I grin, running out of the studio and onto the landing. Looking over the handrail of the bannister, I find him leaning against kitchen doorframe, looking up at me with a huge, cheesy grin plastered across his own face, too. “There she is,” he says. “What are you up to, bluebird?”
“Tidying. What are you up to? You’re not meant to get back until tomorrow.” I run down the stairs and throw my arms around his next, laughing as he kisses my face, all over my cheeks, my forehead and my temples.
“I got an earlier flight. I wanted to see you,” he tells me. “I missed you. And I know you missed me. Your vibrator’s probably got steam coming off it from all the over-use.”
“Hey! So cheeky.” I slap his arm, but he’s kind of right. I’m so used to having regular, twice-daily sex with him now that going without it for a week is pretty damn tough. “Why didn’t you call me? I could have come and picked you up at the airport.”
“Because I wanted to surprise you.” He kisses the end of my nose. “Today’s our anniversary.”
I panic for a moment, wondering how the hell I could have forgotten, but then I realize he’s wrong. We’ve only been together ten months. Ten months since my father died. Ten months since I ended things with Ben, and Callan ended things with Rae. Ten months of pure bliss together. “I’m afraid you’re a little premature,” I tell him, tugging his bottom lip between my teeth.
Callan’s eyes sparkle in the most dangerous way. “When have you ever known me to be premature, bluebird,” he whispers. Sliding his hand inside my shirt, he traces his fingers up until they hit my bra. He pinches my nipple through the thin fabric, making me shiver.
“We’ve been together less than a year,” I tell him. “We’ve still got another nine weeks until August. So now. You’re premature now.” I can hardly concentrate on what I’m saying though. Having his hands on me is very distracting, especially when he’s cupping and kneading my breasts. He fixes me in his gaze, staring at me hungrily as he makes me pant.
“It’s our ten month anniversary,” he says, smiling. “And I can’t wait any longer to give you your gift, I’m afraid. But first…” He claims me with his mouth, pressing his lips over mine, his tongue darting past my teeth to lick and taste me. He holds me close to him, his hands strong, one on my lower back, the other cupping the back of my neck as he kisses me. It’s an intense kiss. A Hollywood kiss that leaves me breathless, flustered and turned on in equal parts. Callan eventually stops trying to make me come with his mouth alone and he takes a step back. “Come up to the tank,” he says. “I have something I want to show you.”
The tank is the name he gave to his permanent dark room on the second floor. I arch an eyebrow at him, sending him a bemused look. “What’s it worth?”
“It’s worth me not putting you over my knee and spanking you for being insubordinate. That good enough?” He looks like he’s actually thinking about that, though, and from the expression on his face he thinks it would be a great idea. Maybe he wants me to be insubordinate after all.
“I guess I’d better get moving then, huh?”
Callan slaps me on the ass as I turn and run up the stairs. He gives me a head start and then comes charging after me, thundering up the stairs. I throw a glance over my shoulder to see if he’s gaining on me and I catch him almost falling over as he hits the top landing and skids in his socks. I can’t help myself; I let out a bark of laughter and Callan swears. “You’ll pay for that, Taylor.”
I squeal, dashing down the hallway. I reach the door to the tank two seconds before Callan—long enough for me to duck inside the room and try to slam the door on him, but not long enough to be successful. He jams his body in the gap, laughing like a maniac as I try to push him out and close the door.
“Give in gracefully and I’ll let you keep you panties on when I spank you,” he says.
“Never.” I’m panting, out of breath, ribs aching from laughing so hard.
“So be it.” He gives the door an almighty shove and I can’t keep him out any longer. I stagger back and he prowls into the room, staring up at me from under his dark brows, a predator on the hunt for his prey. “You’re in trouble now,” he says.
I have nowhere to go. I glance around the room, looking for an escape route past him, but the tank isn’t all that big and it’s cluttered with developing benches and digital print equipment. There was a time when I would have freaked out in this situation. If Ben had tried chasing me about, threatening me with a spanking, I would have blacked out. I probably would have stabbed him with a kitchen knife. Things are different with Callan, though. I trust him implicitly. He will never hurt me. He’ll never do anything to endanger me. He takes a step forward, holding up his hands. He looks like he’s surrendering, but I can see the wicked glint in his eyes and I know better.