At the far end, my eyes snag on a tall, dark-clad figure.
My mouth dries up when I see the back of his head. I remember reading Gone Girl, how amazed I was by the description of his wife’s skull, how well he knew the back of her head. And Callan’s skull is the first skull in my life that I seem to know with that same intensity and with such vivid memory. The hair short-cropped at the base of his neck and slightly longer and wavy at the top.
I somehow manage not to stumble as I walk forward, even when I feel his eyes suddenly compulsively rake me head to toe and in between.
Am I still wearing a dress?
Because he’s looking at me as if I’m not.
He’s dressed in a black suit, and his jacket hugs his shoulders like my arms want to.
I don’t, of course.
I spend the night mingling with a drink in my hand, stealing looks and wishing I could just stand there with him.
I catch Callan’s gorgeous face canted in my direction nearly every time I let my eyes wander his way.
He doesn’t miss a beat in his conversations, but his eyes darken a bit when our gazes clash. We’re staring at each other when George taps my shoulder to ask me if I’m okay, why I’m so distracted.
I see Callan’s eyes slide to him and his jaw clench, his smile fade as someone whispers something in his ear.
“Oh. I’m great!” I say, pulling my gaze free.
Two minutes later, I head out of the room and into the ladies’ room. I look at myself in the mirror; I’m flushed just from being close to him and wanting to be closer. Urgh.
I wash my hands and take a moment, then ease outside just as Callan steps out into the hall.
My heart skips, and we share a smile as I quickly step into a little nook in the corridor.
When he notices I’m blushing, he just chucks my chin and says, “Are you hungry?” Fixing me with a look that makes me even warmer.
“Starved.”
His mouth devours mine softly.
“Me too,” he whispers, lips curving lightly at the corners.
I’m about to leave when he takes my fingers in his and gives them a little reassuring squeeze. “Meet me out in the car at half past twelve.”
“Okay.”
We sit through dinner at separate tables, both of us laughing and engaged in conversations while locking gazes, over and over.
The night feels endless until, at twenty before twelve, Callan smiles that toe-curling, smirkish smile and motions toward the doorway. A dull ache thuds in my chest as I set my drink aside, grab my clutch, and tell the other interns I’m beat and heading home.
I refrain from saying that I’m taking the CEO home with me.
The moment I step into his house, his hand leading me inside, he stretches an arm out and shuts the door.
He kisses me, hard. Possessive. Driving his tongue as deep as he wants, his hands massaging my bum as he presses me back against the door.
I pull free and meet his hot gaze. I catch my breath, our eyes holding. I push him back a few steps, past the foyer and to the middle of his living room. Then I lower myself to my knees, and his chest expands as he holds his breath, his eyes on fire.
I take him out and run my tongue over him, watching his face. But it feels so intimate and I’m so engrossed with the hard velvet feel of him and taste of him, I close my eyes and simply suck him, not even for his pleasure but my own selfish one.
I’m dangerously
unashamedly
nymphomaniacally
in love with this big cock.
He shifts and pulls me up to my feet, scooping me up and taking me to the couch. He sits and brings me with him as he stretches on his back—then he flips me around in a 69. He whispers as he kisses the inside of my thigh. “Come on my face. Huh? Do that for me, huh?” He licks deep inside me.
“Oh god, Callan.”
“Bend over me.”
I take him in my mouth, ramming the thick flesh as far as I can take him. I rock my hips as his tongue works me and I go off in record speed when not only do I feel him tongue me deeply, but also hear him groan as if I’m the most delicious-tasting thing ever. I’m definitely not the most delicious-tasting thing ever.
Because I’ve got the most delicious-tasting thing ever in my mouth.
I didn’t sleep one wink and I’m not one bit tired after the orgasms he gave me. I feel amazing, delicious. Also, hungry. And shy.
I’m enjoying my time so much as we have breakfast, coffee and pastries and the most delicious green tea I’ve ever tasted.
I brazenly stroke my bare toes up his calf beneath the breakfast table as we both read the paper.
I love that Callan’s lips curl as if by their own will when I head a little higher, but he doesn’t stop reading. It makes me wonder if he reads the paper every morning. Wonder what it would be like to wake up and see him with his sexily mussed hair every morning.
“What are we doing today?”
He eyes me above the top of the paper, eyebrows raised, eyes warm on me as he then folds it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m doing you.”
“Callan!” I groan but blush deliciously all over.
He laughs softly, and then grits his jaw as if he’s in pain. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about this—and I’m talking to Roth tomorrow.”
My teacup clatters on the saucer. “What? What do you mean?” When he only sends me a commanding look, I blurt, “You don’t need to talk to him . . . This is just between me and you, and it’s just a fling. It’ll only complica— Look, I’m only here for two more weeks.”
“And?”
“And I’m not staying here. You’re not looking for anything serious.” I pause. “Are you?”
“I’m looking at her.”
“You don’t mean it. You’re fixated on me, like some company you see potential in; the more you think you can have it the more you want it.”
“Olivia,” he tsks softly, reaching across the table and tugging me around it until I’m on his lap. “You’re pleasant company, but you’re not a company.”
I’m scared to believe him. I don’t want him to talk to my brother, I don’t want him to pretend this is different, I don’t want to expect that much. I just want him.
I just want to binge and binge on him until this ache in my chest goes away. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Me either.” He rubs my ass as I rub his thigh.
“Let’s just enjoy this while it lasts, okay?” I beg.
He stares into my eyes. “I want to make it clear I have no shame when it comes to you. No rules I won’t break for you. Something about you gets to me like nothing ever has. I say the word woman, I think of you. Female, I think of you. Sexy, I think of you. Sweet, I think of you.”
“God. Don’t be sweet to me. It will just make it harder to leave.”
“You want hard? Last night was hard.” He looks at me—and I realize he doesn’t like our situation. He’s not the kind of man to be anyone’s dirty little secret. He’s the kind of man you flaunt.
And apparently, I’m the kind of girl he’d come clean for.
“I’ll tell him when I’m ready,” I concede, needing him more than I did a second ago. Something that I thought was impossible.
The steely determination in his eyes softens at my words, and he grabs the back of my neck possessively and pulls me to his devouring mouth. No more talking for now.
I have an enjoyable dinner with the girls that weekend, but I’m dreading telling my brother about Callan and me.
My worst fear now is that Tahoe is going to punch Callan.
I don’t want my brother to punch Callan.
I’ll punch my brother if that happens.
I feel protective of my guy, even if he’s only temporary. Callan not only looks like a bad boy, he acts like one too, and everybody’s going to blame him. They’re going to act as if this is such a bad thing, when it’s not bad. Not at all.
But I’m dying to talk to someone
about it.
I’m quiet, sitting here, when all I want is to shout it to the rooftops. But saying it aloud will only bring more complications, and I already know that it’s going to end soon. So I only tell the girls that I went to Navy Pier with him recently, which surprises all of them.
“Wow. He invited you?”
“I sort of invited myself.” I laugh, then smirk and sip from my straw.
They’re dead silent. And then they all seem to talk at the same time.
Rachel tells me you really can’t know a guy until you’ve opened up to each other.
Wynn says even then apparently things that have been buried too deep take a while or a trigger to surface.
Gina tells me to listen to my brother, that he wants what’s best for me.
And I just listen and that’s that.
The next week, Callan’s got a thousand things on his plate, it seems. A successful recent acquisition needs restructuring, and Alcore’s fighting back against his takeover.
My eyes are blurry at 9 p.m. I’m on my seventh cup of coffee.
I hear the elevator of my floor ting, and I see Callan step out and we smile.
We’re the only ones in the building.
“You should be home,” he says.
“Not if you’re still working,” I say stubbornly.
We both start for the elevators.
He smiles approvingly. “You have time to track my schedule?” He absently pushes a part of my loose hair back behind my shoulder. “Thought I’d kept you busy enough.”
“You do.”
As he exposes my neck and runs his thumb along the curve of my throat, a shiver runs through me. “Not enough, apparently.” Callan cups the back of my head and turns me to face him. “I must give you something to do with that extra time of yours.”
His eyes are glinting playfully, and I blush and say, tongue in cheek, “Maybe.”
His driver, Lou, pulls the Range Rover around the curve as we exit the building.
Callan and I climb inside. We head along the streets of Chicago, Callan quietly staring out the window, a thoughtful expression on his face.
I reach out and take his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice, so I squeeze it, silently inviting him to share.
“I’m sorry.” He turns, rubbing a hand over his face, squeezing my fingers. “I’m distracted; I’m not on my game.” He looks at me with a pause, then adds gruffly under his breath as he eyes me beneath drawn brows, a warning/playful gleam in his eye, “Taking over companies used to be more fun before you made me question everything.”
I just stare.
I’m falling for him. I want to say, Your whole heart for my whole life.
They say nothing is guaranteed. Except I know I’ll never feel for someone the way I do for him. Not for a moment.
What can I do?
“I can sleep at my place—” I offer.
But he cuts me off with a brusque “No.”
The look in his eyes when we reach his house is absolutely possessive. Sometimes we stop for dinner. Sometimes we order delivery to his home. Sometimes his chef leaves dinner prepped for us.
Tonight he doesn’t seem hungry for anything but me.
Our fingers linked, he leads me to his bedroom.
I want to erase the frustration from his brow and the shadows from his eyes.
“Maybe a part of me feels if I tell my brother, he’ll take you away. You won’t be just mine; you’ll be accused of seducing me when the truth is, I was little nymphy Livvy who—”
He bursts out laughing. “Livvy. I wanted you the second you asked for that first hit.”
My breath catches. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He strokes my cheek, his voice gentle. “Let me handle T. I’ll schedule lunch with him. Seems right for me to be the one to tell him. Plus, something tells me you’d apologize, and there’s nothing to apologize for.” He eyes me intently—my face, my lips, my eyes.
“I just don’t know if it’s worth it. I have only a little more than a week . . .” I scowl menacingly. “I’m not sure it’s worth you getting punched by Tahoe. I happen to be fond of this face.” Softly, I reach out and touch his jaw.
His lips curve upward in amusement. “Trust me. You’re worth it.”
He looks at me for a while, as if something I said touched him deeply. He smiles as he leans his head.
“Come here, Livvy. I’ve been craving you.” His arm slides around my waist, pulling us flush.
His kiss is so very warm. He lowers his head even more and kisses the upper swell of one of my breasts, then moves on to my “freckle,” over my top, kissing it, laving it, and it feels amazing.
He draws me up to his length, his hands covering my ass. He squeezes, then clenches me tight in a bear hug as we kiss.
We don’t move, only our lips do. My fingers spread on his back and I feel everything, his hands splayed on my back and his chest flattening my breasts. His frame nearly swallows me in a cocoon of muscles and strength and warmth.
He watches me as he strips off my top. He lowers the bra cups and he sucks the peak of one nipple into his mouth. He turns his head and does the same to the other nipple. Then he lifts his gaze, leaving both my nipples wet, the cool air making them pucker even more.
I’m breathing through my mouth, disheveled and out of control as I grab the back of his head and try to pull him up to kiss me. He obliges me with a kiss that turns my toes to full-on tingling, then lowers his head and swipes his tongue over one nipple again, then the other, as he continues unbuttoning my shirt and smooths it off my shoulders and arms.
Then it’s gone. I’m in my slacks and bra, and Callan is shirtless and I can’t get enough.
He takes my waist, serious about shit now, and flips me around, pressing me up against the wall and kicking my legs apart.
I’m trembling and as turned on as I’ve ever been in my life.
I shiver under the stroke of one hand on my hair, from the top of my head to my back.
He works off the rest of my clothes and then his, then he runs his hand over the front of my body as his erection teases my ass cheeks from behind. His dark, seductive voice is in my ear. “You’re irresistible. I can’t keep my eyes off you, my hands off you.”
I nod. Likewise.
He teases his cock over my folds. I groan and push my ass out, waiting for it.
He thrusts in once. He pulls out. I groan.
He flips me around, lifts me up by the ass and carries me to his bedroom, and I curl my legs around him as he lowers me down on the bed, rolls on a condom and then joins me on his back, dragging me over him. I part my lips, wanton as his tongue strokes mine and I suck and lick and rub his tongue back in a whirl of heat and passion and recklessness. I sit on him—his cock plunging all the way deep with the first thrust.
Oh god, I’m drunk on this.
He’s breathing fast, but I’m breathing faster. His hand covers my cheek and holds my jaw. I’m helpless to his kiss, while his arm holds my hip down and he rocks his hips in a powerful motion and fucks me. Like really, truly fucks me, as if he means for this to be the last fuck of his life, or at least mine.
“No more thinking about consequences; there are none. The risk is ours and ours alone—only between us,” he repeats.
“Yes,” I say.
Though I know this guy is so much more comfortable with risks than I am.
I turn my lips to nip at the heel of his palm, and he releases a sound I’d never heard him make before, like a growl that contains one word inside it—Livvy.
His lips smash to one of my “freckles.” Then the other.
I don’t think a man has ever kissed me like this, unleashed a hunger like this on me, awakened a hunger like this in me.
We move fast and crazy, rolling on the bed until I straddle him, and when he peels his mouth away from my raw breasts, we lock gazes.
I search his dark eyes, nearly bronze as he looks at me.
He rubs the freckles on my shoulder
s with his thumbs.
I stroke his jaw, not wanting him to stop thrusting inside me.
Doubts try to trickle in, that I’m getting in too far and deep, but they don’t stand a chance against this—against him.
He rolls us over and now he’s on top, pulling out. Watching me as he drives back in. I groan. He exhales sharply, loving it.
I hadn’t realized how much I’ve grown to need this, how intensely he makes me feel alive, happy, female. Wanted.
And in this moment, it just cannot be wrong, nothing as right as being with him feels could be anything but perfect.
When we’re done, I lie on his bed and listen to his breathing.
His nose is at my neck, smelling me.
He strokes my hair from the top of my head to my back.
Once under the covers, his arm comes around my waist, pulling us flush.
I feel relaxed, and so content, tracing the words “I love you” on his chest with my fingertip as my eyes flutter shut. I’m slowly lulled to sleep by the scent of his expensive cologne and a touch—light and tender, almost as if it’s alien to a man like him.
I stir awake to a voice in the distance and Callan’s arm slipping out from underneath me.
I stir awake and sit up when I recognize my brother’s voice growling, “Carmichael!”
My eyes dart around the room in search of my clothes as I watch Callan leap into his slacks and head out of the bedroom, shirtless.
I glance at the clock and realize he missed lunch with my brother.
Oh my god!
Fuck.
Fuuuck!!!
I dress haphazardly and try—really try—not to lose my shit. My whole body is trembling guiltily as I tiptoe down the hall. I can hear Tahoe. His voice is low. Lethal. Furious.
“This is my sister’s bag, these are my sister’s fucking shoes, this is her fucking ring. You touched my sister? I’m going to break you in two!”
I run over to them. “No!” I cry.
Both men glance my way. Callan’s jaw turns to granite as he clenches it. He shoots me a dark and powerful stare, then he puts me behind him and addresses Tahoe in a surprisingly—admirably—calm voice. “I encourage you to make sense in the next few seconds, take the path to the front door, and get out of my home. I’ll be happy to discuss this with you—alone.”