Page 42 of What Hurts Us

A laugh slipped out of my mouth. I didn’t mean for it to, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m not a virgin, Cal. I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve lived with two of them. I’m nearly thirty. This won’t faze them. Besides—I’m a saint compared to my brother.”

His jaw flexed. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but some part of what I’d said pissed him off.

I eyed the ring box. “Have you thought about how you’re going to propose? I mean, it should probably be semi-public so the town can see. It would be a little pointless if we did it in private.”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. The stubble filling out his jawline had a sharp edge to it. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Do you need to practice?” I said with a nervous giggle. Cal looked like he was sick to his stomach.

Instead of hurling the contents of his lunch, he shook his head. “Nah. I figured I’ll get down on one knee and keep it short and sweet. I’m not much of a talker as it is. Put the ring on your finger, and we’re done.”

“That’s all?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “It’s fake, Layla.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know that. But if you’re proposing to me in public, it’s not like you can just shove a ring on my finger and seal it with a handshake. This isn’t a merger or a business deal.”

His nostrils flared. “Get up.”

“Excuse me?” I scoffed.

“Get up. I’m proposing to you.” He snatched the ring box off of the coffee table. “We’re gonna rehearse this and get it fucking right.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” I jeered under my breath as I heaved my tired ass off the couch.

I stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed and hip cocked as Cal shoved the ring box in his pocket and rounded the coffee table. We stood toe-to-toe for a moment, both as jovial as mules. Slowly, he lowered down to one knee. “Layla, you’re a beautiful smart-ass with terrible taste in mugs and questionable taste in men.”

“You’re not wrong on that last part,” I quipped. “I’m here with you,sweetie pie.”

Cal rolled his eyes. “Will you do me the dishonor of being my absolutely bullshit fake wife-to-be?”

I held my hand out and spread my fingers so that he could slip the ring on. “You don’t have the words or the music.”

The gold band slid on smooth and easy. “It doesn’t matter what I say,” he stated as he rose to his feet and took a step forward, crowding my personal bubble. There was an edge to his words. An intensity that couldn’t be faked. “No one’s gonna be close enough to hear whatever shit comes out of my mouth. And I’m not sealing it with a fucking handshake, Layla.” His gaze bore into mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the faint hint of his cologne. “The whole fucking town is gonna see me down on one knee, and then they’re gonna see this.” He surged forward, and I went stumbling backward. My back slammed into the wall as his lips crashed down, locking onto mine.

Callum consumed me with every touch of his mouth. His hands greedily roamed my hips—caressing, teasing, and stroking my skin. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth on mine and deepening the kiss. Strong hands slid up the side of my neck to cup my cheeks. My eyes were wide open, a stark contrast to his furrowed brows. A groan rippled from his chest like he had been starving for this—for me.

There was an intensity to Callum Fletcher that both fueled and consumed me. His touch was like gasoline. It could sustain or destroy.

His chest pressed into my breasts, trapping me against the wall with no chance of escape. Strong hands skated up my ribs, drawing a whimper out of me as they grazed my cleavage.

Cal’s hand moved down and closed around my throat before moving up to my jaw. He flexed his fingers, squeezing and holding my head in place as his lips pulled away from the mind-numbing kiss. I grabbed onto his shirt, desperate to keep him close. He tipped his head to the side, prying my lips open with his tongue. My body lit up like a firecracker; sparks popped and sizzled as every nerve fired. My nipples ached to be touched. My thighs trembled and clenched, trying to ease the desire pooling deep inside. He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs while lapping languid strokes against my tongue. A quiet sigh escaped me, and I knew I was done for. Cal must have sensed it, too, because he broke away.

“This is what they’ll see, honey.” His grip on my jaw was as unforgiving as his gaze.

I was going to have marks from the pads of his fingers for sure. His lips were a breath away, still ghosting along mine. I tried to lean in. Tried to steal another taste. But his hand kept the back of my head pinned against the wall, right where he wanted me.

“They’ll see me put that ring on your finger, and then they’ll see me kiss you like you are my life and my breath and my soul.” The next kiss was more potent than the preceding ones. The weight of his body and words pressed against me as his tongue pushed past my pouted lips and swept across my mouth. I couldn’t do anything but accept the invasion. I was utterly and completely at his will, and I loved every second of it.

I fisted the cotton of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. The iron grip he had on my jaw faded, and both hands cupped my cheeks with a tender touch. When he pulled back and stroked the pad of his thumb across my swollen lips, I saw the rage. The anger. The self-loathing.

Callum never broke eye contact with me as he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth clean from our kiss. Without saying a word, he turned, stormed up the stairs, and slammed his door. I was too dazed to speak.

He hated that I found just the right button to push to make him lose control. Hated ceding that power.

And now that I’d gotten a taste of what his fury was like, I craved it more than oxygen.

15

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