Page 81 of Keepsakes and Kismet

“All of it,” she whispers.

Fuck, she makes me feverish. A bead of sweat drips down my temple as I tug the front of her bra down and dip my fingers inside, groaning when I feel the peak of her nipple.

And when she relaxes her chin, letting it hang low, like she can’t be bothered fighting against the earth’s pull on her, I struggle maintaining a slow pace. I stop moving my hand entirely, trying to take a break, calming myself down, so I don’t go too fast.

“You can,” she says breathlessly.

My voice is hoarse. “Can what?”

“Go faster, more intense, if you want.”

Another thread of restraint snaps inside me, and I squeeze her breast in my hand.

“Callum. My leggings.”

Her sense of urgency matches mine, and she lies flat on her back. I stroke down the middle seam of her leggings, the fabric already damp. Pressing my fingertips against her, I draw back to look at my hand before bringing it back between her legs. “How long have you been wet like this?”

“When we… When you were talking about doing this to me, walking me through it, I started to get wet, and it’s so… It’s so fucking good.”

Her voice melts away into the dark, along with the last of my composure. I delve into her leggings, feeling trimmed, short hair before finding her drenched, hot clit. One touch, and my own need feels electric. It has nothing to do with my being out of practice and everything to do with Peyton.

I dip two fingers inside her, coating them in her arousal, before bringing them back to her clit. She moans as I rub in small circles.

“Callum. I… Lower. To the right. Lower. Yes, oh my God. Right there,” she whimpers.

“The sounds you make, Pey.” My cock hurts, throbbing with desperation behind the zipper of my jeans. “They’re killing me.”

“Just like that. Don’t stop,” she begs.

I don’t move an inch, doing the exact thing she asked, touching her in that same spot, rubbing over and over and over again.

Her thighs start to shake, and she closes her eyes. “I’m going to… I’m coming.”

“Fuck,” I grit out, trying to contain my own need and failing miserably. Come spills into my jeans, the rush of pleasure quickly followed by a wave of relief.

“Callum, you can’t… It’s too much… You have to stop, or I’ll...” Peyton says breathlessly.

The word “stop” pulls me out of my head, and I realize I’m still rubbing her clit.

The heat I feel in my stomach creeps up toward my cheeks, and I yank my hand from her leggings. “Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s too good. I don’t want a second one right now, though. I’m still coming down from the first,” she says softly.

“Oh. So it was…”

Peyton releases a happy, satiated sigh. “It was.”

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur. “You’re so beautiful when you come.”

The shy duck of her head tells me she’s blushing in the dim light of the lantern. She props herself up on her elbow, facing me. “But you…? Do you need…”

“I, uh, came, too.”

“You came?”

“Yeah.”

Peyton smirks. “Bet you’re regretting wearing hard pants right now.”