It’s been almost two weeks since Callan’s been in my life. He’s the only reason I frequented Seven Sins so much. I know his brother owns the club. Carrick is an enigma, and now that he’s engaged to Peyton, he’s even more wanted. I’ve overheard women talk about how they wanted to snag him up. They want what Peyton has, and as much as I agree that Carrick is handsome, it’s his older brother who’s stolen my attention.

“Good morning, Blossom.” A deep rumble startles me from reading in the early morning sunshine streaming through my window.

When my eyes lift to the doorway, Callan’s handsomely rugged face makes my stomach flutter wildly. “What are you doing?” He stalks closer, setting a mug on the nightstand.

Coffee.

“You’ve brought me coffee?”

“You’re running a tad late,” he says, his bodyguard demeanor sliding into place. That’s when I allow my gaze to really look at him. Dressed in his uniform — a white button-up that seems to be stretched over tightly packed muscle, along with the dark slacks all my father’s entourage wears — he looks ever the professional.

“How can I be late?”

“To meet with your little friend, Amber.” He says her name with distaste all over his features. As if it tastes foul on his tongue.

I push up in bed, leaning my back on the headboard and lift the mug of steaming hot liquid to my mouth. “You don’t like her?” I ask, after taking a tentative sip.

He scowls, which causes me to giggle. Dark eyes meet mine. “She’s a bad influence,” he mutters, settling on the small stool at my vanity. He looks strange sitting there. A big man on the tiny white chair.

“Everyone is an influence on others. It’s up to you if you allow them to have that control over you.”

He stares at me for a long while before nodding, then offering his response. “Seems like my little flower is pretty intelligent for a little girl.”

“And I’ve told you before, I’m not—”

“I know, baby girl, I just enjoy watching that fire blaze in your eyes when I annoy you,” he says. The side of his mouth kicks up into a full-blown smirk that has me shifting under the covers.

“Fuck you, Callan,” I bite out, teasing him, taunting him, and he smirks.

“Say that again, baby girl,” he threatens with a deep growl, animalistic and feral. And it’s so damn sexy all I want is for him to devour me.

“Fuck. You. Callan.” I know I’m provoking the beast, but I’m aching for him.

He moves swiftly, pulling me off the bed, bending me over the edge until he can tug at my panties. Once they’re sitting at my thighs, he rains down six harsh swats on my ass until I’m a trembling mess.

My knees are still shaky when he pulls my panties up and straightens me. Then, with a gentle touch on my chin, lifting it slightly so I’m looking directly into his eyes, he tells me, “Now, the next time you’re bratty, I’ll do that in public.”

“You’re—”

“Insufferable? An arsehole? Save it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, bringing his lips to mine. “I’ve heard it all before. You want this” — he gestures between us with his index finger — “then you’ll have to get over the fact that I want to fuck you senseless anywhere and everywhere.”

He brushes his lips over mine. It’s a gentle yet commanding gesture. My ass is still stinging from my punishment, but it’s a delicious kind of pain. The kind I crave.

Callan has a way of stealing my breath, gripping my heart as if he’s just pulled it from my chest. His tongue darts into my mouth, licking at mine. We’re in a duel for more. Aching and needy, I press my body against his hard one. My soft curves mold to him as if I’m a second skin.

When he pulls away, I’m staring up at him with nothing more than short, quick breaths. Gently, he swipes at my cheeks. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

“You like seeing me cry?”

The corner of his mouth quirks into a grin, a smirk that makes his face light up with hunger. “I like seeing you lost in pleasure. And I like knowing that I’m the one who gave it to you.”

“You act like you want to claim and own me,” I counter, folding my arms in front of my chest to keep myself guarded, but it’s an act. I know that because there’s nowhere I can go, nothing I can do to stop my feelings for this man.

“All of you, even your pretty little pussy and ass too.” He chuckles, earning him a swat from me.

“Do you have to be so vulgar?”

“Blossom, you love it when I’m vulgar. In fact.” He leans in, his mouth latching onto my neck, his teeth biting down as he sucks the flesh into his mouth so hard it elicits a yelp from me. He pulls away, admiring his handiwork. “You love when I’m filthy because you’re a dirty little girl.” He steps back, releasing me from his hold.

“So, what do we do now?”

“Now you go shower, get dressed, and we need to go shopping for a dress. The charity ball your father requested I escort you to is tomorrow,” he says.

“Shit, I forgot about it. Do I have to go?”

“Yes. He won’t be there, so he needs you to represent the Parker family,” Callan offers.

“And you’re my plus one?” I question incredulously.

He nods easily as if it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. This is something. This is . . .

“It’s work, Madison, not a date,” he assures me as if he can see my mind working rapidly at the thought of dating him.

“I never said it was.” My retort is met with a chuckle.

“You think I can’t see how your pretty little head works, Blossom?” He leans closer as if he’s about to impart some wisdom upon me. “I know what that filthy little mind of yours desires. I’ve been around far longer than you have, and I know exactly what a woman wants and needs.”

“You’re overly confident, Mr. O’Leary,” I tell him. “I would suggest you don’t assume what’s going on in my head, because I’m not that transparent.” I smile, placing my hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away.

He’s a savage. And I want more. So much more. My phone hisses with a text message from the nightstand, breaking our contact, and I wonder if it’s my dad or if it’s my best friend. I’m about to pick it up when the chirpy ringtone I set as my father’s sings to me.

“Hi, Daddy,” I answer, settling myself on the edge of the bed.

Callan narrows his gaze, watching me intently, and I can see the inner workings of his mind. He’s going to do something.

“Pumpkin, how are you?” He sounds genuinely concerned. It’s not like him, but I let the smile on my lips stay because it feels good to have him actually worry about me.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I respond as my bodyguard kneels on the floor at my feet. His big, rough hands push my knees apart, opening me to his stare.

I shake my head, but he just shrugs. Even though I attempt to press my legs closed, he’s too strong, and I fail miserably.

“That’s good. When I get back, we should go out to the lake house and spend some quality time together,” he says, his tone even more pressing. Something urgent causes me to frown.

“That sounds good.” My response drops when Callan leans in and trails the wet tip of his tongue over my sensitive inner thigh. He continues to copy the action on the other leg, and my body responds in kind.

“Listen, that charity ball tomorrow night. I need you to collect an award they’ll be announcing, and I’ve just spoken to Hudson—”

“I’m not going with him,” I whimper into the phone when my tormentor grazes my panty-clad clit with his teeth.

“What’s happened?”

“He’s an asshole, Dad,” I retort hotly. Anger at the memory of what Hudson did races through me, mixed with desire from Callan’s ministrations on my pussy swirling through me.  My hand pushing at his head, but it’s no use. The man is on a mission to make me come while I’m on the phone.

“Language, young lady!”

“Sorry, but he was here a few days ago, and . . . Well, and he hurt me.”

“What?” The tone of my father’s voice rises an octave as it drips with incredulousness. “Was O’Leary there? Did he sort him out?”

“Callan was here,” I mumble as the man in question slips a finger into my hot core, pumping the digit in slow movements. In and out. “He . . . he . . . I mean, he helped,” I manage to voice before another finger enters me.

“Good. I’ll be talking to Hudson. He was always such a good boy,” my father responds, sounding truly saddened by the change in my now ex-boyfriend.

My body arches as Callan lashes my wet lips with his tongue. “Can I call you tomorrow?” I ask, hoping my father will hang up.

“Yes, honey. I’ll be in meetings most of the morning, but call me after lunch. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better father,” he tells me as my peak rises. I’m about to leap from the cliff when my father sighs once more. “I love you, pumpkin.”

“I love you too,” I respond, my tone clearly raspy.

“Always.” He hangs up as Callan’s fingers crook inside me, hitting that special spot that sees sparks flying from all around me. My toes curl into the mattress, and I cry out his name, over and over again. I’m on my back, arching from the mattress as I claw at the bedspread, gripping it with white knuckles.

As I slowly come down from my euphoric high, I open my eyes to find the culprit of my orgasm smirking down at me.

“Like I said, Blossom, I have no morals. Perhaps next time, you can call me Daddy while I fuck that pretty little arse. Get dressed, we’re leaving in twenty.” With that, he rises and leaves me to finish my coffee and smile at his filthy mouth.

But I can’t deny he’s right. I want him. I want this more than I should, and I know it’s only going to end in tears because he isn’t going to work for my father forever, and soon, he’ll want to go back to England.

That thought tightens an ache in my chest.

It’s been over a month since I’ve last cut myself. Since Callan, I’ve not even had an inkling to do it. With him, I forget all the shit in my mind. I leave behind the darkness and look forward. My fingertips instinctively move to the scars. The various silver marks that line my otherwise smooth skin.

I’m not her anymore.

I close my eyes and pray, I’m not her anymore.