Ruthless: Sins of Seven Series Page 12

  Callan narrows his gaze, watching me intently, and I can see the inner workings of his mind. He’s going to do something.

  “Pumpkin, how are you?” He sounds genuinely concerned. It’s not like him, but I let the smile on my lips stay because it feels good to have him actually worry about me.

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I respond as my bodyguard kneels on the floor at my feet. His big, rough hands push my knees apart, opening me to his stare.

  I shake my head, but he just shrugs. Even though I attempt to press my legs closed, he’s too strong, and I fail miserably.

  “That’s good. When I get back, we should go out to the lake house and spend some quality time together,” he says, his tone even more pressing. Something urgent causes me to frown.

  “That sounds good.” My response drops when Callan leans in and trails the wet tip of his tongue over my sensitive inner thigh. He continues to copy the action on the other leg, and my body responds in kind.

  “Listen, that charity ball tomorrow night. I need you to collect an award they’ll be announcing, and I’ve just spoken to Hudson—”

  “I’m not going with him,” I whimper into the phone when my tormentor grazes my panty-clad clit with his teeth.

  “What’s happened?”

  “He’s an asshole, Dad,” I retort hotly. Anger at the memory of what Hudson did races through me, mixed with desire from Callan’s ministrations on my pussy swirling through me. My hand pushing at his head, but it’s no use. The man is on a mission to make me come while I’m on the phone.

  “Language, young lady!”

  “Sorry, but he was here a few days ago, and . . . Well, and he hurt me.”

  “What?” The tone of my father’s voice rises an octave as it drips with incredulousness. “Was O’Leary there? Did he sort him out?”

  “Callan was here,” I mumble as the man in question slips a finger into my hot core, pumping the digit in slow movements. In and out. “He . . . he . . . I mean, he helped,” I manage to voice before another finger enters me.

  “Good. I’ll be talking to Hudson. He was always such a good boy,” my father responds, sounding truly saddened by the change in my now ex-boyfriend.

  My body arches as Callan lashes my wet lips with his tongue. “Can I call you tomorrow?” I ask, hoping my father will hang up.

  “Yes, honey. I’ll be in meetings most of the morning, but call me after lunch. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better father,” he tells me as my peak rises. I’m about to leap from the cliff when my father sighs once more. “I love you, pumpkin.”

  “I love you too,” I respond, my tone clearly raspy.

  “Always.” He hangs up as Callan’s fingers crook inside me, hitting that special spot that sees sparks flying from all around me. My toes curl into the mattress, and I cry out his name, over and over again. I’m on my back, arching from the mattress as I claw at the bedspread, gripping it with white knuckles.

  As I slowly come down from my euphoric high, I open my eyes to find the culprit of my orgasm smirking down at me.

  “Like I said, Blossom, I have no morals. Perhaps next time, you can call me Daddy while I fuck that pretty little arse. Get dressed, we’re leaving in twenty.” With that, he rises and leaves me to finish my coffee and smile at his filthy mouth.

  But I can’t deny he’s right. I want him. I want this more than I should, and I know it’s only going to end in tears because he isn’t going to work for my father forever, and soon, he’ll want to go back to England.

  That thought tightens an ache in my chest.

  It’s been over a month since I’ve last cut myself. Since Callan, I’ve not even had an inkling to do it. With him, I forget all the shit in my mind. I leave behind the darkness and look forward. My fingertips instinctively move to the scars. The various silver marks that line my otherwise smooth skin.

  I’m not her anymore.

  I close my eyes and pray, I’m not her anymore.

  Callan

  Tomorrow is the gala event, the charity fundraiser and I have to escort Madison. But as the day her father arrives back looms, I think about how this girl is going to be the worst addiction to kick. Most women I’ve been with are out the door before I even have time to learn their name, but with Madison, I want more. It’s like she’s embedded deep within me.

  The kitchen is quiet when I settle on the chair and open my laptop. My coffee is steaming beside me as I open the emails I need to respond to. I lift the mug, sipping on the scalding liquid while I click on the browser and read through more research. I’ve been talking to Oliver about Madison’s condition. When I saw the scars on her thighs and just below her belly button, I knew there was something deeply rooted.

  She told me about her mother leaving, how she’d been bullied, and all that culminated in her resorting to hurting herself. Sadly, as a teenager, she kept her pain inside, whereas I went out to kill as many men as I could.

  Oliver’s response to my questions is long and drawn out. He’s gone into the psychological side of it. About why she craves the pain, why she’d look to BDSM, spanking, whipping, perhaps even caning for her release. When someone holds onto their sadness, their pain so deep, there has to be some form of exit.

  His advice is to teach her, take her and show her the pleasure that stems from a caning, rather than permanent damage. Which then leads him to believe she’s a masochist — she needs the pain.

  The memory of what she’s done boils my blood. The thought of her hurting herself sends me into a rage, and all I see is red.

  Last night, I watched her sleep. The gentle rise and fall of her chest was hypnotic. I spent an hour in the pool house staring at the ceiling, my body humming with the anticipation of being near her again, of being inside her again.

  She’s like a shot of whiskey, warm, intense, and she burns all the way down to my chest. And as much as I know I shouldn’t, with each day that passes, I no longer give a fuck. I want to drink more of her, I want every fucking drop. Until she’s in my veins, in my bloodstream.

  “Good morning,” her voice comes from the doorway. When I turn to look at her, I can’t stifle the growl that leaves my lips. Dressed in a pair of white cotton shorts and a pale blue tank top, her long brown hair in messy waves only solidifies how beautiful she is.

  Intoxicating.

  “You’re ready?” I ask. My voice is raspy, and she notices.

  Quirking her eyebrow at me, she asks, “Almost. Just wanted to get something to eat. Is that okay?” Her words cause a soft smile to play on her glossy lips. Taking calculated steps toward me, she reaches for my tie, tugging it closer to her, and I find myself allowing her the control between us. For now.

  “Of course, baby girl.” My response is met with a grin.

  “Thank you, Mr. O’Leary,” she quips. Leaning down until her face is next to mine, she plants a soft kiss on my scruffy cheek. Even though I haven’t shaved, she keeps her lips on the stubble, almost as if she’s enjoying the feel of it on her mouth.

  “Blossom, if you keep that up, we’ll be later than you already are. Your father booked an appointment with a boutique downtown, so you better get that pretty little mouth off me right now, or I’ll fuck it until you’re gagging.”

  She steps backward, her gaze piercing me. “You keep making these promises, and you never deliver.” She giggles, turns, and busies herself making two slices of toast.

  I watch her move around the space. Once she’s eaten, she washes the plate and sets it on the drying rack.

  “I’ll wait outside,” she tells me while I finish up my emails.

  Moments later, I head out, finding her at the car in the long driveway. She’s standing at the back door tapping on her phone, so she doesn’t notice me coming up behind her. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her against me, causing a squeal to fall from her lips.

  “Don’t tease me, baby girl. It’s rude,” I whisper in her ear.

  “You’re always rude, so why can’t I be?”

&nb
sp; I plant a kiss on her cheek before answering. “Because I’m an arsehole, remember?”

  “Oh yeah. Okay, Asshole, let’s go.” She giggles when I set her down and pull open the door for her. She slips into the seat, and I don’t hide the fact that I stare at her long legs, her skin a soft shade of caramel that makes my cock ache. She’s stunning. Silky smooth skin I want to taste every day. The thought of me actually wanting more than a month with her is jarring. I’m not the type of man who could give her a forever. Shaking my head to clear those thoughts, I slip into my seat and start the car.

  She doesn’t speak the whole ride from the house to the store. I’m thankful because it gives me time to think about how I’m going to ask my father to let me stay here. To be with her. We pull up outside a multitude of stores, where I notice Amber standing outside a boutique talking to a man who looks very much like the asshole I punched a few days ago. When he turns around, I note it is him.

  “Why is your best friend with that arsehole?” I practically growl.

  Madison scoots forward. Her eyes are wide as she watches Amber lean up on tip toes to kiss said dickhead on the mouth; but this is no friendly peck, this is a full-blown make-out session on the sidewalk. I start the engine, pull out onto the road, and drive down toward the lower end of the street.

  “What are you doing?” Madison questions from behind me.

  “We’re going to another store,” I bite out through clenched teeth.

  She places a hand on my shoulder. The gentle touch burns through the material, causing me to jolt away from her. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is timid, shy even, and I cast a quick glance at her as I pull into a parking lot.

  “Don’t you ever apologize to me, baby girl,” I tell her with emotion thick and heavy in my tone. “You’re perfect, and I hate to see that someone you trust is out there backstabbing you.” My voice is urgent as I explain this to her. There’s far too much affection in her gaze, and for the first time since I’ve been with her, I revel in it.

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “I know, but you don’t need that in your life,” I inform her.

  “I need you in my life,” she retorts quickly, the words falling like leaves from a tree in autumn. The way her eyes glisten reminds me of happiness — warm, loving, and drenched with warmth. Looking at her makes me want to claim her for real, perhaps for longer than just the thirty days.

  “Let’s go. You need a dress.” I turn away before I say something I’ll regret later. But will you regret it? Pushing open the door, I shove the wayward thought out of my mind for now. For now. She follows me without needing me to open her car door, and I wonder if I’ve upset her. But then she reaches for me, her arm snakes itself through mine, and I can’t stop the swell of pride in my chest.

  This is new. So very new I’m astounded by how comfortable it is for her to hold onto me. For me to be the one she turns to when she wants safety. As we walk into the mall, I take in the shops and steer her toward a small boutique that seems like it might have what we’re looking for.

  The sales assistant offers a smile when we enter. “Good morning, how can I help?”

  “My girlfriend would like a dress for an event we’re attending tomorrow evening,” I tell her and immediately notice Madison's reddened cheeks when my gaze lands on her.

  “Perfect. Is there a particular color you had in mind?” the woman asks Madison who still seems in utter shock that I referred to her as my girlfriend. Don’t worry, darling, so am I, I think to myself.

  “Black, something classic and elegant,” I respond for her, to which she nods slowly.

  “Perfect, follow me.” We get another megawatt smile, and I watch the sweet girl I’m slowly starting to care for walk toward rows of pinks, silvers, reds, and blacks. She reaches for one dress that’s a soft peachy-orange, and I can’t hear them talking, but Madison offers me a quick, naughty glance, then she heads into the changing room.

  Passing the time, I stroll through the shop looking at various items I picture Madison wearing, but my mind drifts to tearing each piece of clothing from her frame and taking her in every which way known to man — and some not known.

  “What do you think?” Her tentative voice comes from behind me. Spinning on my heel, I come face to face with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in a dress that has every inch of my dick throbbing against my zipper.

  The fabric looks like cotton candy, soft to the touch, as it hugs every curve of her hourglass frame. Her tits are pushed up, causing the scooping neckline to offer a glimpse of her cleavage. Her tits are beautiful, tempting, and I imagine tugging the neck of this dress down while I feast hungrily on her nipples.

  It’s not black, but it’s perfect. A floor-length gown which hides the shoes she’s wearing. When she twirls, though, that’s when I can’t stop my cock from hardening further. The back is lowcut, stopping just above her ass. The caramel skin of her back is smooth, shimmering in the low lights of the store from the body lotion I know she loves to use

  Thin gold chains hold the back of her dress from left to right to stop the damn thing from falling from her shoulders. As she faces me again, I realize I haven’t responded to her question, but I’m still shocked speechless. If I thought she was beautiful before, I was dead wrong. This woman is fucking stunning.

  “Callan?” She says my name in question, snapping me from my daze.

  “Blossom,” I utter, closing the distance between us. “I hate this dress.” My voice is a low growl in her ear, causing a shiver to travel over her body.

  “What? Why?” She looks genuinely concerned at my words, her mouth pouting in the most seductive bow that makes me want to suck her lips into my mouth and bite down on them, reveling in her flavor.

  “You look far too exquisite. Every man in his right mind will want you tomorrow night. I can’t have that happening,” I tell her honestly.

  “Is that you admitting you like me?” she quips playfully. “Because, Mr. O’Leary, I like you too,” Madison murmurs, and I’m tempted to take her back into that changing room and fucking her into submission.

  “That’s me admitting the thoughts that are running through my mind right now are far from clean, Blossom,” I murmur in her ear. Turning her to face the mirror, I position myself behind her, showing her how we look together. The stark contrast between the hue of her dress against the black and white of my clothes is harsh, but it looks incredible.

  “We scrub up pretty well,” she tells our reflection.

  “You look stunning,” announces the sales assistant as she appears. “Is this the one?” she questions, and Madison glances at me in the mirror. I nod in agreement.

  “Yes, we’ll take this one,” my girl responds. My girl. Jesus, I’m turning soft.

  Madison disappears into the changing room to take the dress off while I pay for the item. The woman stares at me for a moment before sliding the plastic card through the machine. I’ve signed and gotten a receipt by the time my girl comes out.

  “You paid?” she gasps as she hands the dress to be wrapped up.

  “Of course.” I smile, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her into me as I revel in how well she fits there. After everything I’ve done in my life, all the good, all the bad, nothing can compare to having her nestle her head in the crook of my arm.

  On our way back to the car, I go to open the back door, but Madison’s hand stalls my movement. “I want to sit up front with you,” she informs me with a smile.

  Offering a nod, I pull open the passenger door and help her into the seat. Once I’ve placed the package with her dress in the backseat, I slip in beside her.

  “I like being up here,” she says. A soft laugh tumbles freely from her, and those eyes — god, those honey-colored eyes shimmer with excitement and happiness.

  “You sure you want to sit here? You never know who could see us.”

  She shakes her head. “Yes, now that I’m your girlfriend” — she leans in, planting a chaste kiss on my ch
eek — “I guess I can sit here every day.”

  Chuckling, I start the car and turn toward home. “Don’t get cheeky, baby girl. I only said that because the woman in the store probably thought I was your dad.”

  “Ha, you’re such a liar. You like me.”

  I don’t look at her when I respond. “Maybe. I think you’re sexy, beautiful, and completely and utterly fuckable.”

  “Well, I think you’re hot, grumpy, and old, so there’s that too.”

  “Old enough to spank your ass for disrespecting me,” I counter, dragging my gaze over to her for a second before focusing back on the road.

  “I think you’d just like to spank me because it would turn you on.”

  Her feisty mouth makes me want to pull into a parking lot and show her just how much she turns me on, but I don’t. She sits back, satisfied she’s won this round, but she doesn’t know I’m planning to make her pay for her sassy comments.

  There’s a surefire way to make her squirm, and I’m dying to do it at the event. While we’re amongst the elite of Chicago, I’m going to make sure she never forgets who’s in charge.

  “You know, Blossom, I have to grab something for tomorrow. I want you to lock yourself in the house. I’ll only be thirty minutes,” I tell her.

  She glances my way, and from the corner of my eye, I can tell she’s trying to assess just what I’m planning, but she won’t.

  “I’ll be fine. I doubt he’ll come around here again, and anyway, I’m sure Lawrence will be around.” Her voice is nonchalant, but the thought of any other man being close to her has me gripping the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip.

  “Who?” I glance her way as I pull into the driveway of the mansion.

  “My father’s security guard who stays on the property.”

  “Mmm.” I sound jealous. I hear it in the tone of my huff.

  She smiles as I cut the engine and glance at her once more. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” she remarks. She shoves the door open, huffing as she exists the vehicle, but before she can get away, I’m rounding the front of the car. I easily grip her arm and pull her closer to me.