Getting Schooled (Getting Some #1)(56)

I freeze. Because this is a big deal for us. We were here before, a thousand years ago, when we were young and stupid and invincible. It didn’t end well.

“Callie?”

“I’m on the pill, Garrett.” Her eyes are big and vulnerable. It makes me shake with the need to protect her, from everything and for always. “And I trust you.”

And suddenly, what was playful and dirty . . . becomes something different. Something more and meaningful, and loaded with more emotions than I can name.

Everything I feel for her is right there on my face. How much I want this, how I would die before I ever did anything to hurt her, how I need to know that she means it.

“Are you sure, Cal?”

“I want to . . .” she whispers, taking my hand and bringing it to her breast. “I want to be close to you like that again. Feel you . . . just you and me.”

“It’s only ever been you.”

She smiles softly, understanding. “Me too.”

Callie tugs on my arm and I cover her with my body. The slide of our skin is like the strike of a match, reigniting all that heat—making us burn even hotter. But there’s gentleness now too.

I need her to know how much she means to me, want her to feel it with every move I make.

I cup her face in my hands, then I kiss her soft and I kiss her long. Callie’s hips rise, gyrating, sliding her slick pussy all along my hard shaft—calling to me. I shift back, then drag the head of my cock to her opening. I watch her face as I nudge my hips forward, sinking all the way in, in one full push, until I’m buried to the hilt. Callie’s mouth opens, gasping for air, and she clamps down all around me, clasping me inside her.

And the feel of her . . . Jesus . . . she’s so snug around me, so wet and hot. I feel everything—every breath and beat of her heart. I flex my hips, shallow at first, then longer strokes, pulling almost all the way out, just so I can slide back in.

And it’s so fucking good.

It’s like I lose the ability to form sentences—there are only words, grunts, and gasps. Deeper, yes, harder and more . . . always more. There’s only her gripping heat, my pounding hips, and our moaning, kissing lips.

I thrust faster, harsher, our bodies slapping—and Callie takes it all, clinging to my shoulders until she’s going tight all around me. Squeezing and contracting—she comes whimpering my name against the shell of my ear. And that’s all it takes to push me over. I stroke one last time and then I’m filling her, coming in thick, hot pulses, deep inside her.

We’re silent for a few moments, just holding on to each other, quaking with the aftershocks.

Slowly, I lift my head, finding her eyes, reaching for the words so I can give them to her. “Callie, I . . . I—”

“I love you too, Garrett.” Shiny tears rise in her eyes, making them glisten. “I never stopped. I think I’m going to love you forever.”

I’m already nodding, kissing her. And my voice is thick with all that I feel for her. “I love you, Callie—I always have. Always.”

Later, we lie quiet and content—I’ve set the alarm on my phone, so I can take off in a few hours, before morning. I’m just about to drift off when Callie scrapes her teeth along my shoulder. “Hey, you know what I was just thinking?”

I don’t open my eyes. “How happy you are that I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you?

“Yes, that’s true.” There’s a lovely smile in her voice. “And you know what else?”

“What?”

“We should’ve gotten me a new bed years ago. So much more comfortable than the floor.”

I chuckle. “God bless beds with springs that don’t squeak.”

Callie settles in against me, warm and languid, brushing a good-night kiss against my chest.

“Amen.”





Chapter Seventeen


Callie





In December, the days seem to speed up—rolling, blurring, blending—into each other, a wonderful swirl of school, my parents, and Garrett.

Garrett.

We’re going strong and steady—embedding ourselves into each other’s lives with every passing day. It’s exhilarating—fantastic—I love him, want him, think about him all the time. Some nights I dream of him—sultry, gliding dreams—where I swear I can feel the drag of his lips, the touch of his hand and the hot press of his body. And when I wake up, I get to see him—act out every decadent moment of those dreams.

I know we have to talk about what happens at the end of the year, but we don’t—not yet. Right now we’re just enjoying each other—reveling in this beautiful limbo of the now, with no regrets.

The kids really throw themselves into the show. And with my parents more mobile and on the mend, I have a little more time than I did at the start of the school year. I play music for the kids while we work on painting the sets—the soundtrack to Mamma Mia and another one of my forever favorites, Grease 2. I hear them talk to each other, but more, they talk to me—open up about their home lives, their friends, their dreams, their fears.

Layla’s parents are having money problems and she’s worried their furniture store will go out of business and they’ll have to move. She couldn’t handle being a new girl at a new school, where she doesn’t know anyone. David’s grandmother kicked him out of the house—he didn’t have a real room there anyway, just the couch, he tells me, trying to play it off like it doesn’t bother him, like it doesn’t hurt. But his eyes tell a different story. He swears he’s lucky—he has good friends who let him crash at their places—friends who treat him more like family than his own family ever did.