Текст книги "Hero"

Автор книги: Leighton Del Mia

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

20

For the first time in years, I wake up groggy. During a normal night, I sleep until I can’t anymore and spend the early-morning hours patrolling. It’s not lost on me that Cataline could be just as bad for me as I am for her.

In the shower, my favorite images of Cataline from the night before filter through my mind. A good night’s rest has done nothing to quell my fierce need to have her. I want her every way I can get. I want my cum to be the first to fill all her holes. I only bother with a towel around my waist before heading to her room. I can’t wait any longer.

I open the door without knocking, but it doesn’t matter. She’s sleeping on her stomach, her lips parted against the pillow for tiny breaths. Her hands are still fastened together behind her. A silk cobweb of shiny, brown locks spreads all over, some strands just at the corner of her mouth. In the early dawn, there’s only a filter of light coming through the gauzy drapes. I tread slowly to the bed, savoring my sleeping beauty until she wakes for her beast. When she doesn’t stir, I let the towel drop to the floor. My eyes follow the line of her body, lingering over the curve of her ass. I place one knee on the edge of the bed and keep going until I’m on top of her, her thighs between my knees.

My fingers almost shake with desire when I clear hair from her back and kiss the top of her spine. My cock twitches from the proximity to her thigh. With my lips just touching her skin, I glance up to find her eyes are still closed. I press another gentle kiss lower. Her hot skin is soft with fine golden hairs. I’ve never kissed a woman this way, never cared to wonder what every part of her feels like on my lips. Sitting back on my calves and straddling her upper thighs, I pry her ass cheeks apart, letting my thumbs graze lower toward her heat.

Fuck. That she can sleep through this both arouses and infuriates me. I hate the idea that just anyone can touch her while she’s at her most vulnerable. Myself excluded. I pull at the soft lips of her pussy, spreading her open. My hard-on is touching my stomach, and I can’t wait to soothe it with her smooth heat. I lean over her with one outstretched arm, and my other hand presses my head against her opening. With a firm push, my crown is inside. I continue inching until I’m halfway. I enlist all my restraint and only roll my hips into her.

She stirs, and her forehead creases. With a throaty noise, she opens her eyes. “Calvin?”

“Promised I’d fuck you this morning,” I say.

She’s growing wet, so I push deeper, and she gasps. “Oh, God.”

“I’m the one doing this to you. Use my name when you’re being pleasured.”

“Pleasured?” she repeats. “This is rape.”

My hips pulse, trying for deeper. I wait before I thrust again, still gently, but this time I don’t stop. I bend my mouth to her hair, maddeningly aware of the sweet, shallow breaths escaping from her separated lips. “I’ll stop, Sparrow,” I whisper. “Just say the word.”

Her mouth opens to speak, but her eyes squeeze shut as I give her a long, deep drive. I take her ear between my teeth and lick my way down the curve until my lips find her neck. I suck her skin into my mouth and release it with an exhale. I’ve worked myself all the way in now and can feel her pussy sucking me deeper, grasping at my cock. She shoves her face into the pillow and squeals.

I stop moving. I slide my hand around the front of her throat and lift her head so she can only look at the headboard. My cock is buried all the way inside her when I say, “Tell me to stop, Cataline. I’ll stop right now, and I’ll never come back.”

She chokes back a sob. I remove my hand to bury it in her silky hair and pull her up so her back arches away from the mattress. “Do you,” I start slowly, “want me,” I pause, “to stop?”

“No,” she says through her teeth. “Don’t stop.”

My answering growl is inhuman as I release her head and prop myself up on my arms. I let her have it, making good on my promise to fuck her. I fasten her to the mattress with relentless drives, relishing the way her hands strain against her lace binding, the way her desperate, mangled mewls are the only thing I hear.

I move my palms to the center of her lower back, right underneath her hands, pushing down on her as I drive into her harder.

“Oh, my—Calvin.” She calls for me over and over, and it sounds like a prayer. A prayer that I intend to answer. The headboard threatens to knock down the wall. The bed shudders every time we collide, but I still sense the convulsing of her small body. My balls lock up as I watch her come, watch her swallow up every inch of me. Her teeth bite the pillow and I lose control, giving it to her with more force than I mean to. I can’t stop myself though, and soon I’m draining myself into her, claiming her pussy as mine and knowing, as she drinks me up, that I’ll never let anyone else near it.

“Oh, fuck,” I say, collapsing over her body. My dick glides through her swollen slickness until I’ve emptied every last drop in her. I push the hair off the back of her neck and lick the sweat away so she shudders beneath me. “Tell me how that felt,” I whisper.

She swallows loudly with her eyes closed. “I never . . .”

“What?”

“I’ve never felt anything like it,” she whispers back.

I give myself a minute to catch my breath and inhale all the jasmine from her hair that I can. Finally I draw back, and the heavy way my cock falls out of her makes me feel dirty.

“I can’t feel my arms,” she says softly.

I sit back to unknot and unwind the underwear. Her arms drop lifelessly on either side of her. I take one of her hands and begin massaging life back into it. Her eyes droop when I move to the next hand, and just before her breathing evens out, she says, “Thank you.”

She’s asleep, but I’m confronted with the mess I’ve made. The wrist in my hand is striped red and purple from fighting her restraints. Her hair is tangled, her cheeks tear-streaked, and though I can’t see it, I know she’s covered in my cum. Since my parents passed away, I’ve never cared about anything in my life but protecting our city. And I’m not even sure I can call it that anymore. Protecting denotes something positive. Every day I walk a line between my need to defend and my desire to hurt, maul, and kill. To kill a predator makes me high. What kind of a predator does that make me?

I touch Cataline’s hair, gripping some in a gentle fist. Is wanting to protect her out of a sense of duty the same thing as caring for her? My mind is made of straight lines and edges that fit together like a square puzzle. But she blurs those lines, makes me question how it all comes together.

Has my debt been paid, protecting her for sixteen years? And if so, could I walk away from her now? If I let her go for good, remove her from my life completely, Carlos Riviera would have no use for her. And then she’d be safe from both of us. Isn’t that ultimately what I want?

Cataline’s cheek rubs against the pillow. “Calvin,” she breathes.

I remain still, but I can’t look away. Her tongue flicks over her lips and for the first time in my life, I desire another person’s mouth. To taste her, probe her depths, and feel her in an entirely different way than I’ve ever experienced a woman.

“Calvin,” she repeats.

“Hmm?”

Her eyes flutter open, and she looks back at me with surprise. Her arms jerk out, and she reddens when she realizes they’re no longer restrained. “You’re still here?”

“Let’s get you in the shower,” I say as I finally get off her.

She sighs and sits up, pulling the sheet tightly around her breasts. Her cheeks are tinted pink as her eyes avoid mine. “Um.”

“What?”

She glances down and shifts. “You came,” she says, “inside.”

“Making a mess of my sheets, are you?”

“No,” she snaps, but her expression softens, searching my face for something. I don’t know what until it hits me.

“I’m sterile,” I tell her.

She blinks once and softly exhales, “Oh.”

“So, the shower?”

“I can do it,” she says.

Anger bolts through me, but I inhale a deep breath. “Let me help you. I want to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” she replies instantly and without emotion. “I obviously have no say in anything, but for the record, your help isn’t wanted.”

I raise an eyebrow. It’s clear that all of the last week’s lessons have been lost on her, and I can’t help shaking my head. But my guilt is still fresh, and I’m all fucked out, even though her insolence makes my cock stir.

“Do you mind?” she asks. “I really, really need a shower.”

“Fine. Behave today,” I warn before leaving her to clean up.

21
Cataline

“Behave today.”

Mist curls over the shower door as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Pasty, flaking cum coats my chest, some of it crusting in the ends of my hair. I run my fingers over a deep, purple bruise on my neck. Do I look different now that I’ve lost my virginity?

I do. I’m calmer, my eyes less wide and twitchy. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. After having my virginity ripped from my clutches, I’d have thought I’d be on the floor in a puddle of tears; instead, I feel tranquil. There was no kissing, no whispered words of reassurance, no warm candlelight. No declaration of his love. My head tilts toward my shoulder, and I touch my reflection with my fingers. I’m not a person to Calvin. I’m an object, a possession, and it’s strangely liberating.

In the shower, I fantasize about Hero breaking in this morning and pulling Calvin off of me. They fight as I scream, stripped and shaking like a leaf. Their bodies are a blur of fists and muscle as they wrestle each other to the ground. I want Hero to pin Calvin to the floor and beat him within an inch of his life, but my mind won’t conjure it. Calvin is so powerful, so strong; I can feel it in his every sinewy movement. I’m not sure even Hero can defeat him.

I skip to the end, where Hero leaves Calvin bloody and mangled on the hardwood floor. He whisks me away into the sunshine, but even in make believe, I turn around and look back.

Frustration drives my fist against the tile. I practically begged for him last night, the bastard. After he left, I lay aching in the bed, wishing he would come back and follow through with his threat to fuck me.

Even now I burn with curiosity for his kiss. Would it be rough and fast like everything else he’s done to me so far? Or have I not seen that part of him because it’s sweet and gentle? Meant for someone who isn’t just an object?

I laugh aloud, a mirthless sound that echoes through the bathroom. Sweet and gentle were things I thought he might be before I learned the truth. Before I met the monster in the mansion.

I towel off and change for breakfast. Downstairs, Norman serves me quietly and with downcast eyes. I wonder how much he knows, how much he’s . . . seen. Disgust for Calvin and even for myself, for the way I acted, overcomes me when I think of the cameras in my room.

When I’ve eaten and Norman reaches to clear my plate, I put my hand on his wrist. He freezes, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth. “I’m okay, Norman,” I say.

He doesn’t return my gaze but nods once. I’m not okay, but for some reason, I need him to believe that I am. He starts when loud ringing fills the room. This happens randomly every day or so, and as always, he rushes to one of the locked rooms without a word.

Back on my cushioned sill, I’m staring out the locked window when Rosa knocks. I smile dully at her as she cleans. I sit motionless until she’s finished, calling her name before she leaves the room. “Can you wash the sheets?”

Her forehead creases, and she shrugs. I stand and walk to the bed where I pinch the sheets between my fingers. With too much irritation, I repeat, “Sheets? Can you wash them?”

Recognition lights up her face, and she beams while nodding. But as understanding hits, her dark brown eyes cloud. She glances at the bed and back at me, flattening her palm over her heart. I have to look away.

As she strips the bed, I race by her to find my escape, my solace, my outdoors. It’s the one place I can be anyone but myself. I choose a book in the library without even looking and fall into my chair.

“This isn’t fucking.”

“Make yourself come.”

“Dance.”

I hurl the book at the wall. Can’t he let me have this one sliver of peace? He’s infiltrating my moments of escape like a vengeful snake, slithering into my thoughts and claiming me from the inside out. I can’t stop him from taking my body, but my mind and my heart? How can I give those up? They’re the only things in my control, the only things I’m able to protect. Because if I let him in, let him steal my focus, then I have no chance of ever leaving this place. And that’s the only thing I want. It’s life or death that I fight with every ounce of myself not to let him take those things from me.

* * *

It’s the mention of Hero that draws me out of my trance. I gave up on reading hours earlier and moved from the library to the den to plant myself in front of the TV. I thought I was watching a sitcom, but now the news is on. The last moments of Hero’s latest feat, running into a burning home and rescuing an entire family, are captured in a dizzy blur of fiery footage. Hero carries a child over his shoulder as firemen unburden him of a woman who can barely stand. He’s collected and triumphant, even behind his armor, not at all winded by his deed.

As the video plays, I think about my parents. They died trapped in our apartment during an electrical fire, but I got out. I should’ve been with them. Where was Hero then? And why doesn’t he come for me now? I stare at him and wonder how he would even know I’m here or that I need him. Through the crystal of unshed tears, his stick-straight posture of confidence triggers a familiar feeling. Sturdy and strong but not bulky, even sheathed in grey rubber. I incline toward the TV and dash wetness from my eyes. Nothing can touch this man; nobody can scratch his hard-earned surface. Even his sculpted wave of brown hair is unaffected by smoke and heat. Almost like . . .

The video cuts out, and the newscaster reappears. I sigh, melting back into the couch. I’ll find no solace in distraction today. Through the domination of my body, Calvin has also stolen my thoughts. He is everywhere in this mansion, even in my books, in my television set.

Everyday life kept me from thinking of my parents too often, but here, there is no life. There is only time and solitude and, when I’m lucky, mental escape. I settle further into the couch and let myself remember my only family, wondering just how long until I’m with them again.

22
Calvin

I’ve called for Cataline’s presence at dinner, and according to Norman, she didn’t fight it. I’m pleased that she’s learning to defer to me, however slowly. The city’s need for me today has kept me occupied, but now I sit at the dining room table, unaccustomed to waiting for another person. My thoughts turn to this morning, when the sex fog began to clear.

A seed has been planted in my mind. As much as I try to ignore it, it grows. That often happens with my thoughts; only the important and pressing ones get through, and they proliferate at an unnatural pace, taking over and snaking into the corners of my brain.

I am the only dangerous thing in Cataline’s life.

In the beginning, duty and guilt drove me to protect the six-year-old girl I failed. I promised myself that until she was an adult, I would repent by keeping harm away and making sure her life was as comfortable as it could be without family.

But by her eighteenth birthday, I was invested. Like New Rhone, she was a project my mind refused to let go of. I knew when she eventually left Fenndale, I’d have no choice but to let her go. Leaving New Rhone wasn’t an option for me. When she decided to move here though, I wasn’t prepared.

Having her in my city only fueled my fascination. Despite what Norman thinks, it’s not love or care that binds me to her. I’m not programmed for those things. The closer she gets though, the closer I want her. Over the years, my obligation to her has morphed into a compulsion. Keep her safe. Keep her close. Watch her. Make her do what I want. She was, unknowingly, my possession from afar.

Now I own her like I never realized I wanted to. I’ve conquered the sweetest part of her, but it’s not enough. I want more. I understand duty, fear. Obliterate, protect, conquer. I don’t understand anything outside these rules I live under. What I want is for her to be consumed by me like I am with her. Last night, I was the only thing in her mind, my name the only word on her lips. “I’m so close. Please, Calvin. Do it for me.”

She needs my protection. She needs me. I push the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. Why, then, am I having thoughts of freeing her? To let her out of my sight now, after I’ve had her for the past two months, would be like ripping my skin open to remove a bullet.

Because I’m lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear Cataline enter the room. Her tight black dress cuts across her mid-thighs, and her cleavage teases from a plummeting neckline. She’s done her makeup for probably the second time since arriving at the mansion.

“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“What?”

Jasmine drifts under my nose as she walks away from me to her seat.

“I told you not to dress up for dinner.”

“I thought you’d like it,” she says, lowering herself gracefully into the chair. Her back is straight as a rod, and her fingers are laced. “You don’t?”

Norman decorates the table with food as I stare Cataline down. He clears his throat. “For dinner, we have—”

“Leave us.”

He pauses. Though my gaze is still on Cataline, I know he’s watching me as he bows his head. “As you wish, sir.”

I stand and slowly walk the line of the long table. My footsteps echo through the hall, appropriately menacing. I’ve just come from a burning building but am back in my suit and tie to maintain appearances. And my ridiculous glasses, which I remove and toss aside. She’ll believe I’ve just returned from the office. When I’m standing over her, she tugs up the neckline of the dress and blinks at me. I resist smirking as she tucks hair behind her ear twice.

“Well,” she says, “aren’t we going to eat?”

“I’m going to eat.”

“I’m not?”

“As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one meal at this table, and it’s you.”

My ears pick up her slow swallow, my eyes, the curl of her hands in her lap. “That sounds like a threat,” she says quietly.

I lean in, flatten one hand on the table and wrap the other around the arm of her chair. “It’s not. This is a threat: if you’re not naked and spread out on this table in two seconds, I’m going to spank you so hard, you won’t know up from down.”

Shock widens her eyes. “Spank me?”

“One.”

She puts all her weight into scooting the chair out from the table, but I hold it secure. Her heart hammers so hard I can hear it, and just as she’s about to protest, I release the chair.

She jumps up, and I direct her to the center of the table. At the edge, she pulls one strap of her dress down and then pauses. Her chest pulses erratically. She glances around the room and then at me before dropping her hand to her side. “I can’t,” she whispers.

My blood begins to simmer at the surface of my skin. That she continues to see how far she can push me infuriates me. “I’m sorry?”

“Norman? Chef Michael? Everyone will see.”

I cock my head. The staff has always been a part of my landscape, and they know when to disappear.

She shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry. You can hit me.”

I stride forward, and she does her best to curl into a ball against the table. I snake my fingers under the hem of her dress and fist the fabric in both hands. She yelps when it rips up to her belly button. Her black lace panties follow.

“If I want the staff to watch, they’ll watch,” I tell her. “You think you’re better than the whores I bring here?”

“I don’t—I’m not . . .”

I bring the ruined underwear up to her face, forcing her to look at them. “Open your mouth.”

Her eyebrows dip to the middle of her forehead, and she shakes her head frantically.

“Don’t you like the way you taste?”

“Please, no.”

She jumps when I swipe a spot clear behind her with my other hand. Food flies over the edge, and a tray clatters to the floor. My hips pin hers to the table, my erection digging into her stomach. I take her chin so she can’t look anywhere but at me. “What’s your game?” I ask, inches from her face.

“What do you mean?”

“The hair, the makeup, the dress.” I hover my lips directly above hers. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Nothing,” she breathes.

“Maybe you like what I did to you this morning.” When she doesn’t answer, I squeeze my other hand in between her clenched thighs and hold it there. “Maybe you want me to do it again.” Her surly moan, half protest, half pleasure, is enough to cut any remaining inhibitions free. “Get on the table.”

She looks up at the ceiling for a moment, a last-minute prayer to the Heavens.

“Get on, or I’ll put you on.”

She hoists herself up on the edge and looks me in the eye before easing back onto the wood. My legs spread her knees, and I watch her face as I slowly tear open the rest of the dress. One hand grabs her inner thigh, inching up until her wet heat teases my fingertips. For moments there’s only the sound of our breathing growing heavier. When I slide a finger up inside her, she gasps and I stuff the panties in her mouth. Instinctively, she reaches up to remove them, but I catch her wrist and shake my head at her.

My finger moves in and out at an easy pace, and I hold her wide-eyed gaze. I lean closer to whisper in her ear. “I can already tell you’re going to be the best thing I ever put in my mouth.”

Her hips flinch when I add another finger. She gasps and moans from behind her gag, her face distorting. I continue pumping, feeling her from the inside as her soft warmth greedily sucks me deeper. I feel behind me for her ankle and remove one shoe, dropping it as she kicks the other to the floor. When I crouch between her legs, her feet go to my shoulders. I like that and tell her so with a groan into her pussy.

I slip the point of my tongue from the top of her asshole up. Her every muscle tenses when I graze her swollen clit. When I can’t wait another moment, I cock my head and begin to eat her out, grasping her outer thighs and pulling her hard into my mouth. My tongue reaches for her, lapping up every bit of her perfect, Cataline flavor, sucking and kissing whatever I can. When I thrust it inside her, her hands dive into my hair, yanking me closer, her groans vibrating all the way down her body and into my throat.

Her fingers pulling at my hair ignites a need so deep in my stomach, my dick strains against my pants. I want to be inside her again, using my own saliva to fuck harder, faster, deeper than I ever have anyone.

I detach my mouth and untangle her hands from my head. “Take it out,” I say, nodding between us.

She swallows as best she can with her mouth full of lace. Sitting up, she touches the waistband of my pants. Her fingers push the button through the hole slowly and slide my zipper down. My hands fist in my hair to keep from rushing her. She doesn’t remove my pants but just lowers the band of my briefs enough to pull me out. My cock is so much in her hand. She just watches as I move my hips, thrusting it through her fist.

“Put it in,” I say, hating the pleading in my voice. Her eyes scan until she moves the few inches to close any space between us. Her legs circle my lower back. I don’t move. We’re both looking down as she presses my crown against her softness and scoots even closer. The night before did nothing to loosen her up, and I make small thrusts to get her to open.

“Come on, Sparrow,” I say. “Let me in that tight pussy.” I push her back against the table with my hand and grab her hips. I hold her there, impatiently pushing my way inside until I can’t resist thrusting hard, bouncing her as I go deep.

I bend over her. My palm presses down on the crown of her head to hold her still as I pull out almost all the way and drive back into her. With each whimper from her, my thrusts come faster and more out of control. “Nobody can do this to you but me,” I say to her, the words rumbling from my mouth. “You belong to me. All of you.”

Her cheeks are burning red. She looks straight into me and shakes her head.

“No?” I ask. She continues shaking her head, and I bury myself in her as deeply as I can, rooting myself there until she writhes. “You’d let another man inside you like this?”

She nods barely, and my fingers curl into her hair.

“Then maybe I bring a friend next time, let him fuck you while I watch.”

It’s obvious by the way her nose scrunches and chin quivers that she doesn’t know I’d kill any man who ever tried. No hesitation. But she nods again, and now I know she’s purposely pushing me.

I reach over her shoulder for a stick of butter. My fingers gouge out a soft chunk, and I slide her bottom half off the edge of the table. Watching her face, I circle my arm around and touch between her ass cheeks. Her eyes widen and legs flex around me as she tries to look down.

I hush her while keeping her head on the table by her hair. My mouth lowers to the crook of her neck while I massage butter over her anus. She protests with a throaty noise, clenching and pushing against me. I continue my assault without penetrating, rubbing her as I slide leisurely in and out of her stretching pussy. I spread the butter everywhere, coating between her cheeks before I insert the tip of my finger in her asshole.

“Good girl,” I murmur as she unclenches. My thrusts are controlled so she’ll feel every ridge of my cock. My finger works itself deeper. “Such a good girl.”

I reach across the table again to pluck the nearest candle from its holder. Her eyes follow as I blow it out, and she instantly starts struggling, her head shaking from side to side as strangled noises escape through her gag.

“Shh, don’t—” I’m cut off by her attempt to scream. I pluck the thong from her mouth with my teeth, fling it aside, and lock my lips on hers. Her entire body tenses as our mouths press against each other. She puckers her lips into mine, and I respond by opening her up with my tongue and slipping it in. When I moan, her arms circle around my neck, asking for more. I tilt my head and take her mouth, devouring her with a fervor that surprises even me. Her mouth is as warm and soft as her pussy, and it tastes equally as good.

As I kiss her, I flip the candle around. It’s a nice size, smaller than my cock but big enough that she’ll feel it. I lower it between her legs, gliding it through the butter. It slides easily, but she whimpers so pathetically that I break the kiss to watch her face as I press the wide tip against her tight bud.

“You can’t,” she says. “You can’t do this.”

“Push out a little.”

“Please,” she begs.

Impossibly, I grow harder inside her. My dick wants to fuck, and it won’t wait much longer. “Now,” I instruct as I insert it.

Her face screws up as I slide it in, and she pleads with me with big eyes.

“You’ll thank me when you come,” I mutter, worrying the candle deeper. My body is on fire for release, and it’s taking all my restraint not to let go. Filling both her holes as she squirms is draining me of any self-control. I shove the candle deep and let go to fuck her with an intensity she’ll feel for days. I let myself get lost in her pussy, taking whatever I can from her. She’s so wet and slippery that the large room echoes with our slapping skin. I keep pounding, even as she shudders and shakes out her orgasm, clawing for me. She latches onto my straining forearms, her fingers digging into my skin as her body bucks off the table and her mouth screams my name senselessly.

The sight of her is too much, and I pull her into my final thrust, claiming her with an animal growl and what feels like every drop of cum in my body.

Her body is limp on the table, her eyes shut, and for a moment I’m terrified that I’ve hurt her. But she heaves an enormous sigh before looking at me. I release her hips, leaving ten red marks in her otherwise flawless skin. I ease the candle out of her, toss it, and fall forward to cover her body with mine. “Feels good with something in your ass, doesn’t it?” I ask against her cheek.

She only shivers and tries to form a barrier between us with her arms, but I won’t budge.

“If you don’t want to get fucked, don’t wear a dress like that to dinner.”

“I don’t understand,” she responds. “What’s it matter if you don’t find me attractive?”

I laugh in a short gust and lift my head to look at her. “Come on, Sparrow. Don’t play stupid.”

“You said you didn’t want me. In the basement.”

I stare back at her as dangerous thoughts hammer in my head. I’m tempted to tell her that I’ve never felt a woman like I have her these last twenty-four hours. I want to tell her that there was never a time, even as a young girl, that I didn’t want her for myself. I want to ask her how it’s possible anyone wouldn’t find her attractive. But I’ve already crossed too many lines. Instead of holding her closer and kissing her, I deny the urges and pull out to stand up.

“You can go. We’re finished here.”

“What about dinner?”

“I’m utterly sated, but I’ll have Norman bring you something.”

“You’re not going to eat with me?”

Considering I just shoved a candle up her ass, the surprise in her voice is oddly sweet. “I just did, Sparrow. And I have plans.”

She shifts into a sitting position, glancing around as her hands cover her breasts. “What plans?”

I arch an eyebrow at her as I tuck my wrinkled shirt back into my pants. “That’s a brave question.”

She cocks her head, watching me dress. “What plans, Cal?”

“Cal,” I say, shaking my head at her boldness. “Lyla-from-work plans.”

Her passive expression is not the reaction I expect. “Are you guys dating?”

“No.”

She exhales. “Oh.”

“Just fucking.”

When I look back at her, her jaw is working side to side alarmingly fast. “I knew that already, but I thought maybe now . . .”

“You knew? About Lyla?”

She nods. “She told everyone.”

My jaw sets. She looks uncomfortable, so I pull off the dress shirt I just straightened and hand it to her.