Fighting For You (The Callahans #5) - Monica Murphy Page 0,2
to take me there.”
“Thank God you don’t live too far from here. We can get a lot done in an hour.” He waggles his dark brows at me, making me giggle, and then he smothers my laughter with a heated kiss.
We only come up for air when we hear voices nearby, and then Diego’s leading me toward the lakeshore, where the tiny one-room cabin/guesthouse sits. It’s owned by the Sorrento family, and it sits unoccupied most of the time.
“I called dibs on this place,” Diego tells me when we stop in front of the closed door. He rises up on tiptoe and feels around the top of the doorframe, a triumphant “aha” leaving him when he shows me the key he discovered. “Someone else always gets it first. But tonight, it’s ours.”
I’m a little skeeved out that the guys call dibs on this cabin so they can mess around with girls privately, but I can’t complain. Diego and I only recently started having sex. We’ve done plenty of other things, but mostly in a car. Or sometimes even outside. It’s hard to find somewhere to be together, completely alone. Forget about getting comfortable, or even taking off all of our clothes. It’s always hurried between us, with that nagging worry we might get caught.
His house is small and he lives in one of the older neighborhoods in the area. I think he might be ashamed of it, which is why we don’t spend a lot of time there. I’ve only been there a handful of times, even though I get along great with his slightly overbearing mother.
And my house? It’s never empty. Mom is always there. Or one of my siblings. I get no alone time.
None.
Excitement ripples over my skin when Diego opens the cabin door and we walk inside. There’s a couch and a bed. That’s it. Oh and there’s an end table next to the couch with a lamp on it. Diego lets go of my hand and walks over to the table, switching on the lamp and illuminating the room in a pale-yellow glow.
“Not bad,” he says as he glances around the space. He rests his hands on his hips, his gaze meeting mine. “What do you think?”
“It’s small.” But it looks clean. “Do you think they wash the sheets?”
“Probably. The asshole has servants at his every beck and call.” Diego pulls me back into his arms, holding me close. So close, I can feel every inch of him. And he can feel every inch of me. “Who cares?”
“I kind of do,” I say, just as he leans in and presses his full mouth against my neck, making me forget all my worries at the first touch of his lips. I close my eyes as he continues to kiss me, immediately lost in the path his mouth takes on my skin. “Don’t—don’t you care?”
“I only care about you,” he murmurs against my throat, making me shiver. “If you’re not comfortable with the bed, we can take this to the couch.”
I open my eyes, gazing at the leather couch nearby. “Uh, no.”
He laughs and pulls away from me, keeping my hand in his. “Then let’s go to the bed.”
I let him lead me there, and we both fall onto the mattress, reaching for each other, our mouths seeking. Finding.
Locking.
We kiss for what feels like forever, and again, I lose myself in him. His taste, the stroke of his tongue, the things he whispers to me. How good I make him feel. How much he misses me. How much he needs me.
His words are heady. Sometimes even overwhelming. He wants so much. Needs so much. Sometimes, like tonight, he calls me his angel. His savior.
I don’t know if I can save him, but I want to try.
We’ve been arguing lately, but kissing seems to make us forget why we were mad at each other in the first place. His hands start to wander and I lean into his touch, too nervous still to ask for what I want. His fingers drift across my stomach and I imagine those fingers in other places. The throb starts low, steadily insistent and when he reaches for the snap of my shorts, I settle my hand over his, stopping him.
“Not yet,” I whisper, afraid he might get ahead of himself and it’ll be over before we even truly started.
He doesn’t protest or act mad, which he does sometimes. Instead, he reaches for my shirt, and I help him pull it off of me.