Page 54 of Twisted Bonds
But as I turn to go, the handle to the door twists, and Callum’s bleary gaze falls on me. In an instant their wide, fully awake as he throws open the door to take me in top to bottom, as if scanning me for injury.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry-”
I trail off, heat prickling up my chest. I shouldn’t have come here. Without a word, he grabs my wrist and pulls me into his room. It’s much smaller than mine but still very cozy. A plush maroon area rug covers most of the marble floors. A canopy bed carved from rich mahogany with long drapes on either side sits in the middle of the far wall.
But the thing that catches my eye is the balcony on the far wall. I smile at the well-worn chair surrounded by stacks of books, like an outdoor reading nook.
“What’s the smile for?” Callum asks, glancing over his shoulder towards my gaze. “Ah, my haven.”
I simply nod and settle onto the edge of his bed, looking around a bit more. The room is littered with books and scrolls, most of them piled haphazardly on every available surface.
“Looks like you’ve been living here for years, not days,” I tease him as he takes the spot beside me. The heat of him pressing into my side makes me acutely aware of how close we are, how scantily clad I am under this robe, and how very much alone we are in the dead of night.
“Are you… cold?” He asks suddenly, a faint blush spreading across his usually stoic face, as if he just realized the same thing. He quickly averts his gaze as if my barely clothed form has suddenly become a dangerous minefield.
“No,” I respond, crossing my arms self-consciously. The silence that falls between us is so thick I could probably cut it with a knife. He coughs awkwardly, and I almost laugh at his discomfort. Callum, the great scholar, brought down by a simple bathrobe. Fate has a weird sense of humor.
“Callum, have you heard the words nin anto anna before?”
He shifts uncomfortably beside me. “Where did you hear that?”
Shrugging, I try to act more nonchalant than I feel. “Tairyn called me that. I figured it’s a cuss word, and I usually try to learn a language’s curses first.”
I give him a mischievous grin, but he doesn’t return it. Instead, his eyes glaze over, as if seeing something in the distance. “Not a curse.”
Not wanting to press him, I let silence fall around us, but it's not our usual comfortable quiet. Urged on by the desire to fill the space, I ask “Is he the one who gave you that scar?”
I regret the words almost immediately, seeing the shame flash across his face. His fingers fly to his cheek, caressing the puckered scar. Finally, he responds by shaking his head. “It happened right before I met him. A bar fight if you can believe it. The owner had a wondering eye and a grabby hand with the servant girls. I was much smaller than him, but it didn’t stop me from trying.” He lets out a sad sigh. “It didn’t help them in the end anyway, so it was meaningless, I suppose.”
“It’s never meaningless to stand up for what you think is right.”
Meeting my gaze, he bobs his head. “I know.”
My hand finds his, the way we often sit in comfortable silence in our long talks of everything and nothing. But this seems different somehow, and I realize that I want it to be different.
I stroke my thumb across the back of his knuckles, making a slow circle as I lift my gaze to his. A subtle invitation. His throat bobs as he turns to face forward, completely motionless as I caress his hand.
Pausing, I ask, “Is this okay?”
Eyes still locked on something across the room, he nods once with enthusiasm, but stays silent. I can’t help but chuckle at his reaction, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a nervous tension that’s surprisingly endearing. All I want to do is close the small distance between us, but I continue tracing patterns on his hand, my heart pounding in my chest like a wild drum.
After a few moments, I bring my fingers to his chin and turn him to face me. He looks incredibly, achingly vulnerable in this moment. His hooded eyes are a tempest of emotions that I can’t quite decipher. A heady cocktail of desire, confusion, and a touch of fear.
“Callum,” I find myself whispering, my voice barely above a hush, as if terrified to break the spell that’s fallen over us.
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the pressure. “Yes?” His voice comes out shaky, unsteady.
“Can I kiss you?”
His face is a thunderstorm, electric and charged with a passion that had been simmering beneath the surface. Like a dam breaking, his face rushes towards mine with an urgency and intensity that overwhelmed every sense. His lips meet mine with a raw and urgent hunger. It's a kiss that feels like the return from a long journey, a homecoming that ignites a fire within us both.
I moan into his mouth, feeling his body respond to me.
My hands reach up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his fingers clutch the fabric of my robe, holding me against him. His touch is scorching, making me forget everything but the feel of his mouth on mine.
I scoot further onto the bed, dragging him with me. As he moves to hover over me, the tension in the room shifts from nervous anticipation to raw, unfiltered desire. But he hesitates, staring deep into my eyes. “I’ve never… I…I don’t… uhmm-”
I almost laugh at his stammering, the scholar at a loss for words because of me. I’ve never taken anyone’s virginity before. Even my high school boyfriend had someone before me. My heart swells at the idea of being his first. Instead, I say, “It’s okay. We don’t have to rush anything.”