Chapter 4 The Night I Lost Myself To Him

• Odette's POV
• Explicit content
• Callum took my mouth like he’d waited and had decided waiting was no longer a virtue.
• His kiss wasn’t sweet; it was deep and claiming, tongue stroking into me until my spine arched. His hand fisted in my hair and yanked my head back just enough to expose my throat, and the sound that left me was not polite.
• “That’s it,” he murmured, voice a rasp against my pulse. “Open up for me. Let me in, pretty girl.”
• The endearment shouldn’t have landed; it detonated. He didn’t peel the dress; he dragged it down, silk sticking to skin, the friction a kind of praise.
• My breasts spilled into his palms; he weighed them, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked and a shiver ran straight to the heat between my legs.
• I rolled against the hard line in his trousers and felt him throb, thick and heavy against the inside of my thigh.
• “You know what they wanted to do with you in that room,” he said against my skin, voice a blade wrapped in velvet.
• “I’m the one who gets you. Understand me?”
• “Yes,” I said, and the word broke on a gasp.
• He set me on the couch, stood, and stripped in the same clean economy he used to break men’s wrists. Belt, buckle, zipper, the hunger in his face sharpening while he watched me watch him.
• He was built like function, not vanity—wide shoulders tapering to a hard waist, abdomen cut in lines I wanted under my tongue, cock thick and flushed when he pushed his briefs down, heavy and unapologetic against his thigh.
• He didn’t ask me where anything was; he disappeared down the hall and came back with a strip of condoms from somewhere only he knew, tearing one open with his teeth while his eyes never left mine.
• “Spread your legs. Show me where you need me.”
• I sprawled back, knees wide, slick and swollen under his attention. He crouched and stared like he was cataloguing a crime scene—the glossy ache of me, the way my pulse beat at my clit, the twitch of my abdomen when the air hit me.
• He put two fingers in his mouth, wet them, and pressed them into me, slow but unyielding, filling me until my breath hitched, then crooking, searching, finding. Lightning snapped along a nerve I didn’t name; my hips jumped.
• He smiled like he’d solved me.
• “There you are.” He leaned down and dragged his tongue over me, slow, flat, obscene, savoring, then sucked my clit into his mouth and held it there while his fingers stroked that spot in a rhythm that made my vision grainy.
• “You taste like everything I shouldn’t touch,” he muttered against me.
• “I’m going to ruin this couch..”
• Words fell out of me—nonsense, praise, demands—while heat climbed and the drug’s afterglow made every brush of his tongue feel like a fuse. He didn’t rush. He worked, relentless, precise, until my nails scored his shoulders and my thighs shook around his head.
• “Callum—”
• “Give it to me.”
• He sealed his mouth harder and fucked his fingers deeper, and I came fast and messy, loud enough to shame the walls, the orgasm tearing through me like muscle shearing from bone and leaving something better in its place.
• He came up with his mouth wet and his face set like a verdict. “Turn over.”
• I did, cheek to the cushion, back arched, hips up, presenting, shameless. He palmed my ass, squeezed, spread me, looking, owning the sight. His palm cracked across me once, a sting that made me hiss and clutch the fabric; the heat bloomed into want immediately.
• “That’s right,” he said, voice gone darker. “Feel it.”
• The blunt head of his cock nudged me, pressed, breached, the stretch a burn that slid into perfection as he sank deeper, inch by inch, not stopping, weight forward so I felt the length of him and the promise underneath.
• My mouth opened and nothing came out. He bottomed out with a groan that sounded like someone losing religion.
• “So fucking tight,” he said, hand flattening between my shoulder blades to pin me, the other gripping my hip hard enough that I knew I’d wear his fingers tomorrow.
• “Take me. Take all of me.” He started to move. Long, deep strokes at first, filling and retreating, letting me feel the shape of him, letting me adjust while he controlled the pace, the angle, everything, and then my body caught up with the hunger already in my blood and I pushed back, meeting him. He laughed under his breath, sharp and pleased.
• “That’s it. Ride it. Make me work for it.”
• He changed the angle, braced a knee on the floor, dragged me back onto him like I weighed nothing, and fucked me hard, hips snapping, the slap of skin obscene in the quiet, my breath ripping out in pieces.
• “You’re mine right now,” he whispered.
• “Deep,” I gasped. “Too much. Not enough. God—Callum.”
• He chuckled, low and savage. “I’ll give you too much.” He let go of my wrists, slid the hand that held my throat down, fingers finding my clit, rubbing tight circles that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. The combination turned my bones to light. He kept me exactly where he wanted me, forced to take it, forced to feel.
• “Come on it,” he ordered, voice breaking.
• “Cream on my cock. Make a mess.”
• I broke on that, a raw, ripping orgasm that snapped me like a wire, my body clamping down around him, milking him, my cry ugly and pure. He swore and didn’t stop, fucking me through it, chasing his own edge with teeth bared.
• He hauled me upright by the throat, my back flush to his chest, his cock still buried in me. I bit my lips while he pounded up into me from below, rhythm brutal.
• “Where do you want it,” he growled, words ragged, “say it.”
• “Inside,” I choked on his words, obscene and shameless even with the condom between us.
• “Fill me. Please.”
• The please did something to him. He drove in deep and held, a curse ripped from him as he came, pulsing thick inside me, body shaking, breath hot and harsh against my cheek, the growl in his chest satisfied and feral.
• He stayed buried, every inch of him pressed to my back, our hearts punching at the same time.
• The room smelled like sex and sweat and whatever Brielle had tried to turn me into and failed. When he finally eased out, my legs trembled and my mouth tasted like his skin.
• I sprawled on his couch, dress rucked, hair ruined, skin marked by his teeth and hands, pulse steadying into a rhythm that didn’t apologize. He stood over me, chest heaving, pupils blown, that faint crack of satisfaction in his mouth like he’d found a truth and decided to keep it.
• I lay there in Callum Sterling’s apartment, as he watched me like a man counting the cost and finding it acceptable.
• I smiled up at him, lips swollen, throat raw, body humming in aftershock and victory.
• Just tonight, I’d said.
• The way he looked at me promised that tonight would be enough to haunt me.