Inseverable: A Carolina Beach Novel (21 page)

She writhes against me, grunting and swearing. If not for my arms fastened to her thighs, she’d fall off the couch with how hard she comes.

When her quivering ceases, I rise slowly, licking my lips. Her face is flushed a deep red. For a moment she simply stares at me, her expression split between shock and hunger. I can barely control my breathing, ready for more of her. But I need to know she still wants this―wants
me
.

Before I can ask her, her fingers clasp the waistband of my jeans and she hauls me to her for a long, grateful kiss.

Chapter Nineteen

Trinity

My lips seek out Callahan’s, tasting every bit of me all over him. Something feral overtakes me, compelling me to consume what he took and more. He doesn’t fight me, digging his fingers into my hair and allowing me to ravage his mouth.

I pry his zipper open, his breath hitching when I reach in and stroke. My movements quicken, using my toes to shove his jeans and briefs down. When the waistband of his boxers falls just above his knees, I slip off the back of the couch and take him deep into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he says. “Oh,
fuck
.”

He places his hands on either side of the couch, kicking away what remains of his clothes before curving forward to take in my motions. Maybe I’m supposed to turn away from his gaze, or close my eyes. Good girls don’t watch, right? They don’t lust after men. They don’t do what I’m doing down on my knees.

If so, good girls are overrated and there’s no Callahan in their lives.

This man―my
man
―enlivens every part me. I feel him and savor him down to my soul. The way he touches me, and how his face disappeared against me, demonstrates his desire, and incites mine. I surrender to our passion, dismissing any fears so I can take him without holding any part of me back.

My mouth seeks him deeper. I’m so captivated by the way he reacts to my pulls and suction, I can’t help
but
watch, meeting his face with the full force of my ardor.

His hand strokes over mine as I work him. “Keep going, baby,” he pants. “That feels so good.”

I moan against him, his words accelerating my movements and spurring that clenching pain that yearns for another orgasm. My lips and hand continue to explore, and for a moment, I think he’s going to let me finish him. But then he wrenches me up and places me back on top of the couch.

We move in perfect rhythm, like we’ve made love a thousand times, my legs falling open and my hands clasping his shoulders. I groan when he strokes me with his thick tip.

“You sure you want this?” he asks.

My lids squeeze tight as he makes another pass. But I meet his eyes to let him know I mean what I say. “Please don’t stop,” I say, my words releasing in gasps.

And he doesn’t, gradually easing himself inside me with slow steady pumps. My body for all that it’s ready to receive him is tight, given the time that’s passed since my last lover, and Callahan’s generous size.

My teeth trail behind his ear to tug on the lobe, only for my tongue to flick between kisses.

“
Jesus
, Trin,” he mumbles.

He’s not the only one making noise. As he advances, my whimpers grow louder, needier, the anticipation making me tremble.

He averts his chin, swearing. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” I sigh against his ear and swivel my hips. “Am I hurting you?”

He chuckles softly, his voice dripping with lust. “No. You feel so good. So right.”

With one final push he’s in. Then he begins to move. It’s then he begins to thrust.

My spine bows as he slides in and out of me. Now, I’m swearing, begging him to go harder, and throwing my head back and screaming when he does.

My orgasm builds hard and peaks faster, crashing at once and building again. I’m not sure how much I can take, it almost feels too good. But I want this, and for him to never let me go.

Callahan whips me off the couch with my legs still pinned to his back and races us down the hall. If he intends to carry me to his bed, we never make it. Instead my back smacks against the door to the spare bedroom, his hips ramming into me and threatening to break the door off its hinges.

Between the steady beat, his thrusts, and those deep lustful sounds breaking through his chest, my desire for him spirals and I lose my mind. Heat and want surge through me sending wicked jolts of energy shooting down my legs. This time when I finish, he finishes with me.

He slows the pound of his hips, filling me as his chin tilts forward and his quick breaths tease my shoulder. He raises his head, the rise and fall of his chest matching mine, smiling gently and taking me in as if no one else matters.

I almost tell him I love him.

Because I do.

Yet even though there’s no doubt in my mind, I can’t. Not yet. So as he keeps us linked and carries us to his bed, I do my best to show him.

Again, I kiss him. Again I circle my hips against his lap, holding tight to him, and doing my best to stir his moans.

Callahan smooths his hands over my breasts, pinching my nipples. The sexy way he plays naturally increases the speed of my rocking pelvis. It doesn’t take long for him grow and expand inside of me. He wants me again, and I so want him, too.

I press my hands against his shoulders, forcing him flat on his back. I then slide his palm down the curve of my waist to rest against my side, angling my body so my hair sweeps along his chest in time with the movements of my hips. This time, he’s the one writhing beneath me. This time, I’m the one moving fast against him. This time, I’m showing him how badly I want him.

Chapter Twenty

Callahan

Trinity and I don’t start dating. We become what I call inseverable. Unless she’s on guard duty, we’re always together, taking a run, working on my house, hanging with her friends, and yeah, making love all night.

I’m sleeping.

For the first time in years, I’m sleeping soundly.

There’s shit I still think about. There are memories that haunt me, stirring when I least expect. But I suppose after what I’d seen and done, that darkness will always remain. The thing is with Trinity in my arms, the world doesn’t seem as harsh as I remember, and when that darkness comes, this sweet thing is my resounding light.

“Would you ever think about travelling again?” she asks me one morning. “Outside the U.S., I mean?”

I shake my head though she can’t see me the way she’s tucked against me. “No. After eight years of living in a foreign land, I’m never leaving again.” I pull her closer. “I’m finally home, and it’s where I intend to stay.”

“I understand,” she whispers.

No. She really doesn’t. If she did, she wouldn’t sound so heartbroken.

I hate the sadness dulling her pretty face. So after a brief kiss to her lips, I ease away and reach for my guitar.

By now, I’ve sung to her in bed more times than I can count. It’s something I can share that’s a part of me, and the one thing I can offer that doesn’t involve my hands gliding down her body.

Today I pick Rascal Flatts’s
Take Me There
because I know the words, and I know she loves it. I keep the melody, but slow it down to accommodate my deep voice. I think I sound well enough, and I think she enjoys it. But this time, something’s different.

Instead of that tender smile I’ve come to expect when I sing to her, tears well her eyes. “Callahan?” she says the moment I’m done.

Devastation splinters her voice, and the first of her tears spill down her cheeks. I perch my guitar against the bed and reach for her. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

Her voice quivers as she struggles to speak. “I don’t want to let you go,” she says.

I still against her. “Then don’t,” I tell her.

I don’t like how far away she seems. I want her to feel as close to me emotionally, as she is physically. So instead of letting her continue to speak words that don’t make sense, I kiss her deeply.

With her body warm and naked against mine, it doesn’t take me long to get hard, or for our hands to wander and play. I push inside of her, reminding her that I’m here, and that I’m not going anywhere without her.

She doesn’t understand that the reason I’m finally “home” is because of her. For the first time in my life, I belong somewhere.

And that place is with Trinity.

Trin leaves her friends at the table and makes her way to the bar where I’m working, a big grin fixed on her face and a sparkle as bright as sunshine lighting her irises. She’s already had a long day on the beach, and I’m scheduled until closing. That doesn’t hamper her enthusiasm, or the smile spreading along my face. I’ve missed her all day, and I’m glad she’s finally with me.

Neither of us slept much the night before seeing how we couldn’t keep our hands, or mouths, off each other. I know she’s tired despite the bounce to her step― I am, too. But it’s hard being apart, so when we’re together we make it count.

Last night she had friends over at her parents’ place so I stayed there. Tonight, she’ll be at mine.

I lean over the bar and give her a quick kiss, smiling against her lips when she laughs. “What’ll it be, sweet thing?”

She taps her chin and glances at the ceiling like she’s giving it actual thought―like she’s not going to order four pitchers of Bud and enough Hot Damn shots to pass out to her entire crew. “How about a few bottles of Armand de Brignac? Oh! And your best cognac. Nineteen forty-seven was a good year, wasn’t it?”

She throws back her head, laughing when I give her a knowing glance and start pouring the Hot Damn shots.

“Well, now see?” she says. “You dismiss my oh-so classy suggestions and leave me with no choice but to retaliate.”

I tilt the bottle up so I don’t spill and groan. “No, Trin. Not that.”

She pulls a dollar bill from her pocket, wiggling it and her ass as she heads toward the jukebox. I know what she’s going do. But when Blake Shelton’s latest ends and
Gangnam Style
begins I know I’ve died and gone to hell.

I might have mentioned that if Trin’s dancing, then so is everyone in the damn place―her crew, the Brewsters, Old Man Perrington, the Rossens―
all
the locals―even the tourists she coaxes onto the floor. Hell, even Lindsey joins in, taking her place beside Sean now that she’s sunk her fangs in him.

I catch Jed’s arm before he jumps over the bar. “Do
not
encourage her,” I warn.

“I can’t help it, Cal,” he tells me, laughing. “Your woman’s too damn cute to resist.”

He leaps over the bar, joining the line of people doing those God-awful moves. I continue to fill the pitchers and mutter a curse. Jed didn’t mean any disrespect against Trin, or what we have. But his words are a reminder of how many men notice my girl. At first glance, they think she’s cute, and she is. But for those whose stares linger, they see what I see, a beautiful young woman with an undeniable sex appeal.

The line dancing continues, the stomps to the floor rough enough to shake the boards beneath my feet. The men closest to her watch her tear it up, unable to look away. Two things stop me from launching over the bar and making a stake on my claim: One, they’re keeping respectable distance. Two, Trin doesn’t even seem to notice them. She’s busy looking at me as she wiggles, and flashes me that grin she doesn’t share with anyone else.

I wink her way and keep working, all the while making sure she stays safe. When the song begins to mercifully end, I see someone I don’t recognize walk in. He’s wearing a jacket, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, and keeping his head low. He doesn’t want to be seen, and carefully makes his way around the group, going unnoticed.

My hackles rise, knowing he’s up to something. I clutch the glass I just filled with scotch and make my way closer to where this guy is now leaning over the jukebox. He’s young, and he appears slightly familiar. But his profile doesn’t offer a decent view of his face, especially with those glasses and that cap. He smiles when he finds something he likes and slips in a dollar.

Trin’s making her way back to me when Toby Keith’s version of
Mocking Bird
―the duet he sings with his daughter ―starts to play. She grounds to a halt, her eyes wide and frantic as she searches her surroundings. My eyes cut to the stranger, who’s slipped off his jacket, hat, and glasses and is placing them across the bar.

Trin clasps her hands over her mouth and screams when she sees him. She’s . . .
excited
that he’s here. And this guy, instead of waving or saying, “Hi,” is walking over to her, singing out loud to this song.

This idiot is singing to
my
girl.

And she’s singing back!

They’re dancing their way to each other, closing the space between them as they fucking serenade each other. This isn’t a pal of Trin’s. Any moron can see he’s something special to her, and that he
adores
her. Now everyone’s gathered around them, clapping to the beat and hollering in encouragement.

I don’t realize how hard I’m squeezing the glass until it shatters in my hand. Scotch and ice drench my palm and arm. I fling the pieces in the trash, ready to bash this asshole’s face in.

Hale’s hard smack to my chest keeps me from hurtling myself across the bar. “Calm your shit,” he says, laughing. “That’s Landon, her brother.”

My focus cuts from them and back to him. “
What
?”

“I said that’s her brother.” He peeks through the crowd, his smile widening. “And here come Owen and Silvie Summers.” He claps my shoulder and takes a swig of his beer. “Looks like it’s time to meet the family, Callahan.”

Sure enough, Trin’s losing her mind. She squeals as a middle-aged man with white hair and a round frame shoved into khakis and a polo shirt steps in to dance, shaking his hips like Elvis and holding tight to Trin’s future self.

Silvie Summers is a little heavier than Trin, her long hair tied back in a braid and white instead of dark brown. But her face and that grin are proof enough that’s her momma Trin’s dancing with.