33

Callahan
I instantly forget how to breathe.
“Don’t move.”
Fuck. Me.
She squeezes a generous amount of ointment onto her fingers and extends her arm to my side. I grab hold of her wrist before she touches me. “Gentle. Understand? You look like you’re going to enjoy this touch for my liking.”
“What is the matter, Callahan? Afraid of a little pain?”
“You just told me you were glad I didn’t die,” I say, loosening my hold but not letting her go, bracing myself because this is definitely going to hurt.
But I owe her this. I glance to the nightstand where the ring box sits. I hiss when she smears the stuff on the too tender skin.
She meets my gaze and holds it as she smears it on a little harder than she needs to.
“Take it easy.”
Her smile widens at my discomfort. “Aww. What is it?” She tilts her head, pouts, eyes going all big. “The big bad wolf is just a helpless little pup when it hurts?”
I grin. She’s sparring, my Little Kitten. That’s good. I reach up with my good hand to take hold of the hair at the back of her head. It’s pretty much fallen out of its braid and still damp from her shower.
“You like this, don’t you, Little Kitten Me at your mercy?” I squeeze my hand in her hair when she pushes her fingers against the stitches.
“I do like it,” she says, her eyes narrowed, almost glowing in the moonlight.
“You’re very pretty, Portia.” I pull her a little closer. “And you know what else?”
“What?” she asks, her confidence melting just a little.
“Your sadistic side is getting my dick hard.”
Her hand stops moving and she blinks a few times, realizing what it is she’s straddling. I try not to laugh, but it just pisses her off that much more when she sees my attempt to hide my amusement.
“Fuck you! Do it yourself!” She starts to climb off me, but I tug her back.
“All right. Sorry. I’ll stop.”
Her eyes narrow and she sets her other hand on my bad shoulder.
“You think you’ll still be hard when I dislocate your shoulder again?”
“Truce. I’m just having some fun. It’s been a long time since I’ve had fun.”
“I’m not sure this is the time.”
She settles back down and focuses on smearing ointment again.
It’s quiet for a long moment while I just watch her. She is concentrating, thinking.
“My uncle said something.” She only glances at me momentarily when she says it.
“Are you wearing underwear, Portia?” I ask, not wanting to talk about her uncle.
Her eyes flash up to mine then away. “None of your business.”
I glance down to the exposed skin of her shoulder, the swell of one breast. My shirt is so big on her that it has slid down her shoulder.
The way she’s got herself situated to avoid my dick, another inch and her pussy will be eye level.
I look at her eyes again. A deep caramel when she’s aroused. And she is aroused. I see it in the way her nipples poke against the shirt. Smell it in the musk between us.
And see it in her eyes.
I pull her closer and I don’t care that when she resists, she leans her slight weight into my wound. I want her mouth more than I care about my pain.
“Don’t you want to know what my uncle told me?” she asks when her mouth is an inch from mine.
“Not really,” I say, pulling her to me, kissing her.
“I’ll bite,” she threatens, the words muffled when I don’t let her pull away.
I draw back a little just so she sees me. “I hope you’ll do more than that, Little Kitten.” I kiss her again, prying her lips open, and, true to her word, sharp little teeth pierce my lower lip. I taste the copper of blood and moan against her mouth.
Squeezing her wrist and shifting our position, I topple her onto the bed and pin her down with my weight, trapping one of her arms to the side and taking the pain of her fingernails on the other as they dig into my shoulder.
“You’ll open the stitches,” she says, scratching her nails down my back.
I groan, pressing my dick against her. “And I just answered my own question. You’re not wearing underwear.”
She tries to shove at me. “When your men were flying me out of a war zone, we didn’t think to stop to pick up our shopping bags, so I didn’t have any. Don’t kiss me again. I’ll bite hard enough you’ll need stitches on your lips.”
“It’ll be worth it,” I say, pulling back when her teeth snap at me again. I watch her mouth open and close, watch her pupils dilate when I grind against her clit.
“Stop,” she tries.
“There’s something dark about you, Portia. Something reckless.”
She stares up at me, her hips moving a little. I wonder if it’s conscious.
“You make me want like no other woman has ever made me want.” I dip my head, kiss her neck, feeling her pulse against my lips. Her heart’s going a hundred miles a minute.
“Let me go,” she says, voice quavering.
“Kiss me and I’ll let you go.”
She shakes her head. You already kissed me. Now let me go.”
“No. I want you to kiss me. I want to feel you want it.”
She blinks rapidly, looking beyond me momentarily before shifting her gaze back to mine.
“You want to, Little Kitten.” I lean close to her ear and whisper. “I can smell your arousal, you know. You want me.”
She flushes at that, but she doesn’t deny it.
“Kiss me once. just once.”
“That’s all you want? Just a kiss?”
“With tongue.” I grin.
“No tongue.”
“Just the tip.”
She furrows her eyebrows but there’s a little lightness beneath all of this resistance. At least for a moment.
“Promise?”
The way she says it gives me pause. The way her eyes glisten. I remember what her uncle told me.
“I promise I won’t take anything you don’t give.”
She studies me, considering. She licks her lips, raises her head and brings her mouth to mine. Then she surprises me again when she sweeps her tongue over my mouth before slipping it inside.
I touch it with mine, taste her and when I suck on her tongue, she lets out a little moan. I cup the back of her head then, taking over the kiss, an urgency building as I taste her. I can feel her yield, open. Feel her kiss me back.
I’m hard. Does she feel me?
Reaching one hand between us, I undo the top two buttons of the shirt she’s wearing.
She makes a sound, but I swallow it and she doesn’t resist when I push it open. Lifting my head slightly to look at her, I cup one breast before undoing the rest of the buttons.
“Callahan,” she mutters when I open the shirt and kneel to look at her bare skin. She has small breasts, a flat belly and a mound of neatly trimmed dark hair between her legs. Her nipples are erect, pink, pretty dots.
I meet her eyes again, lean down to kiss her mouth, her neck, the hollow between her collarbones. She cups the back of my head, fingers intertwining with hair as I kiss the space between her breasts, then taste her nipple with the flick of my tongue.
“Callahan.” Her fingers curl in my hair pulling a little.
I stop. Like I promised. I rest my cheek on her belly and trace a pattern on it. “You make me want things I don’t remember wanting,” I say. The urgency fades, something else, something sadder creeping in. I can’t allow for that though. Not now.
Maybe not ever?
A man can only try.
I kneel again, close the shirt and do the buttons like she had them. I don’t want to. What I want is to hold her. To feel her skin against my skin.
What I want is more. And until she’s willing to give as much as I want, I won’t push.
No woman taught me consent and respect until her.