He makes a dubious face, lips pushed to one side, one eyebrow raised, and says, “Well, either way, I’ve got something I want to tell you when you get back.”
“Tell me now.”
“No, it’s a face-to-face thing.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Har, har,” he answers, rolling his eyes.
“Okay, well, I’ll try to keep my raging curiosity at bay. We’ll hang out when I get back.”
“Deal. Have a fun party that you didn’t invite me to.”
“Have fun planning out the thing that’s so important you can’t say it on the phone to my face, which you can see just like you could see it in person.”
“Have fun annoying your mother all weekend at the party you didn’t invite me to.”
“Have fun being a jealous little bitch that I’m hanging out with the great Kit Hirsch at the party I don’t want to go to except for the fact that I love my dad.”
“Okay, hang up.”
“You hang up.”
Finally, grinning, I hang up. But as I do, I think about Stuart’s jealousy at not being invited, about his desire to talk in person when I get back. It makes my stomach flip with anxiety, wondering what’s on his mind.
And then, of course, my thoughts jump to Cal, to the way he made me feel tonight. Like I could really talk to him, really share. He listened, and that meant something. He couldn’t have cared less that I was born to Hollywood royalty. He didn’t push me to use them to get access for my band. He just listened. And he understood, because his family expected him to follow a line of legacy as well, but he went his own way.
There is something between us, so it won’t be a hardship on my end to pretend he’s my fake boyfriend this weekend. And then I think about his kiss in the line earlier…delicious.
The heat between my legs is back as I think about the different kinds of smiles I got from him tonight. Several grins, which would have been a coup, except I got a joke from him. An actual joke and a real smile. It was glorious and turned me on.
If I hadn’t already slept with him, hadn’t already had him inside me, I might have been able to calm down. But no. I know what we can do together. I know how our bodies fit and how he can make me feel. And I want more. Once wasn’t enough.
I think about calling him and about asking him to stroke himself while I watch through the screen. I think about showing him as I touch myself, strumming my clit like a guitar, making myself come with him on my mind. And before long, that’s exactly what I’m doing—stroking myself alone, in the dark of my childhood bedroom, willing myself up the mountain, feeling the precipice looming. I slide my fingers over my tingling clit, desire so painful I have to use two fingers, then three, to fill myself. I stroke in and out, my pussy slick with arousal, pulsing as I inch closer, frustration starting to set in.
My mind on Calum, on his smile, his hand holding on to mine, his eyes dark and intense as he watched me drive away in the cab.
Fuck it. I make the call.
Calum’s face is sleepy as he answers. “Billie? Everything okay?”
“Sorry to wake you,” I apologize.
“What’s wrong?”
I’m almost too shy to say it. I almost lie and tell him I couldn’t sleep. “I need to come,” I blurt the words out before I can change my mind.
“Oh,” he says, then his eyes go wide. “Oh!”
“Yes. Will you stroke yourself? Will you let me see you? I need to see you.” I know I sound desperate, half-crazed with desire and frustration, but I can’t seem to help myself.
He’s quiet for a moment, and I think, for a moment, he might say no. He might even turn me down.
But he doesn’t.
Calum shuffles around for a second, then holds out the phone. I can see his hand is on his cock. His big, long, beautiful cock.
“I wish I could put that in my mouth,” I tell him.
“I wish you could, too.” He’s stroking his fist up and down the stiff length.
“It felt good, when I did that for you?”
“So good,” he moans.
“And when you put your mouth on me?”
“I loved the taste of you,” he says on a heavy breath. “I loved it. I loved being in control like that. Loved losing control.”
“Me too. I’m touching myself, Cal. Do you want to see?”
“Fuck yeah,” he moans in the affirmative, so I move the phone so he can see me. We both touch ourselves, watching, and when I see the slick tip of his cock, wet with precum, I tell him I’m close.
“I want to see your face when you come,” I say.
He moves the phone so I can see him, his teeth bared as the phone shakes a bit. He’s pumping his cock hard now, and it’s really helping me along.
“I’m there, Cal. So close. I’m there.”
“Let me see you,” he grounds out harshly.
I position my screen so he can see me as we finish, both spectacularly.
He groans out a loud “ahhhhh” while I forget all about breathing, arching my back, pushing through the glorious, spectacular orgasm.
It’s not enough, not by half. I know what it feels like to come with him inside of me now. But it will do.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“I should be thanking you, I’d say.” He gives me a little breathless laugh.
“Well, I woke you up, so maybe not.”
“Worth it.”
“Good night, Cal.”
“Good night, Billie.” He blows a kiss through the phone as I give a sleepy smile and hit the End button.
I hang up and throw my phone on the carpet beside my bed. I don’t know what is going on with me. Truly, I haven’t felt like this about someone in a long, long time. And to think, I kind of hated Calum Lefleur when I first met him.
Now, though, he’s all I can think of…
I want him.
And I can’t shake the feeling that this might be a recipe for disaster.
17
a nice shiner
Cal
Game two of our pre-season is a harsh, ultra-physical, back-and-forth with a lot of shots on goal, but only one score by Boris in the third period. A win is a win, and I feel good about the fact that I let nothing get by.
In the locker room, I get tons of slaps on the back, guys telling me what a killer I am at goal. After about the tenth compliment, I feel compelled to respond to all the praise. “This is why I get paid the big bucks—”
Dante Castellano gets in my face, his finger nearly poking me in the eye as he growls, “You arrogant prick.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I’d fucked up with my social commentary. Again. Wrong thing to say at the wrong time to the wrong people. Happens frequently.
I raise an eyebrow in response to Castellano’s hostility and move to turn away from him, but he steps into my space again and says, “One of these days, you’re going to end up with a broken arm or a concussion and you’re gonna fuckin’ deserve that shit.”
“Oh, I recognize you, Dan. You’re the schoolyard bully who threatened to beat me up when he realized I was smarter than him.”