“Michael was outside when I showed up,” he answered, kissing me again. “You shoulda told me.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” I mumbled bitterly, pushing at his arm on my waist.

“Yeah, Sugar. It would’ve.” He walked us to the bed, flipping me over onto my back before lying down on top of me, his forearms on each side of my head. “You have to tell me this shit, Callie. How’m I supposed to know if you don’t tell me?”

“You knew about the funeral,” I pointed out, tilting my head.

“Are you gonna keep throwing that shit in my face?”

I ignored his comment as if he hadn’t even spoken.

“And when exactly was I supposed to tell you? The two fucking times you’ve called in the last three weeks when you barely spoke and couldn’t wait to get off the phone with me?” I sniped back, raising my head from the comforter until our noses were practically touching.

“Don’t gimme that shit, Calliope! The phone works both ways,” he growled back, lowering his head until mine dropped back down to keep us from touching. “Only time you seem to call me is when your ass is in trouble!”

My eyes opened wide as I stared at him, stunned.

“You never seem to want to initiate contact, but you’re pissed as fuck when I don’t call. It’s fuckin’ bullshit, Callie,” he growled at me, his brows drawn in frustration. “What the fuck do you expect?”

He was waiting for an answer, but I didn’t have one. Instead my eyes closed in disbelief.

He was right.

“Fuck,” I whispered, feeling like an insane bitch.

“Yeah, Sugar. ‘Fuck’ is right,” he grumbled, dropping his forehead against mine.

We lay there silently, our breath mingling for long moments before he whispered against my mouth.

“Can we just drop this shit?” he asked me quietly, rubbing his nose along mine. “I fuckin’ missed you.”

Every emotion I’d been feeling since he’d left me instantly bubbled to the surface and I made a sound deep in my throat. I reached up to grab the back of his head, but I didn’t have to pull him down because his mouth was already covering mine, his tongue pushing between my lips.

He tasted like mint and smoke and I couldn’t get enough.

I slid my fingers into his hair and worked out the rubber band holding it back, making him groan as he slid us farther onto the bed. When we’d almost hit the other side, his lips ripped from mine and he leaned back, searching my face.

Whatever he saw there had him slowly pulling the wide neck of my t-shirt down my shoulder until one of my breasts was popping out the top, covered in a plain white strapless bra.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, a grin forming on his face. “Is it wrong that I’m glad as fuck that you had a bra on out there with those assholes?”

He laughed hard as I punched him in the stomach, but his face quickly turned serious as he used my squirming to pull my shirt over my head. He didn’t take the time to undo my bra, just pulled it down to my waist, but I didn’t care. I was too busy watching his face as he undressed me. It didn’t take long before I was completely naked, and I shook as his eyes took me in.

His nostrils were flared and his jaw tense as he ran a finger from my collarbone to my navel.

“Look at you. So beautiful,” he whispered, running his fingers lightly over my nipples. “You scared? You’re shaking, sweetheart.”

“No, just wondering if you’re going to be a prude again,” I joked uncomfortably as I pushed at his vest with the tips of my fingers. “Are you finally going to get naked, too?”

That was all the prodding he needed to stand up from the bed and start stripping with a small smirk on his face. It took less than a minute for him to get completely naked, and he paused for a moment, completely unselfconscious to let me stare. His body was huge, with wide shoulders, a thick chest, and a lean waist that tapered down to heavily muscled thighs. He didn’t have the steroid look that I’d seen so many times in Southern California—his body came from being naturally large and honed to perfection. Holy shit.

“Naked enough for you?” he said quietly before climbing onto the bed and pushing my legs apart. When he was braced above my body, he grabbed my thighs and pulled them up his sides so he could nestle between them.

“You’re already wet,” he mumbled into my throat, sliding his hands from behind my thighs to the slick skin between them. “Fighting turn you on, Sugar?”

“Shut it,” I moaned back, arching into his hands.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” he told me with a chuckle. “I was hard as a rock the minute you started spoutin’ off in the kitchen.”

He rubbed his fingers over me in a slow stroke and I felt like I was going to shoot off the bed. It had been so long since the last time he’d touched me—I was starved for him.

He stopped rubbing where I needed him and I made a sound of protest, but he cut it off with his mouth before moving his lips south.

“You had a party in my fuckin’ apartment,” he growled at me.

“Your friends were here!” I gasped, trying to move against his fingers, but failing to get what I needed.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he told me, biting me not so gently at the top of one of my breasts. “You don’t have a bunch of fuckers in our house when I’m not here.”