On The Rebound (Steinbeck U #1) - L.A. Cotton Page 0,17
her as I worked her with my fingers, slow sure strokes that had her writhing beneath me. “Yeah, that’s it, Calli, ride my hand.” I went faster, harder, pressing my fingers deeper.
“God,” she moaned. “It feels...”
“I know, baby. I know.” I dragged my tongue up her cheek before kissing her hungrily.
It was enough to tip her over the edge, her cries filling the abandoned house.
Need burned through me and before I knew it, I had the button on my jeans open and my hands under her ass, lifting her against the wall. Calli’s slick pussy pulled me into her, and I was almost inside her when something made me pause.
“Are you sure?”
She stared at me, refusing to give me an answer.
“Are. You. Sure?” I barked. I was going to explode. If I didn’t get inside her in the next five seconds, I was going to combust.
“Fuck it,” I growled, slamming into her.
Calli’s ankles locked behind my back, as I pounded into her.
“Zach...” she panted.
“Yeah, baby?” I murmured into the crook of her shoulder as I went harder. Faster. Not caring that her back was probably being torn to shreds by the bare wall. She felt too fucking good. So tight and wet.
“Why does it feel so good?” she cried.
“Because you’re mine, Calliope.” My hand went to her throat, pinning her there. “You’ve always been mine.”
But she wasn’t mine.
Maybe she never had been.
Calli
It took an entire five days of me being at SU before my father summoned me to his house—a big sprawling place overlooking the ocean, on a patch of land nestled right between Steinbeck and Morenta. For a second, I contemplated not going. But that would only give him ammunition. Besides, before she died, my mom had asked me to try.
God, I hated that word.
A promise I’d made to a dying woman. The woman who had been there for me no matter what.
For as much as I hated to admit it, there was still a small girl inside me, a child desperate for her father’s approval. I’d had therapy to conquer that... but there were some things that no amount of talking could fix. They were just a part of you, the way blood flowed through your veins and salt tainted your tears.
Forcing myself up the path, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I hadn’t bothered to dress up, sticking to my modest-length jean shorts and a striped t-shirt. Before I reached the door, it opened.
“You’re late,” Callum said.
“No, I’m not.” I checked my wristwatch. “I’m two minutes early.”
“Whatever. Dad is in the kitchen.”
Except for the argument we’d had the other day, I hadn’t seen my brother in almost three months—not since the funeral—and that’s all he had to say to me.
It stung far more than it should. I wasn’t the one who ruined our relationship, that was all on him. He’d chosen our father in our parents’ separation. He’d chosen to pursue basketball at all costs.
I’d had no say in the matter.
“Nice to see you too,” I grumbled as I stepped inside, watching his retreating form. As I moved through the house, I was hardly surprised to see the display cabinets and shelves full of Callum’s trophies and medals. There was a wall full of newspaper cuttings and photographs, all of my brother. His face. His life. His accolades. He owned one hundred percent of my father’s display real estate.
And what did I get?
A text message demanding my presence at the house today, five days after I’d arrived in Steinbeck.
It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so sad.
“Hello?” I called out. I’d only been here a handful of times, when I was younger. Back when I’d been desperate to salvage my relationship with Callum. But it quickly became apparent that it was pointless. You couldn’t fight for something that was already dead and buried.
“In here,” my father’s baritone voice echoed through the house.
I found him in his study, nose buried in a stack of papers. “Ah, Calliope, you made it. Late as always, I see.”
“Actually, I’m not—” I bit back the need to argue. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, don’t just stand there, take a seat. Callum’s around here somewhere. Did you two—”
“We already saw each other.” And it was as underwhelming as ever.
“Good, good.” He sat back, taking a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “You’re settled in well over there?”