His fingers flexed at his sides again, like he was fighting himself.
And, damn it, I wanted him to lose that fight.
I took a slow, measured step forward, erasing the distance between us.
His nostrils flared.
I gestured between our bodies. “Are you going to do something about this?” My challenge was barely above a whisper.
Callum’s eyes flicked to my mouth, and then, in the span of a breath, he was on me.
His hands grabbed my waist, his body caging me against the stacked crates as his mouth crashed against mine.
Hot.
Hard.
Unyielding.
I gasped, parting for him immediately, and Callum groaned into me. It wasn’t a soft kiss. Not tentative. Not testing. It was fire and frustration, all sharp teeth and a rough, claiming pull—like he’d been holding back and finally let go.
Finally.
His fingers dug into my hips, like he needed to anchor himself. I pressed forward, arms winding around his neck, drinking him in, breathing him in.
A rumble came from deep in his chest, and I felt it everywhere.
I fisted his T-shirt, pulling him closer.
Callum growled, pressing me back against a beam. The feel of him—hard muscle, solid heat, pure want—sent a pulse of fire straightthrough me.
His tongue swept over mine, and I whimpered, my thighs clenching.
Callum groaned like he felt it, too, one hand sliding down, gripping my hip, and dragging me flush against him.
His cock was thick and hard, pressing against my stomach, and I wanted him everywhere.
Wanted his hands up my shirt. Wanted his mouth lower. Wanted to sink against him and never come up for air.
But just as suddenly as it happened, Callum ripped himself away, like he had just realized what he had done. His breaths were ragged, his hands still gripping my hips, like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.
I licked my swollen lips, swallowing past the ache in my chest. His eyes were still on my mouth, still hungry. He took another step back, and his hands dropped.
Cal ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “Fuck.”
I just smiled, because, yeah. He was so fucked.
And so was I.
THIRTEEN
CALLUM
The next threeweeks blurred together in a haze of working long days, waking early, fixing things that always seemed to be breaking, and trying to forget Elodie Darling existed altogether.
It wasn’t working.
I told myself I was busy. That I had better things to think about. That I didn’t have time to sit around stewing over a kiss I shouldn’t have let happen in the first place.
