Page 27 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)
T he next morning, I wake to a hard body pressed against me. The bed is warm, and I snuggle deeper into the soft blankets, only to feel an equally hard length nestled against my ass. My eyes fly open, and my breathing quickens.
Sunlight streams into the room through the French doors, and I squint, the harsh morning light too bright. An arm around my waist squeezes, and a face nuzzles my neck and inhales deeply, a soft moan sending a zap straight between my legs.
Blaming the momentary lapse in judgment on the fact that I’m practically still asleep, I allow myself this reprieve and wish, for a moment, that this could be my life.
In a heartbeat, a future I thought long dead flashes in my mind.
I see smiles worn easily, banter thrown without second thought, first—and last—kisses. I see it all.
One night, we cuddled—not unlike we are now—beneath the duvet of his bed, trying to keep quiet so his father wouldn’t catch me in their house.
But he just kept tickling my ribs, teasing my body.
His eyes were brighter than the stars in the sky, twinkling as he rolled me below him.
He pulled the duvet over our shoulders, and he looked down at me with such unadulterated joy.
I love you, I’d whispered against his lips.
The memory dissipates as Cal’s wandering hand freezes, and his body stiffens.
A deep sadness burrows into me, and I close my eyes, pretending to still be asleep.
Cal’s breathing hitches as he slowly extracts his body from mine.
He curses under his breath when he rolls away.
But I lie still, pretending not to have felt his body pressed against mine, pretending not to have tasted a slice of my deepest desire.
I must do a good job. The bed dips, and his soft footsteps pad away until a door opens and shuts quietly. The shower turns on, and I exhale deeply, throwing my arms out of the comforter.
For a few minutes, I let myself lie there with an empty hollow in my chest. But the time for wallowing is over.
Scrubbing my face, I decide to sneak out while I still can and tiptoe to the closet to change.
By the time I’m in fresh clothes—another pair of capri leggings and a cropped tank—the shower turns off.
Swearing, I realize my phone’s still plugged in. I sneak back to the bed and grab it, but jump in the air when the bathroom door is yanked open.
Cal emerges with steam curling around his wet body, chocolate brown hair almost appearing black as it drips onto his shoulders, a white towel tied low—dangerously low—on his hips.
His jaw is freshly shaved, and my eyes drop to the knot in his throat.
It bobs as he swallows, and I gulp. Cal freezes, mid-scrub of a hand towel against his hair as he takes me in.
I must look like a deer in the headlights, and all excuses fizzle from my brain as a drop of water slips over his pecs and ripples over his abdomen.
My gaze zeroes in on the dark trail of hair that disappears under the towel, and it embarrasses me to no end when Cal’s shoulders shake with laughter.
I gulp and tuck my phone into my waistband, turning to leave without giving him any further satisfaction.
“Loren,” he calls after me.
I pause with my hand on the door. I look back, only to watch him saunter toward the closet, hand holding the knot of his towel in place.
“Thought you could sneak out on me?” He laughs as he opens the closet door, dropping the towel to the floor with a wink over his shoulder. “Give me ten, and I’ll join you.”
Heat flushes my face at the sight of his bare ass flexing as he moves to grab a suit.
My cheeks flame, but I can’t pull my eyes off of him.
After entirely too long, I turn from the show he clearly wants to put on.
But not before I find out that he’s wearing skintight, black boxer briefs under his impeccably tailored navy suit. Then he heads back into the bathroom.
Five minutes later, he exits the bathroom with styled hair and a gleaming smile. He looks perfectly refreshed and ready to start the day. It bothers me how unbothered he appears.
Smothering the annoyance, I plaster on a fake smile and refrain from shoulder checking him to get into the bathroom myself.
After I brush my hair into a pony and scrub the grime from my teeth, I breeze past him without looking at him.
Cal chuckles and opens the door for us to leave, extending an arm for me to lead.
God, his laughter is just as I remember.
But this time, instead of it slicing open an old wound, my chest warms, and I have to stifle a smile.
Instead, I flip him the bird, and then make for the kitchen. His steps ring out behind me, the heel-toe clicks of his loafers against the floor sharp. We walk in silence, and by the time we reach the kitchen, it’s obvious—at least to me—that I just don’t know what to say to him.
I move to pour myself a coffee at the same time he does, and our fingers brush, but I smack his hand away.
With one hand, I pick up the pot and grab a mug with the other.
A petty part of me delights when I pour my mug to the brim, leaving all but a drop for Callahan.
He smiles and reaches over me, cloying my senses with his familiar cologne, grabbing a fresh mug just as Darla hands us a new pot.
I take a stubborn sip of my coffee to make room for some creamer, and my eyes twitch at the bitter taste.
Cal doesn’t speak, just pours a mug until there’s an inch of space and trades it for the one I’m struggling to drink. Then he places the creamer on the counter and watches me, sick satisfaction gleaming in his brown eyes, as I give in and doctor the drink to my liking.
“Thank you,” I mumble under my breath, even though it pains me.
Callahan simply smiles and raises his own mug in cheers, turning on his heel.
“Thanks for the extra coffee, Darla,” he says to the busy woman, who just waves him off.
He leaves the kitchen, and like a puppy, I follow. We step into the dining room, and the conversations lower to a hush. Cal rounds the table and sits at the head, while I take a seat about three spots down from him.
He sighs in apparent annoyance, but remains silent.
Instead, we both drink our coffee as we wait for Darla to bring in breakfast. I recognize more people around the residence, and it seems only a select handful—or two—are invited to breakfast each morning.
After the first few days, I noticed everyone mostly sits in the same spot, and curiously, an extra chair was added to either side of the table.
Not that I ever felt bad for taking someone’s spot, and as much fun as it was to poke Matthias, I found the convenience quite practical.
If I’m to be here for the next two years, I might as well have my own spot at the table—both literally and figuratively.
Speak of the devil—in the next breath, Matthias, Lucas, and Everett enter, heads low as they speak in hushed tones with each other.
They barely look up to find I’m seated farther than usual, and they take their seats around Callahan.
Darla follows, pushing in a cart full of plated food and gets to work setting out each meal.
When she gets to me, my stomach noticeably grumbles. Lucas, who sits next to me, freezes and looks over with wide eyes.
“Do you”—his eyes dart around, stage whispering—“have a monster inside of you that you forgot to warn us about?” He gulps and stabs a fork into fluffy eggs and offers me the bite. “Here, little monster. Here you go. Please don’t hurt us.”
In the corner of my vision, Callahan takes notice of us, and I decide to have some fun with it. Leaning forward, I slide my mouth around the fork and swallow the eggs. A sharp cheddar melts in my mouth and my face contorts. I groan, taking a hefty gulp of my coffee to clear the aftertaste.
Luc’s brows pinch with confusion over my obvious disgust, just as Callahan barks out a laugh. Luc looks to him for clarification while I take a drink from my water.
“She doesn’t like cheese,” Cal says around a laugh, digging into his food.
I roll my eyes and pick up my fork, diving into the bacon, hash browns, omelet, and strawberries in front of me. Within minutes, I’ve successfully fed the monster inside of me, as Lucas so affectionately called it.
Cal tosses his napkin onto his empty plate. Then he stands, buttons his jacket, and rounds the table to help me out of my seat. I grumble but allow him to slide the chair from under me, and we head out of the dining room and toward his office.
“Five minutes. My office,” he throws over his shoulder, placing a hand on my lower back and guiding me down the hallway.
When we get to his office, he shuts the door behind us softly and sits at his desk. I fall onto his leather couch, placing some much-needed distance between us.
“So, would you like to tell me what happened last night before they get here?”
I don’t pretend to not know what he’s talking about. I thought about it last night, and if this operation really is as big as I think it could be, I definitely couldn’t do anything on my own.
I groan and bury my face in my hands. Last night…
Finding the Disciples. Overhearing where they’re dropping the women off. Leon . The words tumble out of me, but I share it all, everything I heard. While I’m in the middle of my recap, the door opens, and in strides the three musketeers.
“What is she talking about?” Matthias asks, upper lip curling over the fact I’d already claimed the leather couch.
“She was just explaining how she snuck out last night to go on a fact-finding mission at Abstrakt. You know, the club where women have been abducted from, never to be seen again?” Pure, unadulterated rage shakes out of Cal and thickens in the air between us, and I finally get a glimpse of how he actually felt about my so-called mission.