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His lips move back to feast on mine, and when our tongues meet, the sensation rips through me, and all I want to do is straddle this man and do illicitly hot things to him. As if it’s an automatic reflex, my hand slides under the blanket to pull up his gown.
Perhaps he’s reading my mind or senses the pheromones my body gives off—if one actually believes such is possible—and pulls his mouth away from me.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, lass,” his voice almost like a warning.
“I think you need to conserve your energy,” I retort, pulling my hand away from him.
“Ever fucked in a hospital?” The playful eyebrow winking and subtle curve of his lips cracks me up, causing me to giggle rather than be shocked by his question.
“Have you?” I ask, tilting my head, now intrigued.
“Maybe. Honestly, the last time I was in a hospital, I was so high, I wouldn’t even remember if they gave me a lobotomy.”
I chuckle, “You need your rest.”
“Listen, siren, if you’re feeling prudish, that’s you’re prerogative. But if you fancy a bit of a British sausage, there’s nothing kinkier than getting it off in a hospital.”
I laugh because I’m not sure what else to do. Temptation seems to be getting the better of me right now.
“Are you naked under that gown?” I ask, a little fascinated by his offer.
A suppressed grin plays hide-and-seek on his lips, betraying the amusement he’s hiding.
“As naked as the day I was born.” He quips the twinkle in his eyes and tells me he’s serious about this. Then again, Callum never needs much convincing to get it off with him.
Tempted, I glance at the door over my shoulder and bite my top lip, wondering if I haven’t gone completely insane. Of course, this is typical for Callum, but I usually do things in calculated measures.
“Live a little, baby.” He murmurs quietly, but the sparkle on his face is unmistakable. He’s both daring and encouraging me to do this spontaneous act with him.
“Unless you want to remainPrudishPearland confirm the generalized term that all Americans are prudes.”
Oh, no, you don’t, Callum Evans!That’s it, the dickhead has just pressed my buttons, and the coy smirk he wears tells me he knows he’s challenged me.
I pull down the bedcovers and pull up his gown, only to find his thick dick standing up at a full erection.
“You son of a bi—”
“Language, babe,” Callum cuts me off. “I love you, but as much as I haven’t seen my mum in years, do not disrespect her.”
I bite my lip with his cheekiness and bring my other leg over his body to straddle him.
“Is someone feeling like they need to prove something?” he huffs a laugh, clearly amused by my sudden change of mind.
“You’re the human version of a migraine,” I say, adjusting the oversized t-shirt someone gave me after my clothes got destroyed jumping overboard. I shove my panties to the side and slide down his cock with my already wet slut of a pussy.
Callum mentions sex, and my core stirs with excitement. I hate that I can be controlled that way, but I’ll never tell him.
“Someone’s eager for my knob.”
“You mean, your British sausage?” I say, mocking him.
He narrows his eyes at me and rolls his hips, “It was the molly talking.”
“You talk so much shit. I don’t know whether to offer you a breath mint or toilet paper. Now shut up, and let me get on with riding this sausage of yours.”
“Lift up your t-shirt and show me your tits.”
“Aha!” I say, gently rotating my hips over his pelvis. “That isn’t molly talk! That’s typical Callum perversion.”
