Chapter Twenty-Nine Sophie
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sophie
The day is beautiful. Sunny and warm, and no humidity.
Callum and I are enjoying our beach day as he takes a quick dip in the ocean to cool off. He always runs so warm, and I recline in my comfy chair with a book in my lap. The sand feels fantastic, and I curl my toes before burying them and sighing in pleasure.
The view is incredible, not a cloud in the sky, the sun reflecting off the crystal-clear blue water, and the best view of all—
Callum is striding towards me from the ocean—my gorgeous, wonderful man.
Droplets from the ocean cling to his lightly tanned skin, dripping down his broad, muscled chest that's covered in dark hair. The water drips down his stomach, his happy trail leading into his blue swim trunks. I push my sunglasses down my nose so that I can get a better look at him.
My mouth waters as he runs his hand through his dark hair, and I bite my bottom lip at the view, heat pooling very low.
I might just have to take a dip myself.
He grins at me when he sees me looking and kneels down in front of me, cupping my cheek with one hand while the other gently brushes the hair back from my face. I reach up and pull the sunglasses off my face, meeting his warm brown eyes.
"Hello, my otter," he murmurs, and I grin at him, giggling when he shakes his wet hair at me like a dog, spraying me with cold droplets.
"Callum!"
"Sorry, just wanted to get you a little wet," he says casually, and I snort, watching his face darken in a blush. "I—"
"Oh, yeah?"
"Not lik—well, yeah, like that too," he grins and leans forward, kissing me deeply.
"You're ridiculous," I murmur against his mouth, gently biting down on his lower lip and hear him groan softly in return.
He sucks on my top lip and mumbles, "And you love me anyway."
That statement makes me pause.
Pulling back, I meet his eyes and hold steady. I haven't voiced those feelings yet to him—am I that obvious? I worry for a second that it's too soon, and does Callum think that it's too soon? Does he think that I'm flighty, that I'm only experiencing limerence? That I'm just using him as a rebound?
I know myself, I know my feelings, I know what I feel is real. It's true. It's deeper and wider and richer and more potent than anything I've ever felt before.
I love Callum Rhodes.
I love his gentle nature, his foot-in-mouth disease, his kindness, and his optimism.
I love how he treats his mother, I love how he treats his friends—our friends.
I love the way he cares for me, and I love how he's so damn selfless, putting others before himself.
I love how he looks for the good in other people.
I love him.
So I don't flinch, I don't deny; I speak from my heart, look him dead in the eye, and tell him.
"I do."
He beams at me, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and threatening to crack his face in half.
He pulls me closer, and I fall willingly, kissing him with all the love I feel.
Our mouths brush against each other, in perfect sync, my tongue slipping in and him responding in kind.
Callum. I've never wanted someone more than I want him.
Mine, mine, mine.
Once we pull back, needing to breathe and needing to calm down because, as much as I want to, I can't jump his bones right here on this public beach. Callum grins, knowing my train of thought, and kisses my forehead. I take a deep breath, getting myself under control.
"Get my back?" I ask, grabbing the tube out of my beach bag and handing it to him.
"As you wish," he says, brushing my hair over my shoulder and pressing a kiss to the juncture where my neck meets my shoulder.
I shiver at the touch, closing my eyes as his hands rub the sunscreen in, making me hum in appreciation—in pleasure.
I reach up and move more of my hair out of the way for him, making it easier to reach my back.
My hair.
My hair.
My eyes snap open.
I realize I'm not at the beach and Callum definitely isn't rubbing lotion into my skin.
Instead of the clear blue sky, I'm staring at the white ceiling of my bedroom and groan at the loss of the incredible dream.
I grab my otters—Westley and Buttercup—and pull them closer, burying my bald head under my pillow.
But the throbbing between my legs is incessant and not going away.
I'm way too turned on to go back to sleep, thinking of Callum and that dream.
Doing something I haven't done in what feels like forever, I reach my hand down, past my pajama bottoms, and reach into my panties. I gasp when I touch myself, finding myself already slick, sensitive, and swollen. Circling my clit, I moan softly, my voice barely above a whisper, "Callum."
Sorry, just wanted to get you a little wet.
Yeah, you've succeeded, Callum, I think, gasping as I continue rubbing my swollen clit. I don't think I've ever been this wet before, this turned on, this needy. Not for anyone—not even Paul, with whom I had an active sex life.
Then I found the lump, and my libido hit a standstill from the worry and anxiety. Paul and I hadn't had sex for two months before we broke up—well, I hadn't been having sex.
He apparently had been having a good old time with Elise.
Wincing, I don't want to think about those embarrassing moments of me offering to take care of him, not knowing that he was already being taken care of.
The thought doesn't even make me sick anymore, it just makes me fucking angry.
He was horrified when I asked if he was laughing at me behind my back with her, sharing his feelings, which I had no idea he had been struggling with.
Because he wouldn't tell me!
He couldn't talk to me—his fiancée—the woman he had been with for six years.
I told him everything, every fear that I had about the cancer, and even before that, of becoming just like my own mother when we would have kids.
My worries of missing something important at my job and getting fired for it.
My terror at Tess being deployed somewhere dangerous and dying.
All of my fears, worries, and anxieties I laid bare to him because I placed my trust in him.
He would share general anxieties about school and work, but I realize now we never really got deep with his own feelings. When I would ask him, he would just assure me he was fine.
And I had thought that Paul was just naturally confident, that he was just so composed and put together. That almost hurts as badly as him having sex with Elise.
My hand stills, and I growl at myself in frustration, shaking my head to get rid of those thoughts and resuming my ministrations.
Callum, my otter, my gentle giant with his large, strong body dusted with dark hair. Those large arms wrapped around me, making me feel so safe. The scratch of his beard when he kisses me, those large hands cupping my face tenderly while his lips move against mine like he's feral.
My hips rock against my hand, and I spread my legs to give myself more access, moaning at the feeling.
I close my eyes and picture his large body—naked, completely covering mine, warm and solid.
His wandering hands leave a scorching trail—to my hips, squeezing and kissing my breasts, grabbing my ass, before finally reaching my aching center and rubbing.
"Fuck yes... oh God... Callum!" I cry out, the orgasm rushing over me hard and fast and causing my entire body to tense and then spasm. I smack my hand over my mouth, knowing that my walls are thin and my neighbors can be nosy, and I really don't want them to hear me masturbating.
I keep rocking against my hand, trying to draw the orgasm out longer and longer. Fuck, it feels so good—like letting go of a tension I had no idea I was carrying, it rushing from my body and leaving me in a completely relaxed, boneless state.
Aftershocks cause my legs to twitch as I slow my hand's movements, breathing heavily.
"Oh, wow..." I breathe out, giggling softly to myself as I pull my hand from my panties. I reach my hands up and stretch, noting the light coming through the curtains. When I tap my phone’s screen, my eyes widen when I see that it’s past eight.
It's Saturday, and I don't have anywhere to be today, but I'm still not completely used to sleeping past six. The chemotherapy has me sleeping longer and deeper—a normal side effect, Nurse Patti had assured me.
There's a doctor's appointment on Wednesday to discuss how my treatment is going, and I hope that they will tell me we can proceed with the mastectomy in December.
I'd rather just get it done and over with so I can go into the New Year with some hope, but that means that the chemotherapy will have had to shrink the tumor enough to be cleared for surgery.
Then, after that is radiation, which I've heard is even more intense than chemo. It's like every step is harder than the last—the chemo, then losing my breasts and getting the implants, which I've read can be a little painful, then the radiation.
Then, I am aiming for the cancer to be gone so that I can move forward with life.
Despite all of this, though, I feel truly optimistic and just generally good about everything.
And I think that's the doing of Callum.
I don't feel alone in this fight. I have Callum.
I have Tess and Maeve. I have Donna and Rich.
I have my book club friends. I have something to look forward to every Monday.
I have my little Plot to play with when I'm at the store, who cuddles into my chest and purrs that soothing little sound for me.
I have a flexible job that I genuinely enjoy doing.
I have things to live for, I have an incentive to fight.
I love my life.
Okay, I've lost my hair, but I took control of that and allowed Callum to help me, and—God, that was... an emotionally trying, but ultimately freeing experience. And I am so glad that I shared it with him.
I've never felt that safe with someone before.