Page 111 of Always Meant for You
“I saw her downstairs at your place. She was standing a little taller. You made her feel pretty. My grandfather would do that, say sweet things to her. What you did must have stuck.”
I can only nod. The weight of his words brings tears to my eyes. I take a breath and blink them away.
“I believe in this, Cal,” I say, my gaze blurring, light trailing like tiny shooting stars.
He shifts onto his side, facing me. “What do you believe in?”
“The town. The co-op. You.” I draw in another breath and hold his gaze. “You can count on me.”
He watches me like he’s trying to memorize the moment, like if he moves, it might slip away.
“I mean it,” I say. “I want this to work. I want Eat Elverna to be a success.”
“And then?” he asks softly. “What happens in eight weeks?”
My throat tightens, the future pulls at me from every direction. “I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”
His voice drops lower. “I should tell you it’s not.” He leans in and grazes the chain at my collarbone, tracing it slowly,following the path to the M charm. “But I don’t know how to say no to you.”
I reach for him and brush the hem of his shirt, holding it between my thumb and forefinger.
“You say no to me all the time,” I whisper, the words catching in the thick summer air.
His breath meets my lips, close enough to taste. When his nose grazes across mine, my body locks tight, wound with a need I can’t hide. “That was my head talking,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint.
“Then what part of you can’t say no to me?” I whisper.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t rush. He lifts his hand and touches my mouth with his thumb, dragging it across my bottom lip. “My heart,” he says tenderly. “My heart can’t say no to you. It never could.”
I let go of his shirt and slide my fingers into his hair, needing more than touch, needing to feel the truth of him, the weight of his body pressed to mine.
“Then listen to your heart,” I say. “Tell me what it wants.”
His chest rises like he’s trying to catch a breath he hasn’t taken in years. “It wants you. Always you.”
Before I can reply, he kisses me hard. This kiss isn’t sweet. It isn’t careful. It isn’t the measured and methodical Callan Horner. It’s raw and hungry. It’s years of restraint and ache shattering in one brutal kiss. The fireflies and the summer night pulsing with heat fade away. None of it exists. Only the press of his mouth on mine. The way he devours each sound I make like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
His weight shifts. I sink beneath him, my thighs parting. My arms wrap around his neck, guiding him closer. My fingers roam, greedy and sure, mapping every plane of muscle beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. My nipples tighten, aching for his hands, his mouth, his attention.
I reach between us, my palm skimming the hard line of his abdomen, trailing down until I find him, thick and hot and straining against his jeans. The rough sound he makes when I palm the bulge in his pants breaks something open inside me.
I move my hand, slowly at first, then with firmer strokes. His hips jolt. A curse escapes his throat, and he kisses me harder, as if he’s unraveling with every pass of my hand.
“Jesus, Mabel,” he groans, his voice wrecked and beautiful.
The ache between my legs is unbearable. I shift, opening to him completely, my body humming with urgency.
His hand slides up the outside of my thigh, his fingers spreading wide. The heat of his touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake. He finds the hem of my dress and moves beneath it, pausing only when his knuckles brush against my panties.
“Lace?” His voice is a rasp now.
“Yes,” I manage.
He moves his hand between my legs. “What color are they?”
“White,” I breathe.
He exhales a tight breath. His fingers trace the edge. “I need to touch you,” he says, his mouth at my ear, breath hot. “Will you let me?”
