CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (22 page)

With quick hands I remove her top, and she swiftly unbuttons my pants in return. Our desperation presses us together with forceful intensity. I pull her away from the wall to push the yoga pants down her legs, only to force her backward as she steps out of them.
 

The sensation of her satin panties along my fingertips burns into my skin, but I can't break away from her to admire how beautiful and sinfully sexy she must look trimmed in lace. I have a glimpse as she pushes me from her body to remove my shirt, and the sight of her full breasts blushed and straining against the lace nearly shatters me. The sensation of her nails dragging through my chest hair as she presses her lips hard against my neck shatters me completely.
 

She breaks my resolve, leaving me confused once again.
 

"Damn it, Quinn," I grit as I grab her ass and lift her entire frame sharply from the floor. I push her against the wall again, then hitch her higher to get my lips on her perfect breasts. Desperate sounds of pleasure roll from her throat as she pulls my head harder against her.
 

Unable to wait any longer to throw her down, I pull her from the wall and move with purpose to the bedroom. The mattress takes the brunt of my need when I drop her flat...and her lace takes the brunt of my need as I grab the thin fabric with two hands and rip it from her hips. I push the bra up from her breasts and suck her nipple in hard.
 

A sharp noise of pleasure and desperation sounds from her lungs as her nails dig in again. Her perfect legs wrap around me, pulling me higher against her.

In one swift move, I crawl one knee-step toward her and glide myself strongly into her body. She is so goddamn wet, and all I can do is force her body into pleasure at a desperate, rough pace. There is no holding back for either of us as we move harshly and grunt through the intensity.
 

We climax quickly, and precisely together. I've never experienced that kind of physical, near-spiritual connection before, nor have I ever
taken
the body a woman I
love
. The desperation only deepens my need for her, and I'm unable to pull myself even a millimeter away.
 

I drag my lips and tongue across her neck and take in the earthy salt of her sweat. The organic purity of her taste keeps me hard. Her heavy breath pushes against my chest as she arches up into me. Our connection flows into a different brand of desperation as we move slowly together and never allow a sliver of air between us.
 

One tiny, needing grip at a time, Quinn's hands crawl down my back and to my hips where she pulls me grinding into her again. A softer moan breezes through her lips; the glide of her legs along mine brings a quiet groan from deep in my chest.

Long, focused moments pass between each movement of my hips. Our bodies lock so tightly against each other as we soak in the intense need to occupy the same space. No words could speak as strongly as our quiet connection.

Breathy sighs and shaking intensity communicate for us as we begin to truly make love. Quinn rolls me to my back so she can move over me. Her breasts push toward me as she reaches around to unhook her bra.

An unintentional sound of appreciation eases from my lungs. The curvy perfection of her body slays me. My hands reach to appreciate the weight of her breasts and the flat hour-glass tummy below. Moving my grip to her feminine hips allows me to pull her against me harder.
 

She drops her head back in pleasure as she grinds in torturous slow motion. Words have no place within this spell. Too many questions could be asked, and too many answers could fail us. Appreciation of beauty marks this moment as one which will stay with me forever.
 

Quinn continues to move slowly against me, sometimes balancing herself with her hands on my chest, others with her fingers locked in mine. When each of us is close to climaxing again, she stops completely and allows us to hover on the razor's edge of pleasure.

"Oh..." she breathes quietly before ultimately giving in. Pushing herself against me one final time brings her over the edge. The pleasured agony displayed on her face swirls in such complex beauty, and all I can do is ride out my climax as I gaze at her.
 

"How are you so beautiful?" I finally whisper to her.
 

She simply rests her torso on my chest and welcomes my arms around her.
 

"Because you really see me," she whispers. "No one ever has before."

QUINN

After the single most intense physical experience I've ever had, the beat of his heart gently massages my cheek, and the warmth of his chest soaks directly into me. His hands draw lines of heat across my skin. Simply stated, his body consumes me in total male perfection.
 

More beautiful than his physical presence is the shift in his thinking and recognition of his feelings. Callen Reed truly loves me. He
loves
me, more than he knew. And with the realization of his feelings came an understanding of his situation, or at least the need to
question
his decision to kill Spades.
 

I was honest when I said I'm terrified for him. The thought of him turning to darkness cuts a pit into my stomach, as does the thought of him not returning from the depth of hatred he'd embrace to do so. I hope I can encourage him to think of other possibilities.
 

Callen interrupts my thoughts by guiding my lips to his for a sweet, simple kiss. His hand holds my cheek firmly as he looks into my eyes and speaks those three precious words again.

"I love you," he promises quietly, the soldier in him stepping aside for the true man in him to speak.

"I love you, too," I promise in return.
 

He pulls me into his chest again and I sigh contentedly. I set aside my constant analysis to revel in emotion.
 

"I won't leave you tonight," he murmurs seriously. "You won't wake up alone."

I nod my head against his chest, and no more words are needed between us. Nearly an hour of gentle kisses and skimming fingertips add a strong sense of intimacy to our evening.
 

Eventually the warmth between us and our gentle embrace eases me into sleep. Hours pass, and our need to be close transcends our consciousness. I wake up solidly wrapped in his arms.

We rest quietly before I need to ask one single thing of this man I love.
 

"Callen, will you promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"Promise you'll think more about your decision. Think beyond the strategy. Think of who you'll become if you follow through."

A sigh from deep in his chest ripples across my neck as he tightens his arms around me. "I will," he says with little conviction. A part of me wilts at his tone, but I know him to be a man of his word.

"Quinn," he starts softly, obviously changing the subject. "I asked you once why you chose a jail to practice psychology."

His hands begin kneading my shoulders deeply. He doesn't need to ask the question for me to understand he wants the answer.

"My father," I tell him, separating myself from the personal nature of the story. I stand and pull a robe over my body, unable to be so physically and emotionally exposed at the same time.
 

Callen understands my need to be apart from him for the first time in hours, and allows me to speak when I'm ready. More time passes than should before I speak my first sentence.
 

"He was the ideal dad to me, and the ideal husband to my mom."

Callen waits for me to continue, and again I pause longer than I should if I'm trying to convey nonchalance. I suppose I shouldn't bother masking the difficulty of the topic. He'll pick up on my tension anyway.

"He was loving, attentive, and went to every softball game I played. He traveled often for work, but he always called to say goodnight."

"Tell me why you sound so sad," he says after I pause again.

I sit in a posh reading chair and toy with the terrycloth belt of my robe.
 

"The FBI came and arrested him. I was fourteen. It was a Tuesday."
 

I pause again before I finish the story I haven't told in years.
 

"Mom and I were shocked, and we demanded to know how they could make a mistake like that. The agent simply looked at us and said,
Short version? He left a body in every city he's been in. His job never sent him anywhere. But hey, at least he went far enough away to leave you out of it when the urge to murder hit him
."
 

"My God," Callen says as he walks to me and pulls me up from the chair. So gently he draws his arms solidly around me while he waits for me to continue.
 

"I was confused and devastated. When I finally processed the truth, as much as a teenager could, I was sick to think we didn't know. How could he be two completely different people? I wanted to figure him out. My mom refused any contact, but I kept in touch without her knowing. By the time I was nineteen, I saw what prison did to him. Every time I visited I saw him devolve. He got a tattoo on his neck…a knife for every kill."

Callen continues to hold me, only letting go to rub my shoulders to ease the tension I can't successfully hide. He doesn't bother to speak. He knows words won't change anything, so he simply offers me loving support as I finish my story.
 

"So that's when I decided to change my major from education to psychology. Prison didn't rehabilitate, but rather failed him. He had no chance of parole, of course, but he wasn't helped at all. Therapy may never have changed him, but
help
…he could have been helped."

Callen wraps his arms around me again. "You are an amazing woman."

We finally order breakfast in the room, both of us content to remain in our private bubble. Little of the outside world exists here, and we both need the reprieve.
 

The separation between ourselves and everyone else fuels the intimacy between us. Our focus become singularly on each other the longer we're together. After a relaxing soak together in the enormous bathtub, we stay close to each other, each in our posh hotel robes lounging in by the silent fire place.
 

He looks deep in my eyes, hoping I'll find a reason to drop my guard. I know he understands my mistrust, but he has yet to erase the last hint of the rift between us. The constant push and pull of this relationship has caused the gap we're finally navigating.
 

"How are you feeling," he asks, though I'm certain he knows.
 

I look into his eyes for a long time, my expression shifting slightly as I filter through the thoughts and emotions pacing through my head.
 

"Shy," I finally answer to the intimacy of the moment.

He rests his hands at the base of my head and draws me into his kiss. Shy seems to be his need, as well.
 

Our tongues touch softly and I relax into him, my body melding with his exactly. His strong arms cradle me up to his chest as I taste the skin of his neck. My hope finds a foothold. Press after gently press, my lips continue to find their way along his neck, ear, and jaw as he walks me to the hotel bedroom.
 

When he lays me down on the bed, I whisper two beautiful phrases of understanding. "I can feel it. It's honest."

He keeps my gaze and brushes my cheek with his thumb. I've never experienced such perfect syncopation. His soft smile and light eyes demonstrate our mutual trust. I open myself to him completely.

"Can I change my answer from shy?" I ask.

He smiles and looks into my eyes as he searches for my need. With his thumb skimming tenderly along my hair, I show him passion from within my eyes. Neither of us needs words.

My need forces his grip around my wrists, and he pushes my hands high in a sharp move as he smiles down on me like the devil he can be. He understands exactly what I want from him.
 

Still, I gasp in shock at his sudden move, and my body arches into his in a strong, needing response. Raw honesty pours from his.

"You are so sexy," he breathes along my neck. "Every time I have you, I want you again even more."