He pulls it over my head. I grab his hair as his lips run down my neck.

“Callan,” I breathe. I arch my back.

He strokes his hand down my bare torso and abdomen. “I like that,” he says. He looks at my mouth for a whole minute, then his hand cups my jaw. His eyes are a mixture of hunger, amusement, and tenderness. He leans over and kisses me, slipping his tongue into my mouth slowly this time, as if I’m irresistible. Meant to be savored.

He unfastens my bra and tugs it off, then rubs the hard point of my nipple with his thumb. I run my fingers down his abs.

Callan is the kind of guy who has perfect genetics, who is muscled naturally, athletic and gifted and gorgeous.

I can feel every one of those muscles under my fingertips right now as I head for his cock.

He groans when I slip my fingers into his slacks and find him hot, so hard against his boxers.

I rub a little, loving when he groans again.

And he kisses me.

He eases his hand into his boxers and pulls out his cock and rubs it against my thigh with a greedy thrust.

Shit! I’m so ready I’m trembling—literally trembling from the heat in my body and the cool air in the room. He pushes his slacks down and then is naked.

“Ohhhhh,” I groan, and as a reward, he tongues me.

I drag my bare feet up the back of his calves.

I inhale sharply when he tugs my skirt up my thighs. His fingers edge into my inner thigh, sure and determined.

I rock my hips as his fingertip teases me through my panties.

He’s a living, breathing candy and right now he’s all for me.

He starts kissing my lips again as he eases his fingers into my panties and starts rubbing my folds. I don’t know how to feel, how to react, my world is spinning a thousand miles a minute, there is no bed beneath me, nothing but my arms around his neck, clenching, and his hot mouth, and his expert touch.

His strong hands circle my waist and lift me to sit up on the bed. He tugs my panties off along with my skirt. Says, “I think I should get in here and look for some freckles.”

He turns me slightly to look at the back of my shoulders.

The touch of his fingertips against my bare skin feels like the most divine thing in the world. He bends his dark head and takes the back of my neck in his mouth, suckling gently. My body arcs and twists in pleasure. “This is my favorite one,” he says as he shifts me slowly around and takes my breast in his mouth. “And this one.” He’s got me fully facing him now as he takes my other nipple and sucks it even harder.

God, I might not survive tonight but I’ll die having an orgasm. Sex has never been like this. I’ve never been mindless for it—for a guy. For him. I spread my legs open to make room for him and clutch his hair and twine my legs around him.

“Please,” I beg.

His voice is thick with desire too. “Olivia, did you mean what you said? No man has ever made you come before?”

Please god, make Callan stop saying the word come.

I struggle with the wave of desire surging through me and arch up against him. “I meant it at the time but that’s not the case anymore.”

His eyes shine tenderly as he thumbs back a loose strand of hair behind my forehead. “I want to do more things to you. Make you writhe all night. Make you come for all the times a man has touched you and you haven’t.”

“Okay. Challenge accepted,” I pant. “There’ve been like a hundred men.”

“A hundred men?” he repeats, smiling because he knows I’m just being greedy.

I bob my head up and down and bite my lip.

His eyes remain heavy, but his lips curl into a sensual smile as he crawls up to me. “Liar, liar, your tongue’s on fire.” He licks his tongue into my mouth and slips his hand between my legs.

Bolts of heat shoot from his fingertips slickly caressing my folds and up my whole body. Through the haze of desire coming over me, I absently realize that he’s got the best hands in the world and smells the best, feels the best, tastes the best. I’ve never felt like this.

I never want this moment to end.

I’m on a high I never want to come down from.

I’m flying.

So high, this is dangerous and definitely not good for me—and I still want it. I want more of it, of Callan Bad Boy Carmichael.

He licks my lips. “You’re coming so fast, so hard, and so very frequently tonight there won’t be a day that you come and not think of me.” He licks me again, a flick of his tongue. Warm. Wet.

He plays me with his fingers.

“Open up to me, Olivia,” he murmurs into my mouth.

The tip of his cock replaces his fingers.

And I do.

I lie in my bed on Saturday, still buzzing head to toe, my body humming with arousal, my lips tasting of Callan.

My phone rings. I start when I see an unfamiliar number on the screen and quickly pick up, dreading for it to be him. Dreading for it to not be him.

He left while I was sleeping.

That can’t be good.

I answer but remain silent on the line.

There’s a corresponding silence for a moment, then he speaks, and his voice trails over me, so warm and textured, I close my eyes for a moment.

“You have a good time last night?”

“Yes.”

“So did I.”

I stare out the window. “Really? Why did you leave?”

“I had breakfast with my dad.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “So this . . . this attraction between us. We can make it go away, right?”

He laughs.

“Callan. I’m going back home soon, I wasn’t really looking for anything else. When I seduced you I was buzzed and you were this hot stranger I loved talking to.”

“You don’t like talking to me now?” There’s amusement in his voice and this odd husky tenderness.

“Actually I do,” I quickly explain. “But I don’t want to be attracted to you. I want to focus on work. No distractions. It seemed a good idea to just get each other out of our systems.”

“Is it working for you?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Let me know when you do.”

“Okay.”

“Good night, freckles.”

“Good night, Callan.”

I hang up and stare at the phone. Freckles? What does it mean? Does it mean we’ll go on? No. There is no way we can go on. I text him early the next morning after a sleepless night.

No regrets, but tomorrow you’re Mr. Carmichael. And that’s what you’ll be from now on.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Miss Roth.

The next weekend, the interns are ready for our night out, and I’m ready for fun. I’m all dressed up in a skimpy, cute little black dress, red heels, a long, simple gold necklace and a pair of bangles, my hair loose.

“I’m so ready to dance!” I say. I want to forget Callan and dance my sexual frustration away.

“Change of plans. George’s brother can get us into Havoc, a very exclusive club only the VIPs of the city go to, mostly all single.” Janine wiggles her brows as we ride a cab toward the club.

“Just give me a song and a dance floor. And a drink,” I say.

“I’ll dance with you,” says George.

“Thanks, George.” Then I notice Janine doesn’t look too pleased about it.

We hop out of the cab. The driveway outside the club is lined with fancy cars.

There, among the long line, is my brother’s Rolls-Royce Ghost.

God. Really? Fuck! I panic. “Wait!” I grab Janine by the arm.

“A problem, Roth?” George asks me.

I hesitate, then exhale. I don’t want my brother to be disappointed, but I’m sure he doesn’t want me at the clubs just for my protection, not because he doesn’t want me to have fun. Plus I’m feeling homesick. I’ve never slept in an empty apartment. I’ve always lived with my parents before. And I don’t want to think of freaking Callan.

I shake my head. It’s a big city, and a big club, and I’ll just find my own little corner of it to dance in.

Once we’re let inside by the bouncer after George tells him his brother’s name, I scan the crowd and see Tahoe is standing by a group that’s sitting in a booth. He glances at his watch as Regina hugs one of the girls goodbye, then wraps an arm around her waist and leads her away.