28. Callie Rae
Callie Rae
My stare traces the stitched paisley patterns in the leather. They sweep across the boot with the embedded pink rhinestones.
I drag my fingers across the pointed toe and sturdy heel, grazing the authentic leather. This had to have cost him a fortune, but the sentiment puts the numeric value to shame.
Tears puncture the corners of my eyes, ready to descend when he inches a step closer. My chin angles up as my lips part in awe. Then I’m hiking my shoulders through my tangled breath.
“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. “They’re beautiful.”
His mouth curves up when his palm frames the side of my neck. My eyes shut, and his lips rest on top of my head.
“Happy Birthday, Dove.”
Dove.
The rough pads of his fingers brush my low bun. He catalyzes a warm shiver that sinks me into him. Those strong arms cuddle me, and my cheek finds that familiar nest against his steel torso.
I’m already breathing my next words. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Once upon a time, I promised you I could give you everything you want.” His murmured response brushes my scalp.
Strengthening those goosebumps as his cologne colors all my senses.
“I made the promise but couldn’t back it up at the time.
I’ve been living in Hell, just wondering if my word was good enough to last us these ten years.
” He wags his head, his stubbled mouth tickling my hair with the motion. “Do you have to question me now?”
I shake my head, wringing out a tear through crumpled eyes. “I never did. Not once,” I manage.
His palms cuddle the back of my head, and his chin rests on top. “I probably should’ve given you the smaller gift first. That was stupid,” he teases.
I chuckle against him. Then he strips away, backpedaling to the corner of the counter space. I hug myself, my palms clutching the fabric of my cardigan around my upper arms.
When he closes the distance between us, he’s flipping the top of an ivory carton up. My head dips to peek at the contents, and my smile falls with wonder.
I count ten Italian rainbow cookies assorted on top of the doily.
Ten.
Ten birthdays.
Nine for each birthday he missed.
And one for the birthday he found me.
I exhale a long breath, my face contorting with glee. A grin spreads across my face, and I gesture to the box. “Can I have one? Please.”
“Your knack for asking silly questions worries me a bit.”
A breathy snicker slips from me as I grab a cookie. My eyes lock with his as I wrap my lips around half the dessert. I bite into the dense texture, notes of chocolate and almond blending together on my tongue. The rich flavor travels to my belly, and I decide to lift the cookie to Brant’s mouth.
Without hesitation, his hot lips trap my fingers. My belly cartwheels when the tip of his tongue assists him, and he sucks the snack in one swift motion. His taut jaw shuffles to munch on the sweet treat, but our gazes never sever.
I roll the sticky pads of my fingers together, inhaling as I turn. I lean my lower stomach against the edge of the counter, and Brant plants the box down at my side.
His presence lights a match to the newer pieces of my heart. The parts that weren’t rebuilt properly.
And I allow him to disintegrate them.
To ashes.
Just so he can work his magic again.
Somehow, this man was given a divine power to heal me. He’s a remedy in human form—my forever cure.
He fixes me with his love. A love that I found in trenches of heartache and pain. It wasn’t supposed to exist there, but somehow, we crafted it into reality.
It’s magic.
Pure magic.
Brant’s behind me, and I begin to shrug my cardigan off my shoulders. He halts the journey, catching the bunched material in his palm when he says, “Callie, n—”
“I left him.”
The whispered confession spews out of me. My body craves to be smothered against his, and if I don’t do it now, I might die. Just like I would’ve if he didn’t make love to me in that sunflower patch all those years ago.
He remains still.
The heat of his proximity spreads to my core, and my panties pool with thick desire. “What did you just say?” he asks.
“I packed a bag. It’s in the car. I left him.”
We’re still for several seconds. The echo of my admission is like a boomerang that bounces back and forth between the walls of the kitchen.
I can feel the man he’s become as he towers over my backside. But somewhere in this abrupt turn of events, Brant’s touch melts into his.
The first and only boy I ever fell in love with.
It never changed.
His hands sink to my waist, gently squeezing. His head hovers over the slope of my neck, my nipples stabbing through the snug fabric of my dress.
I slip my sweater down the remaining length of my arms, and he reflexively catches the material. Tossing it to the floor before his palm relocates itself.
“Am I your last?”
His question rings through, the gratifying sound nudging my head to fall to my right.
I nod.
“No, don’t nod at me,” he murmurs, kneading my waist. “Say it.”
My palms brace themselves on the counter. I turn my head, and Brant pulls back just enough.
Our eyes are locked before I confess. “You’re my last.”
His gaze tunnels to my mouth. He releases one of my hips, and the pad of his thumb drags my bottom lip down.
My eyes hood through the hot spark of his touch. I’m prepared to crush my mouth to his, but his thumb swipes along the length of my lip.
I knit my brows when he smears my berry lipstick onto my chin. He’s creating a mess of my makeup. Trailing his finger in the opposite direction until a streak of wax paints my skin there too.
He rubs my lipstick off in a cycle of harsh swipes. A heat sears my back, and I swivel within his embrace.
He’s erasing any remnant of Jesse off me.
My mouth settles into his coarse palm, nudging against it like goddamn catnip. And before my next breath, my lips are naked.
I tuck my swollen mouth as I grip the counter behind me. Brant’s thumbs affectionately stroke my jawline clean, and a moan elicits from my throat.
I rest my wobbly hands over his as he completes his mission. “Fuck me,” I gasp.
He bends to palm the backs of my thighs, hoisting me onto the countertop.
“Fuck me, Brant. Please.” My fingers claw at the buttons of his dress shirt, needing to feel him.
Dove.
He’s in there. I know he is.
“There’s only one Callie Rae Montgomery my cock wants.” He snakes his fingers behind my neck. His digits fiddle with the clasp of my tennis necklace while mine unbutton his top. “Is she here?”
I nod urgently, exposing his rippled chest. I allow his dress shirt to hang open, and my hands instantly toy with the hair clip holding my sleek bun together.
Then his fingers greet my earlobes. “Come on, get my dick hard. Show me her,” he breathes, flicking the fasteners off my stud earrings.
It’s amazing, truly.
We’re cloaked in everything we once dreamed about, but the only thing we wish to do is strip all of it off. Until we’re left bare to find the other’s soul.
Until we look like two doves.
I remove the barrette, dropping it on the butcher block. He flings the tennis necklace and earrings to the floor, the clanking of the diamonds booming through the kitchen.
My palms tousle my hair loose before his fingers hook into my spaghetti straps. He yanks them down my arms, revealing my naked breasts.
My nipples painfully pucker once they kiss the air. His hands dive to the hem of my dress, and mine slip into his collar.
I gasp when he briefly pops my ass off the counter to bunch the garment up. He jerks the fabric of my dress so it’s mangled around my waist, and I massage his carved shoulders.
His hand cuddles my throat, and we crash our lips together.
He’s hot and skilled, caressing my lips in an erotic frenzy. I frame his face to trap his mouth, reclining to lay flush against the butcher block.
He curls my leg tightly around his hip, my stiletto heel sinking into his pants above his ass. Flames erupt between us as butterflies take flight. He rolls his hips, the buckle of his belt nudging my clit through my sopping panties.
Trapped mewls jumble between us, and our tongues lap up ten years in a wild rush. He sinks his thumb into the sensitive flesh of my throat, hitting that throbbing pulse point in my neck.
“Did you have fun fucking all those boys after me?” he asks against my aching lips.
I shake my head feverishly through a whine. “No. Never.”
His hands sneak under my back to scoop me off the counter. He straightens, settling me in place as I tangle around his solid body.
My sharpened nipples scrape his tight chest as our lips fuse together hungrily. He’s traveling us to his bedroom, a dimmer lighting casting over us when we enter the new domain.
I briefly peek over my shoulder, catching his queen-sized bed layered in navy sheets. A gasp flings from my mouth when he drops me onto the mattress, and I land on my ass.
I’m braced on my palms with my entire dress bundled at my midsection. My tits are out, lace panties on full display and accompanied by my stiletto heels.
Brant leans to tug the bunched dress, and my arms lift to help him. He disposes the clothing before I bend to unbuckle a heel.
But his fingers angle my chin up, and he’s shaking his head. “Don’t you even think about it,” he rasps. “Heels stay on.”
My lips part, surprise woven in my lingering stare. His fingers cradle my chin harsher, and our lips lock in a French kiss. His tongue caresses mine, his hold on me unforgiving as I whimper against him.
I pant when we break away, bracing myself on two palms again. Reflexively, my legs part just as he straightens up.
I look as indecent as can be, and his feral eyes land on my body. My throat rolls when he slowly slides his unfastened tie off, his jaw locked and loaded.
“You’re not riding for free,” he growls.
My eyes lick down the section of his torso exposed by his open dress shirt. He stands there in his chiseled glory, and I find the tip of his dove tattoo above the waistline of his pants.
“Lose it,” he demands.