Promising.

  “Do you have a pain-in-the-ass ex?” I ask. “Because as you saw, that can get messy, and I’ve got enough messy to deal with right now.”

  “Nope.” He leans back, stretching like a satisfied cat. “Presently, you’re the only pain in the ass I have my eyes on.”

  I glance up. “I’m not a pain in the ass. If you only knew how perfect I am.”

  His smile flickers, like he’s already calling bullshit.

  “You’ll worship me. And see, that’s why this is so wrong. I need to feel that. Or I’m just not going to work as hard for you.” I sigh, setting his phone down. “That’s not really fair to you.”

  His grin widens, sharp as a blade. “Maybe I’ll worship you because you’re just fuckin’ batshit crazy, and I’m into that. You don’t gotta impress me with fake shit.”

  I narrow my eyes. “That’s a line of bullshit.”

  “Is it?” he asks.

  I exhale sharply, frustrated. “How the fuck would I know? Men say whatever they think you want to hear. That’s why I do all the research before they even know I’m watching.”

  Callum hums, tilting his head like he’s reading between my words.

  Then, voice smooth as sin, he says, “Someone really fucked you up, huh?”

  I laugh. “I already have a therapist in my collection. Try again.”

  That grin. That dangerous, knowing grin. “You just looking for a bad boy now?”

  I tap my nails against the table. “Maybe.” My eyes flick up to meet his, testing. “Maybe I need someone to help me with the problem I created when that bitch put her hands on Orion.”

  His smile slowly fades.

  A different kind of interest sparks in his eyes. “Orion. One of your men, I take it?”

  “Yes. You’ll meet them at your introductory dinner if you meet the criteria.”

  “And someone touches us, them, you take ‘em out.” Not a question. A statement.

  I sip my drink, watching him. “I mean, I thought I was good at it. But I guess I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. They don’t have proof. I don’t think.”

  His fingers flex on the table. Then, in one smooth, effortless motion, he grabs my chair and drags me closer.

  Like I weigh nothing.

  His knees bracket mine, his mouth just close enough to make my skin prickle.

  “So what’s next?” His voice is low, teasing. “More questions? Test drive?”

  My breath hitches.

  I hate how much I want him already.

  “I don’t even know at this point,” I admit. “I would usually do a test drive before taking you home to meet everyone because.” I gesture vaguely at him. “You could be a shit lover. Or have a small dick. Or any number of things that could be a dealbreaker.”

  Callum’s grin turns wolfish. “Well. No pressure, then.” His hand traces up my thigh, teasing the edge of my skirt. “Let’s head to my place. See if we can rock the trailer just right.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Callum

  I shouldn’t be bringing her back to my place.

  She’s trouble.

  Not the kind I’m used to, the wide-eyed, flirty kind that throws herself at a bad man for the thrill of it. Nah. She’s something else entirely.

  Something I should probably be running the fuck away from.

  Instead, I’m gripping the wheel with one hand, the other on her knee, driving her straight to my fucking doorstep.

  Because this girl is going to ruin me.

  And I’ve never been the type to turn down a good fucking downfall.

  She’s watching me. I can feel it. Has been the whole ride.

  Sizing me up.

  Like she’s trying to decide exactly how she wants to devour me.

  It’s fucking cute.

  She thinks she’s in control.

  We’ll see about that.

  I pull into my lot, kill the engine. The trailer’s dark, quiet. Just the way I like it.

  She twists in her seat, tucking one leg under her like she’s making herself comfortable.

  Like she’s staying a while.

  “You sure you want this, sweetie?” I ask, watching her.

  She cocks her head, eyes all big and sweet, like I just said the dumbest fucking thing in the world.

  “Oh, Callum,” she sighs, voice dripping honey. “I’m going to keep you.”

  My cock throbs.

  Jesus.

  This girl.

  I step out of the car, round the hood, and by the time I open her door, she’s already looking up at me like she’s ready to be devoured.

  I offer my hand.

  She doesn’t just take it, she laces her fingers through mine like she’s already claiming me.

  Yeah. I’m fucked.

  I take her inside.

  It’s a trailer, not a palace, but it’s mine.

  Dim light, a whiskey bottle on the counter, and a bed that I’m about to wreck her on.

  I kick the door shut.

  She stands there, all soft curves and pink fucking lace, watching me like she already knows what’s coming.

  “What now?” she purrs.

  Oh, baby. Now I break you.

  I don’t even answer.

  I grab her.

  Crash my mouth to hers.

  She gasps, sweet little sound, but her hands are already on my belt, fingers working the buckle like she’s starving.

  And fuck if that doesn’t make me harder.

  I shove my hand into her hair, tilt her head back, and take my time.

  She tastes like sugar and something dangerous.

  Something addictive.

  Something that’s gonna be my downfall.

  I bite her lip. Suck her tongue into my mouth. Drag my teeth down her jaw, to her throat, where her pulse is pounding like she already fucking knows.

  She’s not leaving this bed without screaming my name.

  “Take off your clothes,” I rasp.

  She shivers. Then she smiles. Slow. Knowing. “Make me.”

  Oh, sweetheart.

  She says make me like she thinks I won’t.

  Like I won’t tear her apart and put her back together the way I want.

  My fingers hook into the soft pink straps of her dress.

  It’s fucking delicate.

  Too delicate for the way I’m about to take her.

  So I rip it.

  A little gasp, half shock, half something filthy, slips from her lips, and fuck me, she’s not even mad.

  If anything, she’s delighted.

  Her eyes flash, lips parting like she’s about to say something sharp, some sweet, dangerous little quip, but I don’t give her the chance.

  I grab her throat.

  Not hard. Just enough to feel her swallow. Just enough to let her know who she belongs to right now.

  She melts, fucking melts, into my grip.

  I lean in, voice all low and rough. “That what you wanted, baby?”

  A shaky breath. Then a smile. “You could have just asked me to take it off.”

  Oh, fuck me.

  Her tone punches through my gut straight to my cock.

  I push her back, step, step, step, until the backs of her knees hit the bed.

  She drops, sprawled across my sheets, bare except for those soft pink thigh highs and those dangerous fucking eyes.

  “You don’t follow rules, do you?” I mutter, dragging my hands up her thighs.

  She grins, slow and sweet. “Only if they’re worth following.”

  I fucking growl.

  Then I yank her legs apart and drop to my knees.

  Because I need to taste her.

  Need to know exactly how bad she wants this.

  Her breath catches.

  I drag my tongue over the inside of her thigh, slow. Teasing.

  Her hips twitch so sensitive already. I grin against her skin.

  She whimpers.

  And fuck, I love that sound.

  I press a kiss to her thigh, then another, then I bite.

  Not hard. Just enough.

  Just to see how she reacts.

  She gasps, moans, squirms.

  And when I glance up?

  She’s watching me, wide-eyed, flushed, panting.

  Like I might just fucking wreck her.

  And oh, sweetheart.

  I will.

  She’s fucking dripping.

  I haven’t even touched her yet, not where she needs it, and she’s already soaked.

  Jesus Christ.

  I drag my fingers up the inside of her thigh, slow, teasing, until they graze her slick heat.

  She shudders.

  I grin. “You’re making a mess, baby.”

  Her breath hitches, back arching. “Then clean me up.”

  Oh, fuck.

  She wants to be ruined.

  Needs it.

  I grip her hips and yank her to the edge of the bed, throwing her legs over my shoulders.

  She squeaks, adorable.

  Then I dive in.

  A long, slow lick.

  She cries out.

  I do it again, deeper, filthier, sloppier.

  Her hips jerk against my mouth, thighs trembling.

  Perfect.

  I suck, tongue flicking against her clit, fast, relentless, dirty.

  She whimpers.

  Moans.

  Fucking writhes.

  I grip her hips, pinning her down. “Stay still, baby.”

  She tries.

  Fails.

  So I slap her thigh.

  Hard enough to sting.

  Her whole body jerks.

  She fucking moans.

  Oh, she likes that.

  I chuckle, dark and low. “You like being handled, huh?”

  She nods frantically, breathless.

  I sink a finger inside her.

  She gasps, clenches.

  “More,” she pleads.

  I give her two.

  Twisting. Stroking. Fucking her open.

  She bucks.

  I curl my fingers, pressing right against that sweet spot inside her.

  She screams.

  “Come for me, baby,” I growl, sucking her clit hard.

  And she fucking breaks.

  Shaking, crying out, grinding against my tongue.

  I keep going, lapping up every last drop, even as she trembles through it.

  She whimpers, shudders, trying to catch her breath.

  But I’m not done.

  Not even close.

  I stand, shove her further up the bed.

  She looks up at me, dazed, ruined.

  I unbuckle my belt, watching her watch me.

  She licks her lips.

  Little tease.

  “You ready for my cock, baby?” I murmur, stroking myself.

  She moans at the sight. “Yes.”

  Fuck.

  I climb onto the bed, grab her thighs, and line myself up.

  I rub the thick head against her, slow, teasing, stretching.

  She whimpers.

  Begging, wordless.

  I push in, inch by inch.

  Her lips part. “F-Fuck.”

  I slam in.

  She screams.

  And I lose my goddamn mind.

  She claws at me. Writhes beneath me.

  My name spills from her sweet, wrecked mouth like a goddamn prayer.

  And I’m barely getting started.

  I drag out slow just to hear her whimper, just to make her feel it.

  Then I slam back in.

  She shatters. Hands clutching my shoulders, thighs trembling around my waist.

  “More,” she gasps, desperate.

  I give her more.

  My pace brutal. Relentless.

  She’s so tight, so wet.

  I grip her hips, hold her right where I want her, and fuck her deep.

  Hard.

  Her back arches.

  Her head tips back.

  Fucking gorgeous.

  She’s whimpering, moaning, shaking.

  I grab her jaw, force her to look at me.

  “Who’s fucking you, baby?” I growl, slamming deeper.

  She shudders.

  “You,” she whispers.

  I grip her throat, squeeze just right. “Who owns this tight little pussy?”

  She moans so fucking loud. “You, Callum.”

  I nearly lose it.

  Fuck.

  I flip her over, yank her up to her knees.

  Her ass is perfect.

  I grab her hips, slam into her again.

  She cries out.

  Pushes back against me.

  Fucking taking it.

  I fist her hair, pull her head back. Bite her shoulder.

  She whimpers.

  Fucking loves it.

  “You like being fucked like this, don’t you?” I growl.

  “Yes,” she whispers, wrecked.

  I slide a hand between her thighs, rub her clit.

  Her whole body jerks.

  She’s so close.

  I feel her tighten, tremble.

  I slam harder, deeper, filthier.

  “Come for me,” I demand.

  She fucking cries out my name.

  And that’s it.

  I lose control.

  I thrust once, twice and fucking explode.

  Growling against her neck, holding her tight, pumping deep as I fill her.

  We collapse onto the bed, breathless, ruined.

  I drag her against me, wrapping my arm tight around her waist.

  She’s shaking.

  I kiss her shoulder, her jaw, her cheek.

  “You good, baby?” I murmur, voice rough.

  She sighs, melting into me. Satisfied. Owned. “Mmm. More than good.” Her fingers trace lazy circles on my chest. “Think I’ll keep you.”

  I chuckle, biting her lip.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” I pull her against me. “You don’t have a fucking choice.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Juliet

  Fucking Callum.

  Every other man in my life, I studied. I shaped myself into exactly what they needed before they even knew they needed me. I planned. I prepared.

  But Callum? Callum is anarchy in a t-shirt and jeans. He just plows through life, wrecking my carefully constructed order, and I let him.

  I should be researching him properly. But no. Because I’m too busy dealing with the fucking Tammy issue.

  Apparently, some nosy wannabe detective of a neighbor saw me at her place. Not the night she died, obviously. But one of the other times.

  So now, I’m a person of interest.

  Do they have proof? No.

  Am I nervous? Also no. Because I can’t be. Because if I stop to think about how I’m going to make this go away, I might spiral.

  I pull into Callum’s trailer park, prepared to break in, get answers about his past. Or his hobbies. Or why the hell I can’t get a read on him the way I do with everyone else.

  Then, he texts me.

  Callum: Key’s above the door, Madness. Come in.

  As if. As fucking if.

  If he wanted me inside, he should have answered the door like a normal person. Should have stood there, shirtless, smirking, flexing just a little because he knows I’m weak for his tattoos.

  Or had the decency to let me do this my way.

  But no.

  He screws it up.

  I give up.

  Me: Fine. You get me as I am. I swear I could have been everything to you.

  A second later, my phone pings.

  Callum: You already are, Madness. You know that. Invite me to dinner.

  I stare at the screen. This man.

  He calls me Madness like it’s a love song. Like it means princess or sweetheart or mine.

  I should tell him to fuck off.

  Instead, I text:

  Me: Tonight. What even is your favorite food?

  Callum: You.

  Me: Seven. I’ll just cook whatever then. Asshole.

  I throw my phone into my bag, exhale through my nose, and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

  I love him.

  God help me, I actually love him.

  And he loves me just the way I am.

  That’s a fucking problem. It’s… insane.

  Back home, my men feel it.

  They know I’m rattled.

  Because this dinner is supposed to be tailored to the new man. But Callum isn’t normal. He’s a fucking wildfire who doesn’t play by any rules, especially not mine.

  So what do I do?

  I make my favorite meal.

  Because if Callum likes me just as I am, then he gets me as I am.

  Stuffed burgers. Not just a lazy blend of cheese and seasonings mixed into the meat like some amateur bullshit. No. Two perfectly seasoned patties pinched together with melty cheese, grilled onions, and peppers trapped inside like a sinful little secret.

  Orion whistles low when I drag out the grill. “Oh, now it’s a party.”

  “Did you doubt me?” I arch a brow, handing him the plate of patties.

  “Never, sweetheart,” he smirks, taking them with one hand while the other pats my ass. “You making those battered fries, too? Because I’m not gonna lie, I only stayed with you for those.”

  Noah snorts as he sets out ingredients for the rolls. “Oh, so not for the mind-blowing sex?”

  Orion winks. “That’s a close second.”

  I roll my eyes, but my stomach tightens with excitement. They’re teasing, but I know tonight is electric for all of us. A new man at this table means new dynamics, new chemistry, new possibilities.

  Noah and Elliot work on the rolls, their movements effortless, fluid, in sync. Noah’s strong hands knead the dough, and Elliot watches him with that sharp, assessing gaze, the kind that sees every flicker of emotion beneath the surface.

  “You’re getting better at that,” Elliot murmurs, pressing a steady hand against Noah’s lower back. It’s so casual, so intimate.

  Noah beams. Fucking beams. “You taught me well.”

  Orion snickers from the grill. “Christ, I think I just watched you two have sex with bread.”

  Elliot doesn’t even look up. “You’re just jealous I haven’t taught you how to bake.”

  “Who needs baking skills when I look this good?” Orion flexes and winks at me. “Right, sweetheart?”

  I toss a towel at his head. He catches it without breaking eye contact. The cocky bastard.

  I move to the potatoes, slicing them into perfect wedges. Orion crowds behind me, warm and solid, arms bracketing me against the counter.

 

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