes, and then he’s pushing in, slow and careful and perfect, watching my face the entire time.
I gasp at the stretch of him, at the fullness. It’s been so long, and he’s so thick, the sensation is overwhelming, pleasure edged with the slightest burn as my body adjusts to accommodate him.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still.
“So okay. Move. Please move.”
He does, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, setting a rhythm that’s deep and teasing and absolutely devastating.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, opening myself wider, and he groans into my neck.
“Vivi. God, Vivi, baby. So perfect. So fucking perfect.”
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Never.” His mouth finds mine again, his tongue sliding against mine in tandem with his thrusts. “Never stopping. Never letting you go again.”
The rhythm builds, his movements becoming less controlled and more desperate. My hands are in his hair, on his shoulders, down his back, trying to pull him impossibly closer. I can feel the pleasure building, coiling tighter and tighter in my belly.
“I love you,” he says against my mouth, and then again and again like a prayer. “I love you, I love you.”
“I love you. Cal, I —”
He shifts his angle slightly and hits the spot inside me that makes me cry out, my nails digging into his back.
“There,” I gasp. “Right there.”
He does it again, and again, each thrust hitting that perfect spot, sending sparks of pleasure through my entire body. “Let go for me, baby. Let me feel you.”
The pleasure builds and builds, until I’m right on the edge, my whole body taut with it, every nerve ending on fire.
“Let go,” he murmurs, and his hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit, circling with just the right pressure. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
And I do, falling over the edge with his name on my lips, my body convulsing around him, pleasure crashing through me in waves so intense I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.
“Fuck, Vivi, yes.” He follows moments later, my name torn from his throat as I feel him pulse inside me, hot and perfect, his body going rigid above me, and we ride it out together, clinging to each other like we’re the only solid things in a world that’s trying to shake itself apart.
When we finally still and the aftershocks fade to pleasant tingles and our breathing starts to even out, he doesn’t pull away. He shifts his weight slightly so he’s not crushing me but stays inside me, connected, and tucks his face into my neck.
“I love you,” he whispers again, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m so in love with you.”
I run my fingers through his damp hair, feeling my heartbeat slowly returning to normal. “I love you, Callum Reid.”
We lie there for a long moment, tangled together, his heart hammering against mine, both of us still trembling slightly.
Outside, the storm continues its assault on the cottage. I can hear water still pouring in through the broken window, the wind still screaming, the structure still groaning under the pressure.
But here, in this bed, with Callum’s weight anchoring me and his breath warm against my neck and his hands gentle on my skin, I feel safer than I have in years.
“We should probably move to the bathroom,” he says eventually, still not moving at all. “Your foot,” he mumbles groggily.
“In a minute.”
“It could get infected, Vivi.”
“One more minute.” I tighten my arms around him, not ready to let go yet. “Just one more minute like this.”
He lifts his head to look at me, and his expression is so soft, so full of love and contentment, it makes my chest ache.
“Okay,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then my nose, then my lips. “One more minute.”
He lowers his head back to my shoulder, and we stay like that, wrapped around each other, his body still inside mine, while the storm tries to tear the world apart outside.
But it can’t touch us.
Not anymore.
We’re finally home.