The thought of upsetting him hits me harder than I expect it to. Waking up alone in the apartment this morning floods my mind, and I know even though I want space and a little time to breathe on my own, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle waking up and them not being within shouting distance.
Hating that he’s controlling me with a simple release of air, I turn in his direction. Low lights from the parking lot filter through the edges of the blinds making it easy to determine the lines of his body but not much else. I stare at his back and the rhythmic exhales he’s releasing, and I’m certain he’s asleep.
Do I even want his attention? Why do I even care? Why am I restless when I know I’m bone tired from my first night back at work?
Stupidly, I reach for him, running my hand down his spine, but he must have the strongest will because he doesn’t even move a muscle with my touch.
I don’t want him mad at me. No matter how annoying I’ve found him recently, I know that I’m beyond blessed to have both of them hovering around making sure I’m safe, eating right, and have access to everything I’ll ever need.
“Callum,” I whisper as I reach my hand around his body.
I gasp in shock when I find him fully erect, but he still doesn’t respond. It isn’t until I stroke the length of him over his boxers that he releases a pained moan.
“I don’t want you mad at me.”
His reaction is stiffening, and not in a sexy way. Either my words or my touch have had the opposite effect of what I’m aiming for. He shifts, rolling his body over to face me, effectively breaking my contact with his body. He doesn’t say a word as he rests his head on the pillow mere inches from mine.
I swallow, unwilling to give up. Despite the irritation I’ve felt for him all day, it’s impossible to be this close to him while he’s awake and not want him. I clear my mind, shutting down everything in my head that’s chastising my actions right now, and I reach for him again. I don’t wrap my arms around his shoulders or lift my mouth to press against his. That’s too intimate. It’s too personal. We’ve never been like that. Of course we’ve kissed and held each other, but all those times were foreplay, ways to turn each other on before the big act.
And I’m not looking for intimacy tonight either. My body is humming, begging for release, and I know full well the plethora of skill he has in his arsenal to get me there. My skin is alive with the possibility.
“Is this okay?” I ask with a teasing tone as I run my hand down his chest to the top of his boxers.
“No.” There’s no emotion in his voice, and his eyes never leave mine as he grips my hand to keep me from touching him again.
“I need—”
“I know exactly what you need.”
With his grip on my wrists, he moves me so I’m flat on my back before lifting my arms above my head and giving me a look that tells me to keep it there.
“Your skin is on fire for my touch isn’t it?”
I don’t answer because the truth of his question is written in the heat in my cheeks and the way my nipples furl painfully.
His cock is rigid against my thigh, but he ignores it as he lowers his mouth to suck on the tip of one breast.
“Are you wet?”
I whimper, and his mouth pulls up into a wicked smile.
“Of course you are.” His hands skate down my shoulders, over my chest, his thumbs teasing my nipples in the expert way I remember from our times together before.
“I ache for you,” I confess.
“Here?” He lifts my shirt, exposing me from my torso to my chin before he lowers his head and bites at the skin just under the puckered flesh of my right breast. “Or here?”
His fingers travel down my stomach stopping a few inches shy of where my body is hurting for him the most.
The last time we were together, his friend was in this very same bed with us. The memories of the things they both did to my body, working in tandem like a well-oiled machine make my eyes flutter closed.
“Callum,” I pant.
He insisted I use his first name when we were like this,