Standing, he presses hishand into my back and ushers me towards the exit, Stalin a few feet behind. Everyone is gawping at me. Me, Zara damn Reid, being escorted out by two mountains looking ready to murder anyone who looks at them. As soon as I step into the elevator, Callan’s lips fall to my ear, and his eyes meet mine in the mirrored wall.
“Oh, you’re in so much trouble, Miss Reid.”
We’re silent in the car.
Stalin, although seemingly indifferent, must be aware of the growing tension in the back seat. After a slow and awkward drive, we finally arrive at the underground car park, and Callan waits as Stalin assists me out.
“Thanks. I like your tie,” I say, apparently catching him off guard. He touches the material and smiles.
“It was a gift.” His eyes slip over the hood where Callan is glaring violently at me. Rolling my eyes, I pat Stalin’s chest.
“Wish me luck.” The mountain of a man coughs out a laugh, then rights himself and suddenly looks over my shoulder with unease. I turn, surprised to find Callan at my back. I jump but straighten up and walk past, only to be held back when he grips my wrist in his spade of a hand. His grip is tight, and I can instantly feel the blood flow weaken. My fingers tingle, so I wiggle them.
“Stalin will go ahead,” he says directly to me as I watch the other guy move around us and wander over to the elevators. It's a tense few minutes of us both breathing harshly and staring at one another until Callan cracks his neck and glares at me for a few heated seconds. He moves first, walking towards the lifts. “Move.”
“Don’t bark at me. I’m not a dog!” I snap and overtake him. My heels clack loudly, and I imagine each sound is me hitting him with my shoe. That reminds me, what did he do with my heels that night after he ordered Oscar to be beaten up? As soon as we step into the lift, I face him. “Where are my heels from the night I was at Skyn?”
“In my office at Skyn,” he replies simply. I don't remember seeing them the other day. He begins undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “Undress,” he demands. So he kept them then. That makes me happy.
“You can forget it. I’m not sleeping with you,” I spit, crossing my arms over my chest. We may have made a deal, but he certainly isn’t holding up his side. He can’t keep me in the dark about any progress with how he plans to extract me from this life. He says he is drawing them out, but why, and at what cost?
Callan laughs.“You never fail to prove me right, Zara. You’re so predictable with your little tantrums.” He is still stripping, and I want to scream at him for always being right. I send him to hell with my glare, but he scoffs and continues removing his clothes at a leisurely pace. Oh, he thinks he is just so damn fucking perfect. Well, fine, I will prove him wrong. I move towards him and slap my hand onto the emergency button, stalling us. I jerk forwards into his chest, and even he rocks at the sudden jolt.
I grab my dress at the hem, tugging it up, but it doesn’t shift properly. I growl and stamp my foot in frustration. Big hands grip at the neck, and with a loud tear, my dress hangs open like a damn jacket. I gasp and stare up at Callan, who is panting wildly. His eyes zero in on my bare crotch, but before he can move, I drop to my knees and drag his trousers down, freeing him. He’s huge, and when I touch the tip with my tongue, he staggers back into the wall, moaning.
I grab his cock and squeeze hard. Hissing, he looks down at me over his rapidly expanding chest.
“How’s this for predictable?” I glare before taking him as deep as I can. His velvety-smooth length glides in, and my plan backfires. He feels incredible in my mouth, hot, hard and momentarily at my mercy. I suck, hollowing my cheeks to gain full traction over every inch.
His head lolls. “Fuuuuuck, Zara, again.” He shifts, his feet gaining more stability and grips my hair, encouraging my bobbing. He groans, thrusting deeply and denying me a reprieve. Holding still, he allows me to recover my breathing before he does it repeatedly until I’m wheezing at his feet, and he is sweating. I bare my teeth, grazing them up his length until I feel him swell, and I hum at the sensation. “God damn you and your damn mouth,” he snarls, yanking himself free. His thumb drags over my lips. I move to take him again, but he stops me. “Don’t. I need a minute.” It’s then that I realise he is shaking.
“Calla-”
“Zara, don't. I’m angry with need. I’m fucking mad as hell with you, and I want to hurt you,” he admits furiously. He drops his head against the lift. “Fuck, I want to hurt you so badly.” I blink, shocked by his words. Violent sexual images attack my brain, but so does my memory of Oscar’s broken body.
“Like Oscar?” I whisper. Oh god, does he get off on things like that? I move away, slowly pulling the remains of my dress around me.
“What? No. Jesus, Zara!” He twists, his arms still planted on the wall, his face now taking in my rumpled state. His eyes are wild.
“What do you mean?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before. I can’t fucking think straight. I want to fuck you hard, painfully hard. Like I need to crawl inside and own you,” he admits raggedly. “I want to tan your arse and bite your perfect fucking tits. I want to ram so deeply you cry and crumble for me, and I hate you for making me feel like this. You piss me the fuck off, and I want to punish you for it,” he spits, dropping his head forwards. I want him with the same ferocity. I certainly don't want him to slap me about, but I don’t mind his roughness during sex. It's a refreshing change from being pampered all the time. It reminds me I’m strong. I feel awakened every time, as though I can take on the world.
“Maybe I want that too,” I say quietly.
“Zara,” he warns. I press the button, and we continue gliding up. “Do. Not. Tempt. Me,” he hisses.
“When this stops, I’m getting out, and you need to give me time to either get my things to go home for the night or give me time to prepare for a night of giving you what you need,” I say, soft but sure.
“By making it your choice, it doesn’t make it any easier to accept I’m losing control with you.” He laughs unstably.
“Well, I lost my control to you. The least you could do is give me a little back and let me choose this,” I say simply and step to the door as the elevator slows. I’m not sure whether to grant Callan space or the kind of sex he so desperately needs. I’ve never judged anyone for their sexual preference, and although I haven’t given it much thought, I know I’m not into any kind of kink, or at least I think I’m not. I should leave.
The doors whoosh open, and I slip free, breathing heavily.
Chapter Nineteen
I race towards his bedroom and grab a clean dress, but the sight of the bed and what could happen in it makes me stop. Even if I go home tonight, there is always tomorrow or the next day and the next. It’s inevitable, and I begrudgingly admit I can’t think of anyone who I would feel more comfortable experimenting with than him.