Page 85 of Wild Thorns

I'm no longer thinking at all.

My back hits the refrigerator. Magnets scatter, clattering to the floor, and neither of us stops. His body presses against mine, solid, warm, overwhelming, and I'm gripping his shirt, pulling him closer when I should be pushing him away.

He kisses me—starved, desperate, weeks of restraint breaking. Like he's been holding back for weeks and something just snapped. His teeth graze my lower lip and I gasp, and he uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss until I'm drowning in it.

"Callum," I manage, when he moves to my neck. "We shouldn't—"

"Probably not," he agrees, and bites down gently on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

I make a sound. Heat flares across my cheekbones, but I can't bring myself to care. My knees actually buckle; I didn't know that was a real thing that happened outside of romance novels, and suddenly we're sliding down, his arms catching me, lowering us both to the kitchen floor.

The tile is cold against my back. Callum is hot above me, braced on his forearms, looking down at me with those golden eyes gone dark.

"This is insane," I whisper.

"Yes."

"We're on the kitchen floor."

"I noticed."

"Your brother—"

"Isn't here."

He kisses me again before I can say anything else, and I stop trying to form words. My hands find their way under his shirt, trace the muscles of his back, feel him shudder at my touch. He's all heat, rock-hard muscles and barely restrained strength, and I want more of him. All of him.

His hand slides up my thigh, and I arch into him, chasing the contact. He makes that sound again, low, almost a growl, and I swear I cum in my panties. For a second, his grip tightened.

"Serena." My name rough in his mouth. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Good," I hear myself say. "Fair's fair."

He laughs. Actually laughs, a surprised, genuine sound that transforms his usually serious face into something younger and warmer. I feel it vibrate through me where our bodies press together.

"She jests," he murmurs against my throat.

"He jests not." I muttered, thinking of his never-ending seriousness..

"Is that right?" He pulls back just enough to look at me, one eyebrow raised, and there's something playful in his expression that I've never seen before. Callum, playful. It's disorienting. "That sounds like a challenge."

"Prove me wrong."

His grin widens. He kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense, and his hand slides higher. He brushes past my thigh, beneath the hem of my skirt, fingers tracing patterns on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

"Callum—" I gasp.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my mouth. "And I will."

I should tell him to stop. I should remember that I'm with Jasper, that this is his fucking brother, that we're on the kitchen floor in broad daylight and anyone could walk in.

I don't tell him to stop.

His fingers find me through the thin cotton of my underwear, and I make a sound I've never made before: desperate, needy, completely undone. He strokes once, twice, testing, learning, and I'm already trembling.

"Look at me," he says.

I force my eyes open. His face is inches from mine, those golden eyes dark with want, watching every reaction that flickers across my features.