20. Callum #3
“Good. Because you are.” Her hands explore my chest, my collarbones, the dip in my ribs. Every touch sends a jolt through me. My dick twitches, hard and wanting, and I have to remind myself to breathe or I’m going to embarrass myself before we get anywhere.
She’s looking at me like she wants to know every inch, and fuck, I want the same.
I want to learn the shape of her under my hands, how she tastes, the sounds she makes when she’s not holding anything back.
There’s not enough time for all of it. That thought settles in my chest like a heavy stone sinking to the bottom of a lake.
I’m leaving soon. I don’t know when, but it’s coming. And I find myself wishing for more time. More nights. More starlight. More her.
Win is a guarded person. She uses sarcasm, quick-witted jabs, and sharp teeth as a shield to keep the world at arm’s length, scared to hurt anybody that she could possibly feel anything for.
But right now, sitting in my lap in an old, abandoned, creepy as hell house, she’s stripping all of that away.
She’s letting the mask drop just for me, and it feels like an honor. I want to be worthy of it.
“Just a warning,” she whispers, her hands sliding over my bare shoulders.
“I don’t know how my magic is going to react.
It has a habit of acting out around you.
” She leans in close, her breath hitting the sensitive shell of my ear, sending a chill straight down my spine.
“Who knows, McKinley. If I touch you, I might ruin you.”
I tilt my head, my jaw scraping against her cheek as I murmur back, “Ruin me then.”
A wicked, beautiful smile breaks across her face, a cute dimple popping out in her cheek. Then her mouth crashes back onto mine.
The kiss shifts instantly into something frantic and urgent.
Without saying a single word out loud, we both seem to realize that time is running out on us, that the clock is ticking on whatever this is, and we’re both trying like hell to outrun it.
Tongues, teeth, her hands in my hair, mine gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks.
But this isn’t some quick, sloppy pub hookup.
This is Win. The woman who makes me laugh when I don’t feel like laughing.
Who makes the room feel lighter just by being in it.
Who makes me happier than I have been in years.
Who somehow got me talking about Rory—about the grief that still haunts me—and all the heavy shit without making it feel performative.
We’re just two people grieving something different in our own separate ways, who somehow found a safe harbor in each other. No judgment. No expectations. Just trying to find solid ground. Accepting the mess without trying to clean it up first.
I break away from her lips, trailing my tongue down her chin, down the delicate line of her throat, and straight into the valley between her breasts, right over the dark ink of her moth tattoo.
She moans and my hips jerk up on pure instinct, grinding against her.
The dress is still in the way. I need it gone.
“Win,” I breathe. “I need to—”
“Yes,” she says. “Please. Yes.”
I reach for her dress, yanking the sleeve down so hard the fabric rips. I freeze.
“Shit,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t care.” Her voice is breathless, almost laughing. “I just want you.”
I yank the torn fabric down, and her right breast pops free into the cool air. She is stunning. Perfectly full, soft, and flushed pink, topped with a delicate silver metal bar running straight through her dark nipple.
“I got them last year,” she says. “Impulse decision. Best one I ever made.”
“I’d say so.” I lean down, dragging my tongue around the bar. She gasps, her back arching, her hand flying to my head. I do it again, slow, circling the piercing with the tip of my tongue. Then I take the metal between my teeth, tugging gently.
“Callum—” Her voice is strangled. “Oh my god.”
I pull back just enough to look up at her. “Like that?”
“Like that,” she echoes, and she’s barely getting the words out. “Do it again.”
So I do. I suck the skin around her nipple, flick the bar with my tongue, and her hips grind against me. She’s so responsive. Every touch, every kiss, every tiny movement—I feel it all.
She’s not holding back. Neither am I.
Her hands stay in my hair, holding my head against her breast. “More,” she whispers. “More, more, more—”
I reach for her other sleeve, but it’s already halfway down her shoulder. I push the fabric aside, baring both of her breasts to the starlight. She’s so beautiful like this. Open and wanting and mine, at least for tonight.
“Win,” I say, looking up at her.
“What?”
“I’m not going to rush this.” I kiss the swell of her breast. “I want to remember every second.”
Her breath catches. “Cal—”
“I know we don’t have much time.” I kiss her sternum. “But I’m not going to waste it.”
She looks down at me, and there’s something in her eyes, warm and bright like the stars above us.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay.”