Page 28 of Shadows Within
“We’ll see about that.” Before we leave, she fixes her makeup in the mirror that sits on my dresser. I text Dad that I’m headed out and shove my phone into my clutch.
As we pull into the Bronsen brother’s long driveway, my stomach tightens. I hear music before I even get out.
“Good God. I already have a headache.” I look to Sophia and push the door open.
I get out of the passenger seat and glance at the house. Expensive looking lights line the walkway to the front door.
“You look hot. How long do you think before he comes over to you?” Sophia asks as we walk toward the back of the house.
“I’m not here for him.” The denial seeps out of my mouth.
Sophia gives me a sassy side glare.
“Mhm. Sure.”
As we enter, the back porch is overflowing with students. Sophia greets people she knows, and I trail behind her. My eyes scan the room as we step into the house. I don’t mean to look for him, but I am.
And then I see him.
He leans against a taupe-coloured wall with a drink in his hand. His dark eyes land on mine, like he’s been waiting to see me all night.
I look away.
Someone drags Sophia into the kitchen, and she disappears into the crowd of familiar faces. I stay behind and trace the edges of the room with my eyes—anything to keep me from looking back at him.
My skin feels warm, too warm. I need a drink that I won’t sip, or a dark corner to disappear to. Instead, I slip between the crowd and down a hallway, toward the back of the house. The walls feel smaller, almost like they buffer some of the noise.
I feel his presence before I see him.
I turn around and Callum stands behind me, leaning against the wall, like he’s been here the entire time.
“Were you going to say hi to me?” He asks with his low voice.
“Not everything is about you, Callum.” I cross my arms.
He pushes off the wall, calmly but with tension at the same time.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I hate how he makes me feel so uneasy and safe all at once.
“Why are you always around?” Our eyes meet. “Why this... sudden pull to each other?”
“I got tired of fighting it.” His answer is soft but raw. The silence that follows feels louder than the music that blares through the house.
I blink; my throat is heavy. I swallow and gaze at him like I’m going to say something, but I don’t. Instead, my eyes focus on his lips.
His eyes pierce mine. He inches closer and grabs my neck, sliding his warm hands to the base of my skull, and cradles my head with enough force that allows me to stay locked on his eyes.
“I tried to stop wanting you.” He steps even closer, our bodies barely touching. “I failed.” Our eyes dance together in a familiar way. The tension builds.
His lips crash onto mine. The kiss is hard and uninviting, but not unwanted. My body tenses as he steals the breath from my lungs. He devours my mouth, forcing our tongues to meet. There’s nothing fragile about it. His hands make their way into my hair and my chest heaves, in need of air while I give into him. My hands find his hair like they belong there. He pulls me closer, and my chest presses into him. His mouth is fire and control—too much and not enough.
The cold wall cools my back as he presses me against it. His warm hands move down to my hips, claiming them. I let him. His wet lips move toward my jaw, slow and deliberate, like he is mapping my skin with his mouth. My hands slide to the collar of his shirt. I tug on him, hard. He lets out a low, rough moan, as if his last shred of patience has snapped.
His mouth lands onto mine again, hungrier than before. I feel him in every inch of my body—the rush, the ache. I should pull away, but I press closer into him. Before I let myself become consumed by him, I stop.
I pull back and look at him, reminding myself of where we are and who we are— two people with opposite lives that aren’t supposed to be together. I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.
