Page 108 of Hold Your Breath
As she tried to absorb Rob’s explanation, Lou looked at her stepfather. He appeared more disheveled than before, and a trickle of blood slid down his neck, but he was standing and conscious. He didn’t look at all like he’d just been taken out by a shotgun blast. She frowned and poked Callum. “Didn’t you just shoot him?”
“When I overheard what your fuck-face stepfather was saying,” Callum said without loosening his grip on her, “I just grabbed a gun and some shot and ran.”
“Squirrel shot?” Rob asked.
“Yep.”
Looking down at Richard’s rumpled, wilted, only slightly bloodied form, Rob said, “Guess it was your lucky day.” He sounded a little disappointed.
The cabin gradually filled with more and more people—local deputies, FBI agents, and others Lou couldn’t identify. Honestly, though, she was beyond caring. Even stiff-spined Cal was drooping as he sat next to her on the couch. Their shoulders braced each other, and Lou knew Cal’s support was the only thing keeping her semi-upright. They’d told the story over and over, had been asked endless—and often repeated—questions, and now Lou was beyond tired.
“Rob!” she called across the room where the sheriff was talking to someone wearing an FBI jacket. He moved through the crowd until he was standing in front of them. “Please make everyone go away.”
Apparently, Rob was a magician as well as a sheriff, because he had the house cleared of everyone except her and Cal within ten minutes.
“The stairs look really steep,” she sighed, leaning harder against Callum.
“Yep.”
“And tall.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Almost insurmountable.”
When he didn’t respond to that one, she turned her head to see that he’d fallen asleep. Smiling tiredly, she kissed his relaxed jaw.
“Thank you for shooting my stepdad, Cal.”
* * *
Something was tickling her cheek. Lou gave a sleepy grumble and buried her face in her pillow—her very hard, moving pillow. A male chuckle made her eyes pop open as she jerked up her head. Somehow, she couldn’t remember how, they’d obviously managed to get up the not-quite-insurmountable stairs and into the bedroom.
Callum was smiling at her. Despite the rude awakening, she couldn’t help but grin back at him.
“I’m happy you’re not dead. Again.” She couldn’t seem to keep back the words.
“I’m just happy,” he responded, playing with a few strands of her hair. When he flicked the ends against her cheek, she realized that had been the tickling sensation that had woken her.
Smothering a yawn, she said, “You sound surprised by that.”
He shrugged, concentrating on brushing her hair along her nose. “Just not used to it. It’s nice. Being with you is very nice.” He dropped the strands and kissed the tip of her nose.
“Yeah?” she asked. Whenever he started kissing her, her brain shut down. Lou wondered if there was some kind of scientific explanation for it—maybe he caused an overdose of serotonin or something.
“Yeah.” His lips met hers and clung. As sweet and gentle as the chaste, closed-mouth kiss was, her heart rate increased until it felt like a hummingbird fluttered inside her chest. Callum could give her a heart attack just by holding her hand.
He deepened the kiss, drawing her out of her thoughts about how he made her feel and just making herfeel. With a sigh, she relaxed into him. Her hand burrowed between them until she could press against his chest and feel his heart beat under her palm. Just like him, the rhythm was steady and calm, although it started to pick up when his tongue touched hers.
A jolt ran through her at the contact, and she shivered, tossing her leg over his hip in an effort to get closer. His warm hand settled on her knee, tracing over her thigh and back down to its original spot. He seemed content with kissing, and so was she, until her blood began to heat. The three points of contact—their mouths, her hand on his heart, and his fingers around her knee—warmed her entire body from the inside out.
Finally, after what could’ve been minutes or hours of kissing, she couldn’t hold still anymore. Lou squirmed, trying to push him to move faster, to touch more, but he wouldn’t be rushed. Every kiss, every touch on a spot thatshouldn’tbe an erogenous zone but seemed to light up anyway, was deliberate. When she finally gave in and stopped trying to hurry him, she allowed herself to appreciate every contact as the gift it was. They were alive. They were together. They were home.
Once she stopped pushing, he started advancing, although still at that slow, easy pace. Callum eased their clothes away, piece by piece, touching each newly revealed area of skin as if it were precious. The curve of her shoulder, the inside of her elbow, the cup of her hipbone—all got the same careful attention.
By the time he eased inside of her, her entire body was alight. She couldn’t stop staring at his face as he moved, looking uncharacteristically but deliciously rumpled with his three-day scruff. Cupping his face in her hands, she led him down to a kiss. It was one of his gentle kisses, but it quickly detonated, matching the intensity of their bodies’ movements as the pleasure built.
Lou came first, although she tried to delay her climax, wanting this intense and gentle lovemaking session to last forever. He pressed into her hard, his hands pushing hers into the mattress, and found his own pleasure.
