Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters 5)

I could fucking explode. Fuck me. Sweat really coats my bare skin, my mouth against her heat. I look up at Dais, and she’s fixated on my right hand.

I rub my shaft because it gets her off every time. My nerves well, the pressure fucking fuck—I grunt, gripping my cock harder. Pumping faster while my tongue does what it does best.

Daisy moans into my left hand, her toes curling, lips so fucking parted. Her back arches, spine curving towards me. Shuddering.

Daisy responds to every orgasm like it’s her first fucking one. I still remember that day, that moment, that fucking time.

I even recall the first time we had sex. In a tent. I’m fucking you, sweetheart. Right now. I slide her down my waist, pinning her back against the wall. She rests her forehead on my shoulder, honing in on my long erection. Daisy tries to split her legs open wider, so I stretch them upwards, her ankles towards my neck.

I know she envisions my cock rammed inside her, even before I slip in. She clutches my sides, her hand over my phoenix tattoo, breathing shallow fucking breaths.

Slowly, I push in and gauge her reaction every inch of the way. I search for signs of pain, but it’s been so fucking long since she’s felt any. My nose flares at the tightness and sudden warmth wrapped around my cock.

She trembles, lit up, crying in pleasure against my hand.

I start rocking, and I fuck the wildest girl I’ve ever known.

Daisy watches our bodies join together, her skin glistening. Her hands fall to my ass, feeling me flex against her tall, lean build. We’ve fucked against more trees than we have walls, but this works just as well.

I follow her gaze to our pelvises, and I push deeper, letting her take in more of me. She makes the throatiest noise against my hand, like that pleasure ascended from bottom to top. My veins protrude in my arms, my teeth clenched as my arousal fucking heightens.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This is a girl I never thought I’d be with—not like this. Not nine-inches deep between her legs. Not warm metal on my ring finger. Not two little girls with our features.

I thought for fucking sure I’d be alone.

I thrust with purpose, knowing what it’d lead to—she comes with a sharp inhale, pulsating around my erection.

“Fuck.” I come, pushing hard into Dais.

Not long after, exhaustion sinks her shoulders, her eyelids, and I pull out and carry Daisy in my arms to our bed. Eyes closed, she sleepily whispers one last thing.

“Say that again.”

I don’t say fuck. I lean down, my mouth against her ear, and I tell my wife, “I fucking love you, sweetheart.”

She glows like a million suns.

* * *

I’m not that fucking tired, so I check my email on my cellphone. Daisy has already rolled onto my chest, off my chest, and now back onto my fucking chest. Her legs are tangled with mine, arm across my abdomen and head nestled towards my shoulder.

I don’t shift enough that I’d wake her.

I squint at the bright light of the screen and click into an email from Celebrity WorldWide Entertainment. I have no fucking idea what this could be, but the subject line reads, congratulations. That entrainment site isn’t as salacious as Celebrity Crush.

I know because Celebrity WorldWide Entertainment rarely posts negative articles about anyone. Most of their time is spent marketing fucking movie franchises and actors in whatever television shows Lily and Lo watch.

I read the first line of the email.

Dear Ryke Meadows,

Congratulations, Celebrity WorldWide Entertainment has picked you as this year’s Sexiest Man WorldWide!

“What the fuck,” I mutter, skimming the rest of the email that basically says you’re welcome and this is a huge honor. I don’t keep up with this shit—so I’m just really fucking confused.

Why me?

I rub my mouth and then group-text my brother, my sister, Lily, Connor, Rose, and Garrison. I type out: did any of you fucking get this email? I remember how to take screenshots on my phone, thanks to Daisy showing me, and I send them the image and message.

Not a second later, my phone buzzes so rapidly and loudly that I have to mute it. “For fuck’s sake,” I mumble.

Sexy motherfucker – Lo

Clearly I wasn’t in contention – Connor

There’s only one Sexiest Man WorldWide of the year. It’s a big deal – Willow

Remove your ego from the thread, Richard. You weren’t the chosen one. – Rose

I’m the only qualified one to judge this contest, and guess who I’d choose, darling? – Connor

Are they really flirting in the fucking group text? I can’t shut them out, and here comes Lily…

IS THIS REAL?!?!?! – Lily

I don’t even have time to text back. Someone else does.

Clearly – Connor

It wasn’t that clear. – Rose

This is a mess – Garrison

*Garrison leaves the group* a notification pops up in the text thread. I’d do the same fucking thing, but I’m not sure how.

How is Ryke Sexiest Man WorldWide before Loren Hale???? – Lily

I believe you meant me – Connor

I can’t take it anymore. I just ignore it, but I can’t even use the fucking internet without text messages popping up every two seconds. I gently lift Daisy’s arm and legs off me, really fucking careful not to wake my wife. I want her to sleep as many hours as she can.

I want her to fucking dream.

I’ve seen her do both more than I ever thought I would.

She stirs, just enough to roll onto her side and fall into a deeper slumber. I stand, scrolling through rapid-fire texts between Connor and Rose. I pull on track pants before I step into the hallway.

FTFY Lily – Willow

My sister photoshopped an image for Lily that says: Loren Hale Sexiest Man WorldWide!

My brows scrunch at that acronym, not understanding. Down the hall, I reach Lily and Lo’s door first. I rap my knuckles and then open.

Lily and Lo are beneath the covers, the room so fucking dark, I only make out their faces. Lit by their cellphone screens.

“Stop fucking texting.”

“Congratulations,” Lily says before registering what I said. “Wait…you texted us.”

“Yeah, well I changed my fucking mind.”

“He can do that now, Lil,” Lo says. “He’s the Sexiest Man WorldWide. He’s got eight-pack powers. His abs can kill.” My brother just starts laughing so fucking loud that I flip him off. I’m not sure he can see.

Before I shut the door, I ask, “What’s FTFY?”

“Fixed That For You,” Lily answers, nose pressed to her cellphone scre

en.

I glance at my phone, but the only people left in the thread are Rose and Connor. Fucking flirting. I don’t read the messages. I shut my brother’s door and cross the hallway to Connor’s.

I knock once and open.

I freeze.

Fuck.

Rose is handcuffed in a black nightgown, no more than a slip, cupping her cellphone, and Connor straddles his wife, his phone in one hand, other hand on her fucking hip.

Before I can even blink, they see me. Rose’s eyes flame like she could castrate me.

I immediately turn my back for her privacy. “Stop fucking texting.” I’d like to leave it at that, but Connor never would let me.

“No,” he says the word with severe finality. “Shut the door. Hopefully you can manage that simple task.”

I flip him off without facing their bed, but I don’t leave. “I’m fucking serious.”

“So am I.”

“I will put your balls in acid,” Rose threatens, less hostile because—believe it or fucking not—they’re still texting. While in the same fucking room.

“Fuck this.” I power off my phone and shut their door.

Only halfway down the hall, what just happened slaps me across the face. I walked in on Rose and Connor about to have sex. We all lived together, and I avoided that accident.

I mean, fuck.

We rarely even catch those two making out. And the strangest fucking thing? After tonight, I’m pretty sure their foreplay isn’t the typical kind of foreplay.

I’m pretty sure their foreplay is words.

[ 51 ]

August 2026

Dalton Elementary

Philadelphia

CONNOR COBALT

“Charlie!” I race after my eight-year-old son, who just stormed out of the principal’s office at ten a.m., backpack slung over his shoulder. He indignantly and resentfully pushes through the double doors, not slowing, and the moment I’d seen coming for years has finally arrived today.

The front of the school is quiet except for the American flag dinging the pole. I quickly read his body language, angled diagonally like he plans to step off the path and cross the grass—opposite the parking lot. Charlie goes where he wants to go, and usually it’s nowhere at all.