Risqué by Elena M. Reyes

8

It’s impulsive, and crazy, and God knows I’m being irresponsible, but I had to. He gave me the one thing that no one ever does: a choice. The human right to pick and accept versus being given an ultimatum with the venom lacing of a threat.

I’m in charge of my time.

Of what I do.

“Fuck.” It’s a rumbled groan that rises from deep within his chest and vibrates against my mouth in the most erotic way. It’s sinful, feels so good, and I can’t stop myself from flicking his top lip and then bottom with the tip of my tongue.

They’re so soft. Plump.

“Callum.” It leaves me on a whimper he swallows, his tongue slipping inside my mouth to caress mine. Soft, then ardent, and then the way he’s kissing me can only be described as famished. A hunger that matches my own, lit up like a match and I’m pushed back, his body caging me in.

One hand cups my face while the palm of the other slams against the metal wall, the sound of his raw hunger causing my pussy to clench. This kiss is everything you read about in books; a soul-destroying moment that exposes a weakness you didn’t have before.

This is bad. So irresponsible.

A little voice says in the back of my head, and yet, I can’t pull away. Just can’t.

I’m not someone who sleeps around, much less right after meeting a man, but he makes me want to break every rule. To live. To be free.

“So sweet. Too good for me,” he groans, right hand tilting my head slightly to his liking—angling me—before deepening the kiss. This is so much more and everything all at once. There’s no fighting for dominance; Callum takes while I’m powerless against him—his touch—and holding on while I’m devoured like the sweetest treat.

Each groan pulls a shiver. Each curse is a rush of wetness where my need for him grows with every passing second.

Behind us, I hear the elevator ping and then its doors open, yet it’s the throat clearing that brings us into the present.

“We should go.” I’m boneless. Breathing hard. Helplessly watching his Adam’s apple bob; the large dragon wrapped around his throat mesmerizes me with its haunting beauty. The style is beautiful; heavy on the black and grey, but it’s the hints of color that create a striking piece.

Much like the ones lower. Ones, I hunger to discover.

“I know.” Callum pecks me again, dragging his teeth over my bottom lip before turning around to glare at the person interrupting. “Move.”

His tone is hard, a warning hiss for an impending strike if the person doesn’t follow his demand. The two men, no older than twenty-five, do so quickly, shooting each other nervous looks while I’m being pulled out.

Not that Callum pays them any attention; instead, he’s on his phone. “I’m exiting,” is all he says before hanging up. The doorman sees us coming and quickly holds open the door, bidding us a good night right before we step through.

“You as well,” we answer in unison, and I can’t help but giggle. This night has been one giant rollercoaster, and I feel like a hot mess, but I can’t deny that he makes me feel alive. That the sour mood I’d been in earlier tonight—the hopelessness I’ve been fighting—isn’t heavy anymore. It’s just not there.

Instead, I feel light and carefree.

I’m a woman making her own decisions no matter how dangerous they are.

A sleek sports car stops in front of us before we make it to the curb and a man steps out, tossing the keys at Callum. “I’ll be off to the airport.”

“See you soon.” That’s the extent of their conversation before I’m being picked up and placed inside of the car as if I were a doll. And once again, I don’t protest his manhandling. Why don’t I protest this? His large hand grips my seatbelt and buckles me in, and the clench of my thighs is answer enough.

This is sexy. I’m attracted to this behavior.

Attracted to what he’s making me feel and what he represents: the ultimate flip-off to my family.

Or maybe, this is all because of him. A man with a bad reputation that’s well deserved, yet with me is attentive. Almost soft. Contradictory.

I feel powerful next to him.

“You okay there, love? Need anything?” My face turns toward the driver’s side where Callum is already behind the wheel and looking at me with a gentle smile. “I’ll even make an exception and pick up some takeaway for you if you’d like.”

“Takeaway? Exception?” I ask even though I know what he means. It’s his reaction that I’m after, and I bite back a grin at the way his nose scrunches up. “Don’t like greasy food and tasty calories?” Callum shudders, and it’s the cutest thing. His disgust is clear to see and this time I can’t fight my mirth, letting out a giggle. “Mr. Jameson, are you a food snob? Is that it?”

“Takeaway is how we say fast food, Miss Rubens.” His mock glare only serves to amuse me further. “And to answer the latter, no. Not a food snob per se.”

“Then?”

“I’m used to cooking all my meals, outside of family gatherings or businesses we own.” His honesty is a bit unnerving, but I get it. In his life, trust is something not given freely. “But I’d make an exception for you. No questions asked.”

Again, he gives me a choice. Placing my hand atop of his on the gear shift, I give it a small squeeze and leave it there. “Not needed, but thank you.”

“Never thank me for trying to please you.”

Those words hang heavy in the air, filling me with a sense of ease that thrills me. I’m comfortable with him, although it makes no sense.

I shouldn’t be.

He’s the kind of man I avoid.

Like Santis.

Like Giannis Martin tonight. He showed up without being invited—after I turned down his offer to go on a date two days ago—as if I was there for him. He’s like all the others in my life; pushy, meddlesome, and thinks he knows what’s best for me without asking for my input on my wants or needs.

An idiot I, unfortunately, see at school while moving from class to class and sometimes when I’m forced to play the dutiful daughter at events where family presence is necessary for my father’s political career. He’s the son of a lobbyist—my father knows his family—and is as self-righteous as our fathers.

My parents approve of his interest, while I say no…

Find you a suitable husband.

A suitable husband.

Dad couldn’t be talking about him?

No. Just no. I’d rather—

“What’s wrong?” Callum’s voice cuts through my thoughts, his warm fingers now intertwined with mine. They’re warm, a little rough but soothing at the same time. “You seemed upset.”

“I’m okay,” I say, but he doesn’t buy it. It’s there in the tick of his jaw and furrow of his brows. “Just thinking about some family drama. Promise, nothing exciting.”

He wouldn’t care either way; this is a one-time thing. However, ruining the mood—these calm yet thrilling butterflies that have overtaken me since our eyes met—is unacceptable to my peace of mind.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Then I remember something else and I’m smiling, leaning a little closer as if to whisper a secret. “But your family dynamic is one I’m curious about. How do you know me?”

“My cousin.” Our fingers flex, shifting the car into another gear. He switches lanes, driving around a five-mile-below-the-speed-limit van and punches the accelerator. The action pushes me back into my seat, adrenaline spiking as the city lights become a blur. Did he hit 90? “Relax. I’ve never been in an accident.”

“Have you ever heard of cops? They’ll pull you over and—”

“You’re bloody sinful when you care.”

“I don’t.”

My response is quick, earning me a throaty chuckle that ends in a smirk. He hit me with a twofer. “Of course, but to assuage you, we won’t be pulled over.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“It’s a secret, love.” I’m trying not to get excited over the term. Brits use it all the time and so do a lot of other countries, but I can’t stop the way my heart rate picks up.

“That’s not going to work here.”

“No?” Callum asks, turning onto the expressway. “Care to elaborate?”

Slick bastard. “What does your cousin have to do with me? You’re the first Jameson I’ve met, and you’ve now mentioned him twice.”

“You know who I am.” Not a question, and I nod. From my reaction when he told me his name, he knows I knew. There are a few families that span the globe who are notorious, and being the friend of a mafia princess—no matter how much Aurora hates it—does come with perks. As does being the daughter of a state governor; you know who to avoid at all costs. “How informed are you?”

“I’m a governor’s daughter. It’s drilled into my head to stay away from criminals, and your family does business here.” It’s not meant to be an insult, just the truth, and he nods for me to continue while that dangerous smirk remains in place. “Should your name not be on that list?”

“It belongs at the top.”

“But that doesn’t explain much.”

“It does when my cousin is close to your best friend.”

“Aurora?”

“Yes.” The next exit is mine, and he gets off, driving straight before making a left, then a right. We’re less than three minutes away. “They met in London.”

“That little hoochie! He’s who has her flustered and with her head in the clouds?”

“Casper would enjoy knowing that.”

“But you won’t spill.”

“Is that so?” he says, brow raised and head tilted to the side. “How can you be so sure I won’t tell?”

“Do you want to lose my trust?” The words are out of my mouth before I realize. I’m not even sure why I phrased it that way, but the sudden seriousness in his expression makes me pause. There’s a hidden emotion there that I can’t decipher, almost as if my words hit him deep, but instead of voicing his thoughts, he just pulls up in front of my little driveway. Shifting the gear shift to park, he lets the engine idle while his body turns toward mine. Well, as much as the car allows.

The man is the literal definition of tall, has a dark aura with dirty blond hair and eyes the color of a gem. A mixture of green with a hint of light blue. He’s dangerous and exciting and maybe some regret if you let him break your heart.

One time. No emotions.

“I’d never do anything to make you not trust me. You have my word.”

“Can I shoot you if you do?”

Jesus, help me. He grins this time, no cockiness, and his eyes crinkle just a bit at the corners. So boyish. “I’d let you empty an entire clip in me.”

Those words don’t sit well with me. No part of me wishes him harm.

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Just don’t.” For some reason, my heart clenches at just the mere thought. “Not again.”

“Okay.” Bringing a large hand to my face, he cups my jaw and slides his thumb over the edge of my mouth. “And I promise to keep my lips sealed.”

“For now...”

“Until you say I can give him shit over it.”

“Thank you.” Then, because I can’t help myself, I push his hand away just so I can smack his arm in excitement. This little nugget of gossip is too good. I’m going to mess with her. “Can’t believe Roe’s been hiding this from me. She’s going to regret not telling me.”

“Why?” His mirth is clear.

“Because I’m going to pick at it.” Shrugging nonchalantly, I unbuckle myself as does he. “I’m going to annoy her with the sex-fest they had since she’s keeping her lips sealed about the man’s identity. Don’t worry, I won’t divulge what I know, but I will be pesky about it.”

“Aurora must have her reasons.”

“And I have mine.” Turning in my seat to match his stare, I go back to being serious. Arms crossed over my chest, I narrow my eyes. “Which brings us back to how you know so much about me, Mr. Jameson? You know my name, address, and I don’t believe in coincidences. You knew I was there tonight.”

“I did.” No shame or denying. “But I’ve already answered your question. I found you through Casper.”

“I’m going to need a little more of an explanation here.”

“We have eyes and ears in the states, and you just so happened to be in the frame when Casper was checking in on her.”

“He’s having her followed?”

“Protected.”

“That’s an invasion of—”

“His mother was killed while out shopping not long ago, Aliana.” For a second, his voice breaks and the fresh pain is written across his expression. So unguarded. Open. Not at all what I am used to from the males in my family. “This is protocol, Venus. Everyone is guarded.”

And it’s that palpable sadness that stops whatever rebuttal sat on my tongue. I’m also not going to question the nickname.

“Okay.”

He snorts. “That easy?”

“Not really, but it’s been a long day and I would rather not end it in an argument.”

“Noted.” Unbuckling his seatbelt, Callum exits and rounds the car, stopping at my door. He’s fast to open it, holding a hand out for me to take. Which I do, letting his warm fingers pull me out and walk me up the stairs to the front door.

Stepping past him once we reach the entrance, I reach for my keys when a hand on my arm stops me. His touch is gentle yet firm, and then I’m being turned into his chest with one soft yank. I don’t stumble. I give in, and when his lips slam into mine once again tonight, the low moan that escapes me is full of need.

They are firm and plush, and there’s a hint of the drink he’d been sipping on; a heady concoction that I want more of and I take it, angling my head a bit, I return the kiss hungrily. A little sloppy with nips across his entire mouth before intertwining his tongue with mine.

My body feels as if struck by electricity.

My core clenches.

And I whine pathetically when he pulls back only to peck my chin, cheek, and lastly my forehead.

“Before you head inside, I need you to know this isn’t a game for me.”

“Uh huh.” Breathing hard, I lick my bottom lip to catch a little bit of his saliva there. “Sure.”

“I’ll be back in the morning. Be ready by nine.”

“If you say so.”

“Bloody adorable.” Callum’s right hand grabs the back of my neck, his forehead pressing against my own. “I’m trying to behave here, Miss Rubens. Get inside, lock the door, and be ready for me at nine. We have a date.”

“A date?” I ask, my mind still foggy from his kiss. His touch. His everything.

“Yes.” Then his warmth is gone, and I’m left wanting it back. He’s watching, waiting, and once my racing heart calms, I step inside my home and don’t look back. Why didn’t he come inside? Did I misread things?

Because he can’t be serious.

We’re not going on a date.

A thought that bothers me as I change clothes, brush my teeth, and then settle beneath my covers. Was I a game to him? Or worse, does he know my father?

“I can’t see him again.” He’d ruin my plans to leave.