Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

You’re a fucking lioness, Rose. Let him mount you.

Something cold and delicate skims my ankles. I crane my neck further over my shoulder, about to turn onto my back and sit up. He places a firm hand on my ass, keeping me stationary. “Don’t move,” he orders.

“What are you doing?”

He turns to me, an item in his closed fist. I bet it’s a duplicate of whatever is wrapped around my ankles. It’s so thin that I think I can tug it off and raise it with my toes, all without shifting onto my back. However, the moment I lift a single foot, Connor seizes my leg, trapping me.

“You don’t want to do that, Rose.”

I glare. “Why not?”

And then he leans forward to reach my wrists. He pulls them higher, clasping them together with one strong grip. “Because if you move, you’ll break this.” He reveals a never-ending, tantalizing strand of diamonds, the necklace fragile and faint like a whisper in your ear. He carefully wraps it twice around my wrists before clipping the tiniest clasp.

I wonder if these are new products for Cobalt Diamonds. Even if they weren’t, I’d hate to shatter jewelry—especially a piece that’s my style, my taste, perfectly me.

“Are you bribing me?” I wonder.

“No,” he says adamantly. “I need you to not squirm or bolt upright or spread your legs open. And you’ve grown too used to handcuffs.”

I can still crane my neck over my shoulder to peek at him. He’s in the same position, his hands on my lower back. “Close your eyes.”

“No.”

He spanks my ass. I shudder and bite my pillow, my body aching for more stimulation. His fingers comply, massaging my clit for two agonizing seconds.

“You need to be completely relaxed.”

He’s reminded me before that if I tense up, it’ll cause me pain, so he’s trying his hardest to calm me before he does anything.

“I’m going slow,” he communicates, knowing I can’t be left in the dark with this. “I won’t enter you all at once, I promise.”

Translation: I know your body. I know your limitations. Trust me.

I do. I close my eyes and rest my cheek on my soft pillow, attempting to relax. I feel a new temperature, cold but a little warm. Lube, I assume. Not long after, Connor gradually pushes his way inside of me. Just when the expansion begins to pinch, his fingers dip and rub, creating hot friction.

My mind shadows the pain as higher, orgasmic sensations blink in Technicolor. I gasp into the pillow, my lips parting in a staggered breath. He removes his fingers and pushes further in and out, edging his way deeper inside. The fullness (full of him—oh God) is unlike anything…

When I’ve stretched to his size, he thrusts in every second, not too rough but assured pumps. The pulsing between my legs grows and seems to time with his movement in my ass.

I open my eyes and glance back at him. With hands firmly clasped to my love handles, his body flexes with each drive forward. I keep watching him. How he’s kneeling, how he’s thrusting into me, how his focus is on my being. The arousal in his deep blues spins me to another sweltering place.

“Connor,” I gasp, my mouth unable to close. I moan into the sheets, resting my spinning head back on the pillow.

A groan sticks to this throat, and he leans back to unclasp the diamond strand from my ankles, never missing a beat. He suddenly seizes my ankle and lifts it higher while he continues to thrust, allowing for fuller, deeper penetration. “Stay still—”

He warns too late. The quick burst, his powerful force, causes me to shift my arm, to brace myself for better support. The diamond chain snaps in two. He never stops to let me fixate on what I did.

With my palm flat on the bed, he grips underneath my bent elbow with the other hand, holding me secure in a slightly altered position. He takes me harder from behind.

He has my limbs. In his grasp. And he never ends the rhythm. I’m so aware of his cock inside of me, more than ever. I’m full of Connor Cobalt, and it’s…

My eyes roll back. My toes curl.

Mount the fuck out of me.

I can’t believe I like this.

But then I can. I’ve liked many things that I never believed I would.

* * *

If Connor is a god during sex, then he’s certainty a god afterwards. He’s so attentive to my body’s needs, to be handled with the strange mix of rough and tender care. He massages my raw and reddened skin, from being slapped, with warm, smooth lotion.

I can tell he enjoyed it as much as I did—his heavy breaths and grin a sign enough. He helps me to my feet and we take a shower together, then put on new pajamas, and I crawl back into clean sheets. I face him and he tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear.

“You’re going to say I told you so and that my limitations are all in my head,” I predict. He was right. I liked it.

“No,” he surprises me. “Everyone has limitations, and I’m certain that some of yours aren’t just constructed by fear.”

My mind is on a slow, tired descent, so I try to imagine what my limitations even are. “You’re not sucking my toes,” I note.

I feel his smile in the dark. “I won’t.”

What else is there?

I realize I say the words aloud because he answers with, “Fisting.”

I cringe. “No.”

“I don’t want to either,” he whispers in the pit of my ear, pulling me closer. Sometimes we cuddle (such a soft word) after sex, and I let him hold me for a little while, drifting in the security of his strong arms.

[ 52 ]

ROSE COBALT

I cup a mug of coffee in bed with Connor, Jane playing with a picture book between us. We brought a newspaper to the lake house, and I hold one end while Connor holds the other. My eyes glaze over some of the words, the weight of our last day here hanging in the back of my mind.

I have to broach the topic. “I’m going to speak after you at the press conference,” I say. “So if you change your mind at last minute, I’ll just go along with whatever you decide.”

Connor tenses, and Jane taps a button on the book, the speakers letting out a sheep’s baaaa. I hope he doesn’t feel the irony. Fate is cruel. Why couldn’t the book let out a lion’s roar or a wolf’s howl? No, it had to be a sheep.

He lowers his side of the newspaper. I lower mine and cup my mug with two hands.

“That’s more than considerate, Rose,” he says, “but I’m not going to let you go in there blind and be surprised with the rest of the world.” He angles his body against the headboard so he’s more turned towards me.

“So you’ve made a decision?” I take a sip of coffee.

His calm features never waver, even if his mind does. Connor brushes my bottom lip with his thumb, and I see his thoughts spinning.

So I ask, “To strip naked in front of a crowd or to speak a truth where no one understands you—”

“I’d strip naked,” he chooses before I even finish.

I nod, my chest hurting for him.

“I’m leaning towards queer,” he tells me. He plans to define himself then. “It’s an all-encompassing, broad term that has positive connotations. I like how other people proudly identify as queer, and I think it’s a safe middle ground for me.”

Everything out of his mouth sounds practiced, as though he’s been tossing the phrases around in his head for weeks. I hone in on the way he says, people proudly identify. He didn’t say, I identify. He left himself out.

I straighten up. “If that’s what you want, I’d be okay, and I want you to know that you can’t hurt me either way. And you shouldn’t worry about hurting my father or my mother or anyone with your decision.”

He lifts my chin with two fingers. “Believe me, I’ve thought about every possible surface of this choice.” His thumb sweeps my cheek. “I’ve weighed every cost, every benefit, and it’s all pointing to this.”

I stare right at him, my eyes churning hotter than I’d like. I want them to be soft for him. That’

s what he needs, isn’t it? My voice isn’t even velvety. It’s harsh and icy. “On what scale do you weigh these?”

“My scale.” He grins.

I roll my eyes. “Well, on my scale, the cost of your soul outweighs everything else.”

“How selfish am I going to be, Rose?” he asks me.

Baaaaa! Jane hits the same button. She giggles, and Connor leans forward and flips the page to a frog on a lily pad.

“Fate says you should be as selfish as you want.”

“I can’t listen to your fate or lambs in children’s books. I just have to listen to the facts.”

“You can’t listen to your heart?” I roll my eyes again at how banal it sounds.

“If I listened to my heart, it would only say to protect my girls, nothing more.”

“If you listened to your heart, it would ask if you’re alive,” I combat. “After the press conference, will you truly be? And I’m not talking literally, Connor, so don’t bring up anatomy and blood vessels.”