His Red Carnation (Forbidden Blooms #1)

7. Sloane

7

Sloane

It was so easy to keep breaking Callan’s walls down. I knew exactly how he’d react when I sent that picture, so I was ready for the call. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist watching me play with myself. And when he told me he wanted me, my stomach swirled with butterflies.

I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about him that made me want him so badly. Sure, he was hot— so fucking hot—but it was more than that. He had the foulest mouth and the toughest exterior, constantly trying to close himself off. Was it just the toxic masculinity he’d been taught to hide behind? Every time I chipped away at those walls, I felt a little victory. But really, I didn’t know him all that well, did I? Maybe he just needed time to open up. Maybe trying to jump his bones at every chance I got wasn’t the best way to get to know him…

The thought of my parents being gone for two days filled me with excitement—I wouldn’t have to leave Callan’s side. The real question was, would he want to stay by mine?

We spent half the twenty-minute drive to Georgetown in silence. As we stopped at a red light, I glanced over at him and instinctively placed my hand on his thigh. It felt natural, my palm resting on the fabric of his pants, feeling the muscle underneath. He quickly gave me a sidelong glance, offering a small smile.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly feeling shy.

He smiled back. “Hi.”

“We don’t have to stay long. I don’t really want to go to Georgetown. I’m just going on this tour to appease my parents.”

The light turned green, and he accelerated smoothly.

“Where do you want to go then?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Anywhere you are.

“Berkeley. Or Stanford.”

He nodded. “So, you’ve got your heart set on California?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I want to take my time deciding,” I explained.

He smiled briefly, glancing over at me before returning his focus to the road. “Didn’t take your time deciding on me,” he joked.

I laughed. “You’re about the only thing I’ve ever jumped into. Or onto,” I teased.

He swallowed hard, giving a small nod. “And why’s that?”

I turned to stare out the window. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

The car fell into silence for a moment. “You’re wasting your time on me, Sloane. You could have any man you want.”

I rolled my eyes without meaning to. “I don’t want just any man, Callan. I want you.”

He sighed, the weight of his breath heavy. “I’m the only man you’ve ever had. How do you know you don’t want something else?”

My cheeks grew hot. “So…what? You want me to go fuck other guys before I can decide on you?”

His jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “I don’t even want you looking at another man, Sloane. But it’s not about what I want,” he growled, his voice rough.

My pussy clenched, and I could feel the wetness soaking through my underwear. “So it’s about what I want? Haven’t I made it abundantly clear what that is?” My heart raced with frustration, my voice trembling slightly.

He stayed quiet for a moment before finally speaking. “We’re here.”

* * *

Georgetown was beautiful, but it still didn’t change my mind about not wanting to go there. Callan stayed a few feet behind me and the tour guide, a handsome, eager counselor in his thirties who showed us around with a bit too much enthusiasm.

“We’d love to have you here, Miss Martin,” the counselor said as we wrapped up at the main offices.

“Thanks. It was nice meeting you.” I shook his hand and headed back toward Callan’s SUV.

Ever since Callan made it clear he didn’t want anyone else to have me, all I could think about was him taking me back to his place and properly fucking me. The moment he slid into the driver’s seat, I placed my hand on his thigh again.

“Will you show me your place?” I asked sweetly. “Please?”

He stared at me, as if weighing his options.

“Sloane, you know I can’t do that,” he breathed, his deep, low voice sending a jolt straight between my legs.

I couldn’t help but pout, disappointment clear on my face. His eyes softened.

“You know what will happen if we go to my apartment,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

I sighed, pulling my hand from his thigh as I looked out the window.

“I just want to spend time with you. Can you come back and just…hang out with me?” I asked, almost begging.

“Of course, baby,” he replied softly.

My stomach flipped at the way he called me baby. Hearing him say my name was always a thrill, but this? This was better than anything, especially because he said it outside of sex.

I quickly smiled and turned to him, the sight of his full lips making me crave them all over again. I hadn’t planned on making a move on him at the White House, but now I wasn’t so sure.

On the way back, I connected my phone to the car’s Bluetooth, sharing all of my favorite songs with him. I was a huge fan of female bands from the ‘90s, especially those from the riot grrrl movement, like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile.

I noticed Callan grinning from ear to ear as we listened to “Demirep” by Bikini Kill.

“What?” I laughed, turning the volume down.

“I like it. You’re a good little punk rock riot girl,” he teased with a laugh.

“A good one, huh?” I asked, surprised that he knew about the movement.

He nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me, though. They’re badass, just like you.”

I couldn’t stop beaming. “What music do you like?”

He glanced over at me as we pulled up to the house. “Everything. Rap, hip hop, metal, classical. The Beatles. I’m a man of many tastes.”

He cut the engine, and we lingered in the car for a moment. Now I was grinning just as wide.

“I like getting to know you. What else? Where did you live before you came here?” I asked eagerly.

He looked down at his hands. “Virginia. I was undercover there for a while. Glad to leave it behind, though.”

That piqued my curiosity. “What kind of undercover stuff?”

He side-eyed me, shaking his head. “Stuff I’m not allowed to talk about. Come on, let’s go inside.”

* * *

I led Callan into the hall where bookshelves lined the walls and a grand piano sat off to the side. I sat down at the piano, playing casually while he browsed the books. As I began to play “Let It Be,” I drifted into my own world, softly singing, my eyes closed to fend off any stage fright. After the chorus, I stopped and opened my eyes, realizing Callan was now sitting next to me, his soft, kind eyes locked on me.

“Sloane, you’re amazing,” he whispered, sitting close, though he wasn’t touching me.

My cheeks flushed as I looked down at the keys.

I shrugged. “I play occasionally. When I feel like it.”

He chuckled softly. “The Beatles are my absolute favorite. But the way you just sang it—that’s my favorite version now.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. It was the best compliment I’d ever received. I wanted to kiss him so badly, and it broke my heart that I couldn’t—not here, not now.

“Come on. My room.” I stood quickly and headed down the hallway.

“Sloane,” he called, still rooted to the seat as I glanced over my shoulder.

I stopped and sighed, walking back toward him. “Please. I just want your company. I won’t try to make a move on you. I promise,” I whispered, hoping he’d believe me.

He looked conflicted, glancing down the hallway before letting out a heavy sigh. Finally, he nodded and stood up slowly. “Okay.”

He followed me into my room, and I made sure to lock the door behind us. The space was fairly neat, with touches of my personality scattered throughout—framed photos of old movie stars on the walls, a desk overflowing with journals and books, and several plants hanging by the window. Callan kept his hands in his pockets, glancing around until he stopped at my bookshelf.

“ Birthday Girl ?” he asked, scanning my smut collection. Of course, he’d pick the age gap and forbidden romance shelf.

“Yeah, I…uh, like romance. Spicy romance.” I laughed, kicking off my Converse and sitting on the bed.

He turned to me, eyebrows raised. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

I smiled and rolled my eyes, glancing out the window at the light rain drizzling down.

Changing the subject quickly, he moved to sit in the chair at the far end of the room—putting as much distance between us as possible. “So, how long have you been playing piano?” he asked, crossing his legs and revealing a pair of argyle socks under his black suit. Seeing him like that only made me want him more.

“I don’t know. Ten years?” I guessed. “I taught myself when I was younger.”

Callan looked genuinely surprised. “That’s impressive. You continue to surprise me.” He smiled, his gaze lingering on me.

My cheeks heated up again, his compliments making me feel dizzy with pride.

“What about you? Do you play any instruments?” I leaned back on the bed, letting my legs dangle as I watched him.

“Some guitar. Not very well, though—mostly just for fun.” He shrugged. “I spend most of my time working on my ‘69 Mustang and my motorcycle.”

Why did the fact that he had a motorcycle and a classic car turn me on?

“Well, you’re obviously good with your hands.”

I hoped he’d catch the double meaning, and by the way he narrowed his eyes and flashed a sly smile, I knew he did.

“It’s raining out. You want to watch a rainy-day movie?” I asked casually, though my real hope was to get closer to him, craving the warmth of being near him again.

He was quiet for a moment, staring down at the floor.

“What movie do you have in mind?”

I grabbed my laptop off the nightstand and opened it. “Come help me pick one,” I said with a smile, eager to draw him closer.

Callan didn’t move. I glanced over at him and patted the bed beside me. “I won’t touch you. I swear.”

He let out a heavy sigh—the kind I was starting to expect whenever he felt the need to argue. Slowly, he got up, slipping off his suit jacket and draping it over the chair. He took his time walking to the bed, pausing to look out the window before his gaze finally landed on me.

“Okay. But no romance flicks.”