Callum and I turn onto the main road right as the fire truck comes roaring up the lane, headed for the Castle’s beach house—or what’s left of it, anyway.
I can see the firemen’s faces as our car passes their truck—they’re looking down at us, eyebrows raised, but unable to stop us fleeing the scene.
“What a fucking trip!” I shout, my heart still galloping like a racehorse. “Did you know Ollie was that crazy? I thought he was just normal crazy, like ‘I don’t want my food to touch,’ or ‘talking to yourself in the shower’ crazy, not like full-out Shining.”
Callum is driving way too fast, hands locked on the steering wheel. Improbably, he’s grinning almost as much as I am. Could my uptight husband actually be starting to enjoy our adventures?
“I can’t believe I found you,” he says.
“Yeah, holy shit! Did you find my shoe?”
“Yes, I found it! And I remembered.”
He looks over at me, his blue eyes brilliant against his smoky skin. I don’t know how I ever thought his eyes were cold. They’re fucking beautiful. The most stunning eyes I’ve ever seen.
Even more striking is the fact that he understood me, that he remembered our conversation. It almost means more to me than the fact that he came to rescue me.
“Actually, I’ve got the other one in here somewhere,” Cal says, twisting around to search the back seat.
“Eyes on the road!” I tell him. I find the sneaker a minute later, slipping it back on my foot. It’s comically cleaner than the other now, so they no longer look like a matching set.
“There,” I say. “Fully dressed again.”
Cal’s eyes alight on my bare left hand.
“Not entirely,” he says.
“Oh, fuck,” I say angrily. “I forgot about that.”
“Is it back at the house?” Cal asks.
“Yes. But Oliver smashed it.”
“I don’t think it would have survived either way,” Cal says. He squeezes my thigh with his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I wanted to get you another anyway. You know I didn’t pick that one out.”
“I know,” I grin. “I’m getting to know Imogen’s taste pretty well.”
Cal turns onto the highway, heading north toward the city again.
“You better call your brothers,” he says. “They thought Zajac stole you.”
“I might have been better off if he did,” I say, wrinkling up my nose. “Honestly, I think his villain speeches were better. He’s a proper badass, you know? Whereas Oliver was so whiny, putting on the guilt trips . . . like Jesus dude, get on Tinder, get over it.”
Callum stares at me for a second, then he starts laughing so hard that his shoulders shake.
“Aida, you’re out of your fucking mind,” he says.
I shrug. “Just a helpful critique.”
I dial Dante’s phone, but it’s Nero who picks up.
“Aida?” he says.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Thank fucking hell. I thought I was gonna have to drive over there in a second.”
“Why, where are you?”
“At the hospital. Dante’s been shot. He’s alright though!” he hastens to add. “Zajac got him in the side—he didn’t hit anything crucial.”
“That filthy shit!” I seethe. “He’ll pay for that.”
“He already did,” Nero says blandly. “He’s dead. Dante’s got better aim than the Butcher.”
“Dead? Are you sure?”
Cal looks over at me, following my side of the conversation, but equally disbelieving.
“Totally sure,” Nero says firmly. “Unless he’s got a spare head laying around somewhere, he’s done for.”
“Well, shit,” I say, leaning back against my seat. This really was an eventful night.
I look over at Callum, whose face looks pale beneath the soot. He’s got a nasty cut over his right eyebrow, and he winces a little every time he takes a deep breath.
Come to think of it, I’m not exactly in tiptop shape myself. My hand is throbbing in time with my heartbeat, and my ring and pinky fingers have swollen up again. I’m probably going to need another cast.
“What hospital are you at?” I ask Nero. “We might need to join you.”
It takes a couple of hours for Callum and me to get cleaned up and patched up at St. Joseph’s. Dante will be there a few days at least—they had to put three pints of blood back into him. Jack and Nero are keeping him company. I’m shocked to see their bruised and battered faces.
“What the hell happened to you?” I ask them.
“While Dante was having a shootout at the mistress’s apartment, Jack and I were NOT finding the Butcher and getting our asses kicked by his lieutenant instead.”
“Not just the lieutenant,” Jack says. He’s got a black eye so bad he can’t even see on the left side. “There were at least four of them.”
“Jack here is a serious brawler,” Nero says, in an impressed tone. “He gave em the old ground and pound, didn’t ya, Jackie boy?”
“I guess he’s not so bad when he’s on our side,” I say.
Jack gives me a half-grin—only half because the other side of his face is too swollen to move.
“Was that a compliment?” he says.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I tell him.
“You two aren’t looking so hot, either,” Nero informs me.
“Well that’s where you’re wrong,” I snicker. “If we were any hotter we would have been charcoal briquettes.”
Fergus Griffin comes to pick us up, even though we have the Jeep parked outside.
“Two hospital visits in one week,” he says, giving Cal and me a stern look through his horn-rimmed glasses. “I hope this isn’t becoming a hobby for you two.”
“No,” Cal says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in the backseat of the Beamer. “I don’t think we’re going to do anything too crazy next week. Except maybe look for an apartment.”
“Oh?” Fergus pauses, before putting the car in reverse. He glances back at us in the rearview mirror. “You want to get your own place together?”
Callum looks down at me.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think it’s time.”
My heart feels heavy and warm in my chest. I love the idea of finding a place with Cal—not my house, or his, but one we chose together.
“That’s good,” Fergus says, nodding. “I’m glad to hear it, son.”
Funnily enough, when we pull up in front of the Griffin mansion, for the first time it actually feels like home. I get that wash of comfort. I know it’s a safe place to lay my head. And damn am I exhausted all of a sudden.
I stumble a little, getting out of the car. I’ve gotten stiff and sore all over from sitting. Even though I know he’s just as exhausted, and probably more injured than I am, Cal scoops me up in his arms and carries me into the house, like a groom carrying the bride over the threshold.
“Shouldn’t you save that for our new apartment?” I tease him.
“I’m going to carry you everywhere like this,” Cal says. “For one, I like it. And for another, it will keep anybody else from snatching you.”
“You got snatched too, one of those times,” I remind him.
He carries me all the way up the stairs.
“You’re going to break your ribs again!” I tell him.
“Oh, they’re still broken right now,” he assures me. “They didn’t do much about it at the hospital. Didn’t even tape me up. Just gave me a couple Tylenol.”
“Did that help?”
“Not a fucking bit,” he says, puffing and groaning as we finally reach the top of the stairs.
Then he does set me down. I go up on tiptoe to kiss him softly on the lips.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I’m not done taking care of you yet,” he says. “You still need to get cleaned up.”
“Oh nooooo,” I moan, remembering that I’m utterly filthy. “Just let me go to bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Go brush your teeth,” he says. “Or you’ll hate yourself in the morning.”
Grumbling, I head into the bathroom to brush and floss. By the time I’ve finished, Cal has the shower running and fresh, fluffy towels waiting for us.
He soaps my whole body, lathering me up until the suds running down the drain switch from black to gray to while. His fingers knead into my stiff neck and shoulders. Together with the hot water, he works out all tense and knotted bits, until I feel like a wet spaghetti noodle instead of a folded-up pretzel.
By the time we’re both completely clean, I’m not tired anymore. Actually, parts of me are very much awake.
“My turn,” I say, rubbing Cal down with his towel. I run it down the curve of his broad back, down over his perfect ass, the bulges of his hamstrings and calves.
He’s covered in bruises, scratches, welts, as well as the deeper cuts from the Butcher. Yet I’ve never seen a more flawless body. This man is perfect—perfect for me. I love the shape of him, his smell, the way his arms feel, wrapped around me.
I turn him around and start drying the front side of him, starting down at the feet and working my way upward. As I pass the thighs, I come to that thick, swollen cock, warm and clean from the shower. I take it in my hand, feeling it expand inside my grip. The skin is phenomenally soft. I stroke my fingertips down its length. His cock strains toward my hand, almost as if it has a mind of its own. I squeeze the shaft right below the head, making Cal moan.
He pulls me close.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” he growls.
“You can. In a minute,” I say.
I take his cock in my mouth, gently sucking on the head. His cock fills to its fullest extent, so hard that the skin is stretched tight. I run my tongue up and down its length, in long, smooth strokes, and then in light teasing flicks. Then I take as much as I can in my mouth again, and try to force the head backward, down into my throat.
It’s damn hard dealing with a cock this size. I’m developing a new respect for porn stars. How on earth do they get the whole thing in there, all the way down to the base? I’d have to be a bloody sword-swallower.
I get about halfway down the shaft before I gag and have to come back up.
Callum doesn’t seem to mind. I think he’d let me practice on him all night long. I’ve already learned a few things—I know that he loves when I gently tug and stroke on his balls while I’m sliding my lips up and down his shaft. It makes him groan so deep that it’s almost a rumble in his chest.
I really could do this all night. There’s nothing more intimate and trusting than having the most vulnerable part of yourself in the other person’s mouth. I’ve never wanted to make someone feel good more than I do right now, in this moment. Callum saved my life tonight. I would have burned to death, maybe without even waking up. The least I can do is give him the best release he’s ever known.
Cal found me, just like he promised. It wasn’t my father, or my brothers. It was my husband. This man I didn’t even want. And now I can’t imagine being without him.
I should worship his body all night long. Kiss every scrape and bruise.
But as usual, Cal has plans of his own. He pulls me down on the bed so we’re laying side by side, head to toe. Then he puts his head between my thighs and starts eating my pussy like he’s starving and it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
I go back to work on his cock at the same time. If anything it’s even harder to service him from this upside-down sort of angle, but it doesn’t matter. I’m pleasuring him, and he’s pleasuring me, I’m running my tongue over his smooth, soft skin, feeling the same warmth and wetness on myself. It’s intimate and connected. And most of all, it feels like we’re equals. That we’re both learning to give, and both learning to receive.
I didn’t think Cal would find me. I didn’t think anyone would. It seemed impossible.
But in the future, if I ever get myself in trouble again, I’ll know that my husband will come for me.
God, he’s so good at this. I can already feel the pulses of pleasure zipping through me, growing stronger by the minute.
I don’t want to cum like this though. I want to feel him inside of me.
So I flip around and climb on top of him, straddling his hips, lowering myself down on his cock. It slides inside of me easily, moistened from my own saliva, as I am by his.
I look down into his stern, handsome face. The intensity of those blue eyes used to frighten me. Now I crave the feeling of them fixed on my face. The way it lights up my neurons, making me feel anxious and wild and daring. I feel like I’d do anything to keep his attention, to spark that look of hunger in his eyes.
He puts his hands on my hips, gripping me with those long, strong fingers. I’m getting flushed and I want to ride him harder and faster. He forces me to slow down, to keep the same steady pace.
My climax is building again, my pussy clenching around his cock. My body is demanding to increase the pressure, to push myself over the edge. Callum is thrusting his hips upward, fucking me deep. I’ve got my palms flat on his chest, my arms rigid from the effort of riding him.
Cal switches his hands from my hips to my breasts. He kneads them in his hands. Now I can speed up just a little, rolling my hips to slide my pussy up and down on his cock.
His hands keep pace with my motion. He’s squeezing my breasts, sliding his fingers all the way down to my nipples with each squeeze. I start to cum, throwing my head back and grinding my clit hard against his body.
Callum pinches my nipples, one long, drawn-out squeeze that sends a jolt of pleasure ricocheting back and forth from breast to groin. It intensifies the orgasm as it rebounds it over and over.
It’s so strong that I can’t even stay on top of him anymore. My pussy is throbbing, pulsing with the aftermath of that climax.
But I’m not done yet. I want to finish what I started before.
I climb off of Callum and kneel between his legs. I put his cock back in my mouth, tasting myself on his skin. It’s a warm, musky, mildly sweet taste, that blends well with the scent of his skin, and the slight saltiness of the clear fluid leaking from the head of his cock.
I want more.
I start sucking him off, even more enthusiastically than before. My lips are swollen and sensitive from my climax. I feel every little ridge and vein of his cock against my tongue. I can feel his pulse, and how his cock tenses and throbs as he gets closer and closer to the edge.
Gripping the base of his cock, I suck hard on the head, tipping him over.
“Oh, Jesus, Aida!” he cries out, as he explodes into my mouth.
His cum is thick and slippery and warm. I love how it tastes, mixed with my own wetness. We’re meant to be together, him and I. Salty and sweet.
When I’ve drained every last drop out of him, he wraps me up in his arms again, our legs entwined beneath the sheets. I think I can even feel our hearts beating in tandem.
