When the person in the white mask and black hood loomed up from behind the kitchen counter, Callahan buried his face in the side of my neck and shivered.
I cracked up. “Seriously, you can’t believe this is scary.”
“It absolutely is scary,” he protested. “It’s even called Scary Movie.”
Detecting a smirk in his tone, I leaned back and caught it. “Is this one of your signature moves?”
He blinked at me. “Signature moves?” The innocent act wasn’t working with the naughty glint in his gorgeous eyes.
“Take a girl to your room, put on a horror movie, and wait for her to climb all over you to hide from the scary parts?”
“Obviously not since it’s not working with you.” He shifted on top of the comforter. “Why aren’t you scared, Island Girl?” His hand slipped beneath my sweater, a ghost of a touch whispering over my skin.
I shivered and flinched, and he pounced. “You laugh at scary movies but fear a tickle? This hypothesis requires more testing.”
With a shriek I tried to scoot away, but he was on me, his fingers finding every ticklish spot on my torso. I squeaked and squirmed, wiggled and pushed, but his busy fingers were relentless. Laughter (his) and indignant squeals (mine) filled the room as our wrestling match made a mess of the comforter atop his bed. At last, he straddled me, his hands holding mine above my head, and the mood shifted.
In the low light of his bedside lamp, I watched in fascination as his sea-blue eyes blazed down at me. His hands left mine to slip beneath my sweater again, his calloused fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of my belly, raising goose bumps in their wake. “I want you so bad, Jamaica. But if you’re not ready yet, I can wait.” His fingers stilled. “You’re worth the wait.”
The atmosphere in his bedroom crackled with the charged desire that had slowly built between us over the past couple of months. It was time to own my emotions.
“I want you too, Callahan. So much,” I whispered.
His hands slid higher. His thumbs skimming along the undersides of my breasts sent shivers through me that had nothing to do with scary movies. My nipples puckered into aching peaks. Had I anticipated this when he invited me out tonight? Is that why I only wore a camisole and no bra beneath my sweater?
His nostrils flared—my only warning before my camisole and sweater lay somewhere on the floor of his room. He leaned back a bit where he straddled my legs and ran his eyes over me, his expression simultaneously raising the hairs on my skin and flashing flames through my blood.
“Oh, fuck, you’re gorgeous, Island Girl.”
He bent down and touched the tip of his tongue to one taut nipple. I would have surged right up off the bed at the exquisite contact of his skin on mine if his hand hadn’t taken possession of my other breast. With a moan, I arched into his touch, which was all the encouragement he needed.
His lips closed over me, drawing me deep into his mouth while his thumb played over my other nipple. The twin sensations had me bucking and writhing beneath him. I plowed my hands into the silky waves of his hair and held on as my body did its own thing, undulating beneath him. I couldn’t control the sighs and whimpers escaping my lips as he played me with his mouth and hands.
When he pulled off my nipple with a little kiss, his eyes found mine, and he smiled. “Do you have any idea how fucking sweet you are? Sugar and cherries.” He ran his tongue over his lips and smacked them. “Delicious.”
Before I could react to his description of me as dessert, he went to work on the other breast, suckling me in the sweetest way. His teasing tongue flicking over my sensitized flesh had me fisting his shirt over his broad shoulders, tugging and twisting until he took the hint. He sat up only long enough to drag it over his head and toss it somewhere off the bed, and then his mouth was on me again.
He kissed and nipped and licked his way down my belly. When he encountered the waistband of my leggings, he didn’t stop kissing me. Instead, he curled his fingers over the fabric and tugged it down ahead of his hot mouth until he reached the natural barrier of curls covering my mound. Sliding backward down my thighs, he dragged my leggings and panties with him all the way off the bed.
Standing at the foot of the bed, he took his time cataloguing my body with his gaze. “Fu-uck, Jamaica. Undressing you is better than opening a lifetime supply of Christmas and birthday presents.”
His response to my nakedness heated me from the inside out.
Taking his time, his gentle hands mapped every contour and shadow, starting with my ankles, over the hearts of my calves, the sensitive creases behind my knees, and up the soft skin of my inner thighs. The sensation of his calloused fingertips on my body flooded my center already slick with desire from his attentions to my belly and breasts.
I couldn’t stay still. “Please, Callahan.”
I had no idea what I was begging for, only that I ached for him.
A wicked grin flitted over his mouth and he pushed my thighs wide and buried his face between them. When he closed his lips over my clit and tongued me, I would have shot off the bed without his forearm over my belly. Nothing in the world had ever delighted me like Callahan’s mouth on my pussy. The growl deep in his throat could have meant anything as he flexed his hands on my thighs, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
Fisting my hands in the comforter, I held on as waves of pleasure crashed over me while his talented mouth went to work on my sensitive flesh. When one thick finger found its way inside me, my head thrashed from side to side on the pillow as my hips moved in rhythm with his hand. A second finger joined the first, curling perfectly, his tongue and fingers playing me in stereo. Without warning, the orgasm crashed through me like an avalanche. I speared my fingers into his hair and held on.
Days later when I floated back down from heaven, I blinked my eyes open to find him smiling up at me from his happy place between my legs. “You’re amazing, Island Girl.” Mischief danced in those sea-blue eyes as he stuck his two fingers in his mouth, sucking and licking my juices from them. “And delicious.” With a flirty furrow of his brow, he asked, “Did I mention that already?”
Watching him enjoy me this way almost made me come again. Whatever he saw in my expression had him sliding off the bed and shucking his jeans and boxers in a whoosh. Involuntarily, my tongue slipped over my lips as I caught my first sight of his impressive shaft. Feeling it pressed against me through our clothes on more than one occasion should have given me a clue, but all that naked glory still surprised me.
And turned me on.
I wriggled into a seated position and reached for him, thoughts of returning the favor swirling through my head. But he had other ideas.
Sidestepping my reach, he opened a drawer in the nightstand and extracted a box of condoms. At the sight a dark thought rolled through me. “Are you always this prepared for ‘movie night’?”
“I picked these up after your last overnight, babe. Had an idea we’d need them sooner rather than later.”
I relaxed. “A whole box?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Like I said, I had an idea we’d need them—all.”
He plucked a foil packet from the box, tore it open, and smoothed the condom over himself, making sure I had a good view of what was on offer.
“I would have done that for you.” I pouted.
A self-deprecating laugh huffed out of him. “I know, but I’m already a little worried about how long I’ll last without feeling your hands on me just yet.”
My brows shot up.
The bed sagged as he joined me on it. “You’re so tight, Jamaica, and I’ve wanted you for so long.” He crawled between my legs yet held himself away from me. “I want this to be so good for you that the only man you can ever feel is me.”
I might have called him out on that, but right then, he pushed the head of his cock inside me, and I closed my eyes at the initial delicious stretch.
“Give me your eyes, Jamaica.”
I fluttered my lids open and lost my breath. Desire and something deeper, stronger, intensified his blue eyes almost to black. He laced his fingers through mine, our palms smashing together as he leaned into my hands on either side of my head.
“Stay with me,” he commanded as he stepped right out of bounds.
Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, he pushed all the way into me. I wanted a flag for unsportsmanlike conduct as that one move tore down every brick in the protective wall I’d built around my heart. Our bodies came together like two parts of one whole. The expression on his face said he’d reached the same conclusion, and more than anything I wanted to close my eyes and hide.
Reading me perfectly, he gave a slight shake of his head and pulled almost all the way out then he plunged back in all the way to his balls. My body clenched hard around his, and he hissed in a breath, pulled out and plunged in again.
“Fuck, Jamaica. Nothing in the world feels as good as you do.” He leaned down and ghosted a kiss over my mouth, stopping to whisper against my lips, “Nothing has ever felt this good for you either.”
Anticipating my reflexive protest, he stole it right out of my mouth when he thrust his tongue between my lips. His hips moved in rhythm with our tongues, his hardness driving and driving into my softness. Beneath him, my hips matched his, our bodies joining as though we’d danced this dance a hundred times rather than this being our first time together.
Tearing his mouth from mine, he came up on his knees. Grasping my thighs, he dragged my legs up, anchoring my ankles on his shoulders. The change in the angle combined with the increased speed of his thrusts left me begging for release.
“Callahan! Oh, my God, Callahan. Please.” That last word stretched for two full measures as I tried to dig my nails into the rock-hard planes of his thighs.
“That’s it, Island Girl. Give it to me.” His eyes boring into mine, he ground out, “Let. Go.”
For a second, the muscles low in my belly seized then released on an orgasm that had me thrusting my nipples to the ceiling and digging my ankles into Callahan’s shoulders as I screamed his name. Waves and waves of sensation rolled through me as my climax crescendoed to a height I’d never known I could reach. I might have blacked out for a second, absolutely died the little death I’d read about in French literature. Then he was pounding into me. From his movements, his body was no longer his to control.
“Fuuuuck! Jamaica!” His shouts grew loud and raw as he emptied himself inside me. “Jamaica! Jamaica!” The expression on his face was pure shock.
I could relate.
For a few seconds, we held still, suspended in time. Then he thrust a couple more times, and a mini-orgasm had my inner muscles gripping him like a vise while he finished coming—or maybe came again. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t hide. Callahan O’Reilly had thoroughly wrecked me, and from the expression in those sea-blue depths, he knew it too.
At last, we both keyed in on the quivery state of my thighs. Gently, he lowered my limbs to the bed, following them down to rest his chest on mine. He leisurely kissed my mouth, my jaw, and down the side of my neck while the aftershocks continued to pulse through me into him. I let my fingertips roam the broad expanse of his back, reveling in the rippling of his skin beneath my touch. Good to know I got to him too.
“I don’t ever want to move from right here,” he whispered into the side of my neck. “But my arms are done, and I don’t want to squash you.”
Wrapping my arms around him, I held him close. “I like you right where you are.”
With a chuckle, he shook his head. “You’re killing me, Island Girl.”
Cold air rushed over my heated skin when he rolled off me. He knotted the condom and slid off the bed. A minute later he reemerged from the en suite bathroom and walked over to turn off the TV. Until he’d left the bed, I’d forgotten it was still on.
“Hop up for a sec.”
I dragged myself off the bed, and he threw back the comforter and blankets.
“Slide in, babe.”
He followed me under the covers, positioning my head on his chest as he tugged me in close and wrapped his arms around me. Who would have guessed this big, tough football player was a cuddler?
“That was incredible, Jamaica.” He lifted his head off the pillow to catch my eye. “You are incredible.” A playful grin played over his features. “I can see already I’m going to need a case of condoms with you. Insatiable wench.”
Indignation didn’t work lying down, but when I tried to sit up to call him out, he laughed and tightened his arms around me. “The way I remember it, you started this.”
“Nah, it was all you, Island Girl,” he teased. “You laughed at my scary-movie moves, and the rest was history.” Beneath my hand where it rested on his flat stomach, I sensed the change in his mood. “What happened here between us is special. You know that, right?”
His breath caught and held. I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of his words. Doing so meant I’d be giving up a part of myself, my autonomy. My control. Though I’d had sex before, everything with Hotshot was different. From the beginning, my experience with him had been different from anyone else I’d ever been with. Admitting—out loud—that sleeping with him was special was all kinds of dangerous.
But I couldn’t deny it, not when my body lay flush against his. I knew he’d be able to feel the lie on our skin. “What have we done, Hotshot?”
He relaxed. “We’ve become the poster kids for getting lucky.” A chuckle followed his silly comment.
Except it wasn’t truly silly. When he said lucky, every part of me touching him sensed that he meant it. He thought being with me was lucky. Exactly how long that would last was a whole different thing, especially after he discovered where I came from.