“Again,” he warns me, working his neck before he pulls out and then...slam! My eyes slam shut, and a flash of colour bursts behind my lids. Stars.
“Zara,” his demanding tone pulls my eyes open. He rolls his hips, and his face tightens with pleasure. “I feel like I might just lose my control with you.” He narrows his eyes angrily at me. His hips pull away, and I know what’s about to come. I whimper, and he quirks his lips on a smile before slamming back in. My back arches as I cry out. “Problem is, you'll break before I do.” My vulnerable eyes flash to his, and he smirks darkly before slamming in and out repeatedly. I lose all thought. It’s overtaken with sensations. My nails are digging into flesh, and I’m crying openly at the brutality of him. The pleasure is overwhelming.
My orgasm hits me like a lightningbolt.
“Callan!” I scream, instinctively trying to clutch at him as I shudder out my release, but he holds me fast, watching me vividly as I come apart, sobbing.
He doesn't stop. His hips continue their assault until he is grunting out his release. His head drops, so close to my mouth, and when I think he is about to kiss me, he tilts my face and delicately licks the trail of tears off my cheek before resting his nose in my hair. I hadn't realised I was crying until his tongue touched my skin. My breathing is ragged, and my eyes hot. I’m shaken to the core, disorientated, and painfully vulnerable after voicing my secret to him.
“I may have to revise my one night rule.” He sounds drowsy, his heavy body softens against mine, and his breathing slowly levels out. I feel trapped and out of breath,but I lay still as he naps. His weight is an odd comfort. After a few minutes, his slow deep breaths begin to relax me too, to the point where my own eyes are growing heavy. Exhaustion pulls at me, and I begin to drift, drift away with him to a place I only ever dream of, to a life out of the limelight. A life like his own where he doesn't fear anyone, hide or follow rules. He lives life to his own making, taking what he wants. I wonder what it would be like to be in his shoes for a minute, or at least by his side. The thought unsettles me, and I shift, trying to get away. I need to think, to breathe. He flies off the bed, gun now in hand, and points it at me. I scream, falling back and crashing onto the floor, as pain ricochets up my spine. I sob as the throbbing ache spreads over my back.
“Fuck!” he roars. “Zara, are you okay?” Worried eyes appear from above the bed. I’m panting, and my back aches. I nod, but we both know I’m not. One false move, and I could be dead. Maybe that would be for the best. I really thought I had a chance to escape. I drop my head in defeat. What the hell am I doing? I have safety, and I’m risking it all for a selfish man who is out for himself.
“I should probably go,” I murmur, twisting to my knees and pushing myself up, wincing at the pain in my back. I’m visibly shaken as hands grip under my arms and lift me onto the bed.
“I didn't mean to scare you. I fell asleep. I… I never fall asleep.” He blinks, and the realisation has him sitting back on his haunches. “Never with anyone.”
The bed dips, and I pull the cover over my bare skin. Shit, my back really hurts. Tears prick my eyes, but I force them away.
“I don't blame them.” I laugh, trying to find humour, but his eyes are strained. “It’s okay,” I tell him. It’s not. I don’t feel okay. In fact, my heart is fighting to leave my body behind. Blank eyes find mine, and he inhales deeply.
Callan stands and walks around the bed to me.
“Come and have a bath with me.” Now I’m pulling back in shock. It seems such an unlikely thing for him to do that I find myself speechless.
“I hurt my back,” I tell him, as his arms scoop me up, and I’m being carried from the bed, determined footsteps bringing us to the tailored bathroom. Everything is as big as he is.
He deposits me on the counter and fills the bath. I’m too busy looking at my back to see him advancing on me. My eyes are glued to the deep bruise blooming along my spine. I hiss when I touch it and jump, finding Callan a foot away.
“Jesus Christ, will you stop sneaking about.”
“I’m six foot six. I can’t sneak anywhere,” he drawls. He can. He and I both know it. He's popped up enough times without my knowledge for him to claim otherwise. As if to convey that, I give him a lifted brow. His eyes fall to the bruise through the mirror and his gaze shutters, darkens. I bring his face back to mine. I know it was an accident, but I can tell it’s bothering him. I don’t know how I know, but his reaction just now tells me Callan has a softer side to him. Not such a big meanie after all. It makes me want to smile widely.
“So, do all your conquests get to bathe with you, or is it just me?” I question, my finger following the lines on this tattoo, and again, I find my eyes drawn to the two hands crossed by the thumbs cupping his neck. That sickening scrawled quote: ‘death by my own hands’ beneath makes my lips twist sadly. I don’t know what overcomes me, but I lean in, and my hands mimic the tattoo. Callan’s hands tighten on my knees, and his breath leaves in one loud gust of air, then I’m looking up into a shivering glare. “What happens if it’s not by your own hand?” I whisper.
He swallows, and my hands feel the thick muscle roll below my palms.
“Everything is about choice and consequence,” he says reflectively.
“I wasn't given much choice to be here.” I smirk, reminding him how he gatecrashed my shoot.
“But the consequences were worth it.” Callan laughs. My eyes light up at the sound. He leans into the counter, arms rested either side of me, bringing his face close to mine, our eyes burn back at one another. Wordlessly we stare, each taking in every aspect of the other's face.
I suck in a breath. I don’t think I’ve ever been so attracted to another person in all my life.
“You're ridiculously handsome,” I comment. My hands haven't moved, and Callan is happy to let me touch him in such a way. His lips twitch, and his eyes drop to my own lips, being chewed purposely between my teeth.
“Thanks,” he says roughly, but genuinely. His nostrils flare, and his fingers twitch on my knees. “I like your hands on my throat,” he admits gruffly. I search his eyes and find that the black is burning up hotter than the sun.
“You do, do you?” I ask as his mouth widens and his eyes sparkle. Callous Callan is slowly disappearing before my eyes, and instead of this dark, mechanical man, a more calm and light-hearted Callan is emerging. I really like that. I like him.
“Here.” He leans past me and gives me two painkillers, and filling a glass with water, he hands me that too and watches as I swallow them down, then plucks the glass from my fingers. “It’s time for you to show me what this little body can do.” His deep voice hits gravel, and I’m being swung up. I thread my legs around his waist, and my hands slip into his hair to keep me secured. I’m staring at his lips, my mouth tingling to touch them, my lips parting.
“Don’t,” he threatens. I flinch at the severity of his tone and pout, dropping my head to his shoulder as he steps us into the bath. I reach back and turn the tap off, hissing as my back complains.
His eyes look guilt ridden, and I say the first thing I think to dispel that feeling for him.
“Why don't you like being kissed?”