Callum considers me sideways. “Wait, this is you extra bitchy? From what I remember, this is just your normal personality.”
My hand flies out, gently tapping him in the pec as if to say oh, you jokester. “Very funny. But thanks, the candy will come in clutch while I suffer in bed.”
“Freaky Friday always was your sick movie of choice.” He points to the laptop. “I always kind of dug Jamie Lee Curtis in this movie.”
We both chuckle, lapsing into an awkward silence. A cramp takes me over and I shift, my face screwing up.
“Do you … I could give you a back rub?”
We both notice my sharp intake of breath. Callum always used to rub my lower back when I had my period, because the muscles there got so tight that I’d whimper in pain. He’d put those big hands on my spine and work his magic. The offer means something to both of us, a remembered intimacy that we no longer have.
But maybe we could again.
I have no idea why he’s asking, when he’s so clearly stated that he doesn’t want anything to do with a relationship with me. I’m too weak to pass this up, though, and I could really use a back rub.
“Okay.” My voice is meek.
I should say no. He just suggested we could remember our love as a fond memory and be friends. That is the exact opposite of what I want. But I’m so fucking weak when it comes to him. I’m exactly the girl my mother tried to make me not be, and I’m not even ashamed. Because when I feel the weight of him crawling into my bed, all rational thought subsides.
I turn over so that he can massage my back, but also so he can’t see my face. It’s probably ten shades of red by now, and so deliriously happy that I have to hide it.
My sweatshirt, or rather his, is pushed up a little, the air stifling being this close to him.
Strong, dexterous fingers mold to my spine, and I groan in appreciation. I feel Callum falter for just a minute, and I wonder if that sound sent a shock to his cock. After he used to do this, sometimes I’d crawl into his lap and dry hump until he was begging for a blow job and promising me an orgasm with the vibrator after he got off.
God, I’m panting already and it has nothing to do with the way he’s massaging my aching spine. There is nothing more in this world I want right now than to turn and meet his mouth in a searing kiss. As he works the kinks from my lower back, I go into a trance. The tension and heat flowing from his hands to my skin is palpable, and it takes all the strength in me not to arch my back and thrust my ass at him.
“Are you still seeing her?” I can’t help that the words just pop out of my mouth.
Those big hands pause, gripping either side of my waist.
“Why does it matter? If you want to know the real answer, I haven’t texted her. But maybe I will. Haven’t you ever considered being with someone else? We have only ever been with each other. Don’t you want to explore?” His voice is small, but incredulous.
“Not even for a minute.” And that’s the truth.
I guess I should want to sow my wild oats, but the urge has just never come. I fell hard for Callum and never looked back, or around.
He doesn’t answer. At first, I think he’s going to pull away and leave me in my bed alone. My back feels marginally better, but my heart aches worse than it has in the entire time since he’s moved back into the house.
That is until I feel the weight of him come down on top of me at the same exact minute when he rolls me onto my back. Callum’s lips come crushing down on mine, sweet relief coursing through my veins. A forbidden breath between us sends the sexual tension impossibly higher, and all at once we’re kissing ferociously. Callum’s hands are pinning mine back against my bed as I writhe beneath him, my period and the pain long forgotten. The only thing I feel in my belly now is a fire consuming me, hungry for him and only him.
Callum bites at my lips, sucking on my tongue and forcing his past my teeth to fuck my mouth. We’re wild, taking this stolen moment as far as we can run with it.
“Friends don’t do this.” I challenge him because I can’t help it.
“We were never friends.” He growls, latching his mouth onto my neck.
He’ll leave a mark, as we often did even years after we had first gotten together. When it came to sex, Callum and I might have only experienced each other, but it didn’t mean we were prude or shy; thank you very much, Sabrina.
Up and over my head goes his high school sweatshirt, leaving me in a tank and pajama shorts. I pull his shirt off, needing to touch his bare skin. How well we know the dips and curves of each other, how often I’ve trailed my hands over him.
Over the scar on his left hand where he sliced it in eighth grade shop class. The jut of my collarbone he’s always told me is one of his favorite parts of me. My fingers dancing over the muscles in his back, remembering how many times he’s carried me on it like I’m part of him. Lazy pulls from his mouth on my nipples, my hands fisting in his silky, raven locks. The delicious growl I’ve had memorized for years. His lips graze the birthmark on my hip shaped like a star as he works down my body.
“My period.” I try to pull him up, but Callum doesn’t budge.
“You have a tampon in.” His voice is pure, husky sex.
All the same, I pull him up, but the man doesn’t relent. Instead, he reaches his hand between us and then down between my thighs, pushing past the waistband of my shorts.
And then he presses two fingers to my clit and circles, just the gentlest bit, and I almost pass out. It’s the first time in nearly two years that anyone has touched me here. That he has touched me here. Being that it’s him, the boy I’ve always been in love with, makes a difference.
We’re not naked, daylight is streaming through the windows, and neither of us has had anything to drink. When I’ve thought about this moment, about whether or not Callum will ever be back in my bed, it’s always been the same. I’ve thought we would tumble into bed after a few drinks and get out our shameful desires while he wasn’t regretting it.
But this? I never banked on this. Not in a million years, especially since I have a tampon in. Not that it’s ever stopped Callum before.
He’s rubbing my clit like he’s a cat guy and I’m his favorite kitten. Jesus, I’m practically purring for him. After years of telling him just where to place his fingers and how slow to start while speeding up and going in circles, Callum can play me like a fucking piano with his eyes closed.
“Your moan is the soundtrack of my dreams. It fucking haunts me. Night after night I imagine making you come, seeing your face as you touch bliss and I make you get there. God dammit, Bevan, you’re so stunning it hurts to look at you, especially like this.”
His words are whispered and harried, scatter-brained thoughts that I’m not even sure he’s aware he’s professing.
Pushing him to the side, his fingers still working me as my legs quake on the bed, I push my hand into his shorts and grip him. All nine inches of him. Yes, we measured with a ruler when we were eighteen. Callum is huge and knows how to work what he’s packing, which is maybe why I never went looking elsewhere. I can’t even describe how badly I wish I could feel him inside me right now, but I can still make this good for him while he’s on the edge of making me orgasm.