Page 94 of Dreadful

“Where are we going?” I laugh into his shoulder.

He doesn’t answer, just carries me toward the deepest corner of the yard where shadows swallow the moonlight.

“Here.” He lays me back on the daybed, following me down until his weight settles over me.

Our mouths find each other again, hungry and familiar. His hips slot between mine like they were made to.

I work his board shorts down with impatient hands, fabric clinging wetly to his skin. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gaze dark and searching. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice rough. “No expectations.”

My thumb traces the stubble along his jaw. “Is anyone home?”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “We’ve got hours.”

I bite my lip and feel a smile curl at the edges. “Then I’m sure.”

He pushes my leg up gently, hand cupping behind my knee. “You are so fucking beautiful, you know that?” he murmurs, his dark gaze locked on me.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trailing my hands up along his forearms. “So are you, you know.”

He chuckles, this low, sultry rumble, and I swear to god, I can feel the sound in my core.

I feel the broad head of his cock at my entrance, and when he presses inside of me, there’s one breathless moment where alarm zips through me like a live wire.

“Jesus, Gage.” My eyes fly open, wide with a flicker of alarm. It’s been so long, and I don’t remember him feeling this big.

He stills, one hand cupping my knee, the other tracing slow circles that make my hips jump.

“Don’t worry, Bells,” he says, that familiar smirk tilting his mouth. “It’ll fit.”

“Bellamy,” he groans, low, and his forehead drops to my shoulder.

“Okay, move,” I say, rocking my hips a little.

He pants against my neck—one breath, another—his hips locked still. “Just give me a second.”

Now it’s my turn to smirk. I clench around him, and he hisses through his teeth, fingers digging into my waist. That look on his face, the way his mouth hangs slack and helpless—it’s everything.

Satisfaction unfurls throughout my body, and I know I’m going to remember this moment for a long, long time.

I pull him down, fuse our mouths together once more, and roll us over until he’s flat on his back, and I’m straddling him.

I tip my head back and let the moonlight hit my face. The stars are out. The night air moves over my skin, and I feel it—the shedding of everything that isn’t this: Gage beneath me, his heartbeat under my palm, the slow drag of him every time I sink down.

My throat closes up like I could cry from the freedom of it. Or come from it. Maybe both.

Gage groans under me, low and wrecked, his hands wandering up my sides, over my ribs, tracing my spine like I’m something to be cherished and taken care of.

He watches me like the world could be on fire, and still, he wouldn’t tear his gaze from me.

It feeds this wild, dangerous part of me—all the Calloways do. And tonight I can’t make myself be afraid of it.

I palm my breasts, roll my nipples between two fingers, and sensation arrows straight down to my clit. A low moan tumbles out of me. I let my head fall back again and work my hips over Gage in a steady, slow rhythm.

Movement near the house catches my attention. I glance toward it, expecting to see a leaf or a light on. But instead, it’s a silhouette.

For a heartbeat, fear winds around my neck, but as soon as the figure starts walking, it releases. He moves across the patio, around the pool, and directly under the low, warm glow of the lights.

Bishop.