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I stare into those glass-green eyes. “Beautiful…do you really think that?”
“Think it?” He gasps. “I feel it. I live it. I breathe it.”
I find the sincerity of his tone to be overwhelming. I had no idea he felt this way about me. I’d never even imagined someone could…
Much less ever would…
Think these things about me.
He’s making that humiliating red shade creep up under my freckles. I need him to stop saying these things. I never want him to stop saying these things.
“I—I, um…I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t know…”
He stops my awkward stumbling by swooping down and pressing his warm mouth against mine in a devouring kiss.
If his words didn’t convince me that he thinks I’m beautiful, his kiss does.
As well as the growing erection pressing into me.
He breaks the kiss, asking, “Are you going to dye it back?”
“No,” I say, wanting to see what he’ll say.
He smooths his humungous hands down my back, my ass cheeks filling each of his palms.
With one hard tug, he pulls me up flush against him, my breasts against his chest, his cock harder against me. His fingers sink into the curve beneath my ass, digging into my flesh as deeply as he’s digging his heels into this argument.
There will be fingertip-shaped bruises on my butt tomorrow.
His words are a low growl in my ear. “I said, are you going to change it back?”
I lean up, kissing him, then gently taking his bottom lip between my teeth. “No.”
He stares down at me. “Then give me my shirt back.”
“Take it,” I say.
He grips the hem of the long tee, making me lift my arms so he can tear it from me. I stand there in my bra and sweats. He slips his hand down the front of my clothing, pushing past the waistbands of my pants and panties.
His fingers tease my pussy. “Do you want to reconsider?”
“No.” He strokes my clit, sending me up on the balls of my feet as I grip his shoulders. “Maybe... Yes!”
“Good girl,” he says, burying his fingers inside me and doing that magical thing he does where he cups the rest of his massive palm around the front of my pussy while he strokes me inside.
I kiss him as he plays, my intermittent gasps getting swallowed up in his kiss. “I need you, Callum.”
“What do you need? Tell me.”
Months ago, I could never have said these words out loud. Now, I positively purr them to him. “I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me come.”
“I think I just did,” he jokes.
“Strip,” I say. “And let me watch.”
A devilish grin comes over his face. He takes his time, singing a wordless tune of badum-bumps as he takes off his clothes, whipping them around in the air before tossing them at me.
He pulls down my pants and panties with one swoop. I step out of them. “Now, come here, lass.” He lifts me, setting my bare ass on the edge of the counter.
