Page 87 of The Matchmaker
“Alright.” He pulls my hands away from his body, pinning them gently by my side. “Slow down.”
“Why?” I breathe, kissing his neck.
“Because you’re buzzed.”
“I’m not.”
“You downed two shots,” he says, and I grin against his skin. Bless his little heart.
“It’s going to take more than that to get me tipsy.”
“Seriously?”
I can hear the reluctance in his voice, so I pull back, letting him see my honest, sober self. “Seriously.”
He peers into my eyes, his expression clearing when he sees I’m telling the truth. “You’d tell me if you were?”
I nod, and reach for him, only to be blocked again.
“Stopdoingthat,” I groan, but he ignores me, kissing me again before he puts a hand to my chest, urging me down until I’m lying along the picnic table. My legs dangle off the side and I take a breath, staring up at the stars as he slowly pushes them apart so he can stand comfortably in between them.
Oh.
The skirt of my dress rides up until it’s caressing my thighs and I’m pretty sure I stop breathing for a second as his hands roam upward, going all the way until gently, almost reverently, he slips his fingers underneath my underwear and slides them down my legs.
I tilt my head, chin to my chest, as I watch him pocket the pale blue cotton like that’s a completely normal thing to do and not the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.
Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God.
Callum smiles like he knows the exact effect he’s having on me right now and leans back over, pressing a kiss to my lips. He palms my thigh, massaging gently before inching up, and though I’m expecting it, I still jolt at the first touch of his fingers against me.
He pauses instantly. “You good?”
“Mm-hm.” It comes out like a high-pitched squeak, and I press my lips together in embarrassment as I try to relax. But I can’t do that. Not when I have Callum Dempsey standing between my legs.
“I’m not too bad with bodies, but I can’t read minds,” he says, his other hand finding mine where it’s clenched at my side. “So, you’ve gotta talk to me.”
I nod and then, when he doesn’t move, “I will.”
“You swear?”
“I swear. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to—” I break off as he kisses me again, the pad of his thumb rubbing a slow circle into my palm. With each sweep, the muscles in my body relax, melting bit by bit, and when he moves his other hand again, stroking down my center, I know he can feel how much I want him. I know because he presses harder, his touch firm and sure in a way that makes my hips lift, chasing it instinctively.
The man is annoyingly good at this.
Our kisses grow increasingly uncoordinated until he pulls back, looking down at me as he rotates his wrist, applying pressure right where I need him to. His brow furrows as he takes in my reaction, concentrating so intensely on each hitched breath I take, that it’s almost like he’s learning me, and the mere thought of that is enough to send me over the edge.
It builds slowly, an unfurling coil that then unleashes so suddenly I cry out. Callum doesn’t stop touching me the entire time, even when I try and push him away, he stays right where he is, seeing me through it and murmuring words I can barely take in, that he’s there for me, that I’m doing so well, that I look perfect, feel perfect, am perfect.
When I finally come down, when I can open my eyes and catch my breath, it’s to find him grinning at me, his hair a complete mess from where I must have been pulling at it, and his eyes sparkling like he’s the one who just had his world rocked and not me.
“Katie?”
“Yeah?”
He leans down to peck my cheek and then my nose, before finally my lips. “Anywhere in the world,” he murmurs.
“What?” I ask, still a little breathless.
