Authors: Hannah Ford
“No,” I said, forcing myself to stay strong.
His left hand stayed on the back of my neck as his right hand slid up my body, over my hip, over the curve of my breast.
I’d taken my sweatshirt off when I’d gotten on the plane, leaving me in just my thin t-shirt. My nipples tightened as his hand dipped below the fabric, pushing my bra away as if it was inconsequential and palming my bare breast.
“Your nipples are hard, baby,” he said, his fingertips rolling the swollen nub. “I bet your pussy’s wet, too, isn’t it?”
“No,” I lied.
“You’re lying, Adriana.”
“No, I’m not.”
He moved his hand down over my hip, dipped it into my panties, his two fingers running along my slit, feeling the wetness there. “You are a bad liar,” he said. “You should never lie about something I can find out easily.”
He was pulling my pants down now, tugging them off me, and even though my mind was screaming in protest, my body wanted this, wanted him, and I lifted myself off the sink slightly so he could remove my pants.
“That’s it, baby,” he said. “Good girl.”
He slid my pants down my ankles and I closed my eyes. The fight was leaving my body as the hand that was still on the back of my neck pulled me toward him and kissed me again, as he pushed himself deeper between my legs.
I could feel his cock hard through the fabric of his pants, and he took my hand and placed it on his dick.
“You see how hard you make me, baby?” he whispered. “You see how bad I need that tight little pussy?”
A moan escaped my lips and I tipped my head back as he trailed hot kisses down my neck, his tongue skating over my collarbone and making me shiver. He slipped the cups of my bra down so that my breasts were exposed. His mouth skated over my collarbone, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.
“Callum,” I murmured, “Callum, I can’t…” But it was useless to protest. There was no conviction behind it, no determination. He’d broken me down, the same way he’d done millions of times in the past.
“Shh,” he said, as he unbuttoned his pants. “Shh, someone’s going to hear you Lemon, you don’t want that, do you?”
He took his hard dick in his hand, guided it to my pussy and slipped my ass down the counter so that I was flush against him.
My breasts flattened against his hard chest, my nipples pebbling tighter against his muscles as he looked deep into my eyes. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his strong jaw twitching as the breath caught in his chest.
“Adriana,” he whispered as he pushed inside of me. “Adriana, look at me, baby.”
I kept my eyes on his as he filled me, biting my lip to keep from moaning.
His fingertips brushed my skin as they traveled over my body, up my back, down over my shoulders, all the way down my arms until he laced his hands with mine and pulled them around his neck.
“Hold on to me,” he said. “Hold on to me tight.”
I grasped his strong shoulders as he rocked into me, his hips the only part of him moving, his upper body holding me tightly to him as he pushed into me, fucking me, taking me.
“Adriana,” he murmured as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. “Oh, Adriana.”
His shaft was brushing against my clit with every smooth, shallow stroke and the exquisite pleasure was almost too much to bear, and I tipped my head back again.
He lowered his head and sucked my nipple into his mouth, his tongue tracing the raised peak.
Then his hand grabbed the back of my head and pulled me back toward him, pressing his forehead against mine.
He fucked me harder and faster, his hips bucking, our eyes locked.
“Come, baby,” he whispered as he caressed my face. “Come on me.”
My orgasm built and I arched into him, pushing my pelvis closer to his, wanting all of him. I came, the crest of the wave peaking and shattering over my body.
Callum came at the same time, and I felt him shoot inside of me, coating my insides, making me his, claiming me even though I had tried my best to resist him.
When he was done, he pulled out of me and zipped his pants.
“Wait five minutes,” he whispered against my ear. “And then leave.”
He slipped out the door, leaving me alone.
* * *
him for the rest of the flight. I was sure he was safely ensconced in first class somewhere, sipping champagne and eating strawberries.
The thought infuriated me.
When the plane touched down, I was one of the first to deplane.
Callum was waiting for me outside of the gate.
I couldn’t even look at him.
Now that he’d had me, I already regretted what we’d done.
He followed me to the baggage claim, silent as I got my bag.
He followed me outside.
I’d gotten a hotel room near my house, realizing that as comforting as my old room would have been, I didn’t necessarily want to be smack dab in the middle of the chaos that was sure to be accompanying my sister’s wedding. I’d also told my mom and sister not to worry about picking me up, that I would take a cab to the hotel and an uber to the house. I’d wanted as much time as possible to compose myself after the flight, and now, after what had happened in the bathroom, I was even more grateful for that decision.
“Go home, Callum,” I said, my hand tightening around the handle of my suitcase as I slid into the line for the cabs that were lining the sidewalk.
“You got what you came for,” I said. “What else could you possible want?”
“Oh, now you want to talk? Okay, go ahead.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Go ahead. Talk.”
“Not here.” His blue eyes glanced around, taking in the steady stream of people flooding in and out of the airport.
“Of course not,” I said. “Of course not here. Everything is always on your terms.”
The cab line was moving fast, and it was already my turn. “Go home,” I said. “When I said I never wanted to talk to you again, I meant it.”
I got inside the cab and slammed the door shut.
“The Double Tree Inn in Almada,” I said to the driver. “Thank you.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the seat, blinking back tears and forcing myself not to look out the back window, not wanting to have to see him standing there, all alone.
* * *
hirty minutes later
, I’d checked into my hotel room and was in the shower, the water as hot as I could stand it as I tried to wash him off of me.
I could still taste him on my lips, could still feel his hands on my body, and I leaned my head against the tile and cried, my hot tears mixing with the water of the spray, swirling together as they hit the floor and disappeared down the drain.
I stayed in the shower until the spray had run cold, then wrapped myself in a towel and returned to the room.
I rummaged through my suitcase. Nessa had done a good job packing. I had a cute wrap dress for the rehearsal dinner tonight, which was going to be at my mom’s house, and my dress for the wedding tomorrow was already taken care of, finalized weeks ago.
I picked up my phone and called Ciara.
“Hey!” she said excitedly. “Are you here?”
“Yes,” I said. “I just got to the hotel.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, wrapped in my towel. Suddenly, I felt exhausted. The idea of getting up and getting ready or going to my mom’s house and socializing, seemed insurmountable.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the house?” she said. “Hotels are so impersonal.”
I marveled again that she had no desire to ever leave Michigan. Hell, she had no desire to even leave the house she’d grown up in. I wondered how she would do once she was out in the world, living with Bryan, her fiancé. The two of them had decided not to move in together until after the wedding.
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to be in anyone’s way.”
“You’re not going to be in anyone’s way, Adriana,” Ciara said, sounding impatient. “This is your house.”
Her words were meant to bring me comfort, but all they did was make me feel bad. I couldn’t believe I was back in Michigan. I couldn’t believe Ciara still thought of my childhood home as my house.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll be there soon.”
* * *
n hour and a half later
, an uber dropped me off in front of my old house. As soon as I opened the front door and walked inside, the familiarity of home hit me. The cinnamon smell from the coffee my mom always had brewing, the sweet scent of the azaleas planted in the front yard, the way the house was always just a little bit cool.
“Adriana!” my sister said happily, grabbing me in a hug when she saw me. I breathed in the scent of her shampoo, honey and strawberries. “Mom, Mom, Adriana’s here!” she called, grabbing my hand and leading me through the back hall toward the kitchen.
My mom was standing at the formica counter, looking down at a glass mixing bowl filled with breadcrumbs. “Hi, honey,” she said when she saw me. “Come and give me a hug.”
“Hi, Mom,” I said. I felt like I was on a roller coaster of emotions. Even though I’d just been sad to be home, suddenly I was excited and happy. These were my family. My people. The people who would stand by me no matter what happened, no matter what was going on in my life.
“You look beautiful,” she said. “I don’t want to get you all messy.” She pushed a strand of her curly hair off her forehead. “I’m making crab cakes.”
“Yes. I wanted to do something light, you know, since it’s an outdoor dinner.”
“Mom, I told you no one cares if it’s light or not,” Ciara said, rolling her eyes. “Why can’t we just go out to eat?”
“Because restaurants are not a good place for me to get to know your new family,” my mom said. “You get to know people in someone’s home, where you can talk.”
“Can’t you get to know them another time?” Ciara asked my mom, sending me a pleading look with her eyes, trying to get me on her side, to make me join in with her campaign to get my mother to go out to dinner.
“No, I cannot get to know them another time!” my mom said. “You’re going to be married to him tomorrow! He’s going to be my son-in-law, the father of my grandchildren. He needs to feel welcome in my home.”
“He does feel welcome in your home,” Ciara said. She picked up the bowl of crab cakes and gave it a sniff. “And I don’t think these are going to be ready in time.” She looked at me and stage-whispered, “And they don’t look that good.”
“Ciara Michelle!” my mother said, grabbing the bowl back from her. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not being rude, Mom,” Ciara said. “I just wish we had something a little better to serve.”
Something about their bickering made me relax a little bit. Yup. I was home.
“Maybe they need more bread crumbs,” I said skeptically, staring into the bowl.
“We’re out of bread crumbs,” Ciara said, holding up the empty can. She gave me a pointed look. There was a running joke between my sister and I that my mom only bought just enough food for whatever it was she making. Leftovers were unheard of in our house, and unplanned guests? Forget it. There were many times growing up where we couldn’t invite friends to stay over because my mom had only made a certain number of chicken breasts.