But tonight there’s no trace of any of those. Tonight, as Callum and I pull at each other with eager hands, yanking our clothes from our bodies, it is perfection.

Perfect is the way his hands grip my hips, steadying me as I grind myself on his lap, only the thin fabric of our underwear separating us. Perfect is his tongue teasing my tongue, refusing to stop, spurred on by how many times I moan and cry out. Perfect is my hands lost in his hair, his throaty groans every time I tug. Perfect is that stripped-down look in his flawless hazel eyes every time our gazes connect, letting me know that this means something to him too.

Soon we’ve shed all fabric. Inside I’m burning, aching, begging for release. So I reach between his legs to guide him inside of me.

“Wait,” he blurts, then reaches to the other end of the couch where his rumpled trousers lie.

He glances at the empty spot on the couch where Lemon was sitting. “We must have scared her off.”

We both share a chuckle as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, then he pulls out a condom. I swipe it from him, rip the wrapper open with my teeth, then lean back as I slide it on.

Callum fists the arm of the couch and grits his teeth as I make my move. “Fucking hell, Nikki, that’s . . .”

“Perfection,” I let out in a breathy voice. I groan at how he stretches me out in the best possible way.

With both hands on my cheeks, he pulls me to his face once more. “Exactly.”

I start out slowly, moving up and down with both of my hands on his shoulders for leverage. It’s barely a minute before Callum flashes that hyperconcentrated look in his eyes. He leans up. With one hand on my hip and the other still cupping my face, the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“Nikki. I . . .”

The new angle hits a deep spot, and I fall forward, barely able to contain myself. My lips land on his, cutting him off. I start to kiss him until I’ve got no more air in my lungs.

I direct my hand down low to that spot that’s been on fire ever since I straddled Callum. Right now it’s begging, pleading for attention. I move my hand softly at first, swirling a slow rhythm until the heat morphs into pressure.

Callum’s eyes fall to where my hand is. “Yes. Just like that,” he growls.

Faster and faster I swirl until every blink gives way to blurry vision. Then it comes.

Through all the convulsing, all the whimpering, all the panting, one thing is clear: this climax is perfection, and the reason why is because it’s with Callum.