The cut on my finger is forgotten. I don't give a shit about the running faucet.
His hands won't stay still. One second they're in my hair, the next his fingers are digging into my hip hard enough to bruise. He finds the hem of my sweater, sliding his rough palm underneath to press flat against the bare skin of my waist. I gasp into his mouth. The contrast of his calloused hand on my skin shorts out every thought I have.
His hand slides up my ribs, then down to my stomach. My stomach. The soft, round part of me I've never let anyone touch without sucking in. His palm presses flat against the curve of my belly, and he makes this low, guttural sound against my mouth. His fingers spread wide, and instead of pulling away, he pushesin. Like it's the best thing he's ever touched.
My eyes sting. I blink the hot flash away fast, but nobody's ever touched me there like that. Like they wanted more of it. Like I'm something worth holding onto.
Callum's mouth drags from my lips to my jaw, his nose trailing along the line of my throat. He inhales deeply, scenting me, and a continuous, low rumble vibrates against my skin. It makes the slick worse. Hot and wet, running down the insides of my thighs, soaking my boxers. My cock aches, trapped against my zipper. When Callum scrapes his teeth over my pulse point and sucks, I moan loud enough that we should both be worried about Ava hearing us. Neither of us stops.
"Fuck, Milo," he rasps. His voice is wrecked. "You're so fucking soft."
His grip shifts to the backs of my thighs, and he lifts me. He just picks me up like I weigh absolutely nothing and sets me on the counter next to the sink. I let out a startled, filthy sound.Being manhandled by a six-foot-one firefighter does something to my brain that I'll have to unpack later.
My legs spread on instinct. He steps into my space, his hips pressing against the insides of my thighs, his cock grinding against mine through our clothes. We both groan. He rolls his hips, a slow, deliberate friction through two layers of denim. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him tighter. My head falls back against the cold mirror. He takes the exposed line of my neck like an invitation, mouthing at my pulse, sucking a bruise into the skin that feels like the promise of a bite.
"Can smell you," he growls against my neck. He rolls his hips again, and I whimper. "Soaked for me, aren't you?"
"Yes." My voice doesn't even sound like mine.
Callum's grip on my hips tightens.
"Been wanting to touch you," he murmurs, the words broken between kisses pressed to my jaw and the corner of my mouth. "Every fucking time you walked into a room—"
I cut him off, grabbing his hair to pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him so hard our teeth click. He's been wanting this too. My slick is everywhere, he's grinding into me on his sister's bathroom counter, and I'm losing my mind.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth.
His fingers hook into my belt loops and tug. My jeans shift down a fraction of an inch. The intent in his eyes makes my vision swim. He's going to pull them down, and I'm going to let him.
A knock on the door.
"Okay, did one of you faint? Because dinner is literally getting cold."
Ava's bright, amused voice comes from the other side of the wood, hitting us like a bucket of ice water.
We freeze. Callum's hand is still under my sweater, my legs still locked around his waist. We're both panting. His pupils areblown so wide his irises are just a thin ring of blue-green. His mouth is swollen.
Callum steps back. The sudden loss of his body makes me whine, and the mortification would kill me if Callum's jaw didn't clench like the sound physically hurts him.
"Coming!" I call toward the door. My voice cracks.
Callum lets out a choked sound that might be a laugh or a groan of pain.
We scramble. Callum turns off the faucet, the sudden silence deafening. He opens the cabinet under the sink, finds the band-aids, and peels one open. His hands are shaking. He presses the band-aid over the cut on my finger, smoothing it down with his thumb. The gentle, caretaking gesture in the middle of all this chaos nearly ruins me.
I splash cold water on my face and look in the mirror. I'm a disaster. Flushed, lips swollen, curls a mess, a red mark blooming on my neck. I tug my sweater collar up. Behind me, Callum is adjusting himself, palming his cock through his denim to get it to behave. I watch him in the mirror because I have absolutely zero self-control, heat flaring in my gut all over again.
Our eyes meet in the glass. The absurdity of what we just did during a casual Friday dinner lands on both of us. Callum's mouth twitches. I press my lips together. If either of us laughs, we won't stop.
He reaches out, straightening my sweater collar, his knuckles brushing the mark on my neck. A possessive edge crosses his face before he schools it.
"Come to mine after," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Please."
Thepleaseundoes me. I could say no. I could go home, text Jude something vague, and try to pretend my entire world didn't just tilt on its axis. The safe route. But I don't want safe. I want him.
I nod. My voice isn't working, but the nod is the most deliberate thing I've done all night.
He opens the door.