“So, Callie,” JC said, rolling to his side, a hand slowly dancing down her body. She marked the page of the book she was reading with her thumb, and swatted his hand away.

“I'm sore, stop it.”

“I was just going to ask what you were doing for the holiday? You're not going home. Right?”

“Hell, no.”

Callie hadn't spoken to her mother or stepfather since the day she cut them off. She had never felt so light, so free. She was increasingly happy, and the anger that had built up for so many years had dissipated, which was having a very desirable effect on her relationship. She was far from warm and sweet, but Callie liked that she was more sassy and spunky than spoiled and bratty. Sometimes.

“So, do you want to go to Florida when we go? My parents want you to come. And my sister wants to meet you.”

“I'll think about it,” she said, returning to her book.

“Calpernia.”

“Joshua.”

“What? Am I tying you down again?”

“Will you stop it with that? I just-- I don't know if I'm working or anything. Do you mind if I don't answer you right away? You're so demanding.” She poked his shoulder and pushed him so he laid back. She set her book down on the side table and climbed atop him, straddling his waist.

“I'm demanding? I'm demanding.”

“Yes, you're demanding, Producer Man. How's the music coming? Push, push.”

JC laughed, almost regretting asking her to not let him give in. “It's coming. It's coming along nicely. I'm just taking my time.”

“So when is your meeting?”

“Two weeks and counting.”

“I can't wait. You're gonna knock 'em dead,” she said, dipping her head to capture his lips in a kiss.

“Cal,” he said, when she sat up again.

“Hmmm,” she mumbled, smoothing down the hair on his chest.

“I'm happy,” he said, very simply, without a lot of emotion or fanfare, but with so much sincerity that she had to stop and take a breath. “I’m happy,” he repeated. “With you.”

He stared up at her. Callie sat motionless, then gulped, her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she whispered, “Me, too. I'm scared of how happy I am. I mean, the bottom has to drop out eventually, right? Something… has to happen. This can’t be like, it ‘till the end of time.”

“Don't be scared. Do what you want,” he whispered back, stroking her cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with being happy.”

“Had you not been happy, before me?”

“Sort of,” he said, running his hands up and down her waist. “I was okay. I'm just much happier right now.”  

“Uhm. So,” Callie started, nervously etching a random design in the skin on his chest. “Let's say, not saying I did, but let's say I was to write a song for you. How would you, uh, feel, about that?”

His eyes brightened and he smiled, though he tried to be casual, nonchalant about it. “How would I feel about rocker chick, prolific songwriter, number one artist, Callie Phelps writing a song for me? I think I'd be honored and flattered, if she did. Not saying she did.”

“Right. Not saying I did. But if I did, maybe we could go over it, tomorrow?” She smiled shyly, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth, and slid her hands up his arms, around his shoulders and clasped them behind his neck.

He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close to him. “Sure, if you did write me a song, I’d love to go over it tomorrow.”

“Okay. I think I'm less sore, now,” she said, the green eye giving him a wink before she leaned down to kiss him.

###

Hands shaking, Callie slid onto the bench in front of the Baby Grand piano. JC sat in a chair behind her -- she insisted she couldn't play and sing if he was next to her, so she made him move. Instinctively, her fingers danced over the keys and played a sweet, lilting melody. Callie's voice was haunting and driven as she sang the lyrics that had come to her days before, lyrics that told a story about a second chance, another try, one more time, a song she had entitled ‘Again’.  The song slowed toward the end, almost sad as the chorus repeated and, then it was over.

She laid her hands in her lap and didn't dare breathe, waiting for him to say something. For a few seconds, there was nothing, and then she heard him rise from the chair. Silently, he sat on the bench next to her.

“So. It's okay,” he said, with a shrug, nodding. He picked up the worn, tattered page of notes and lyrics and read it over.

'He’d better be joking. I put my heart into that thing!' she thought to herself. She let her head turn slowly toward him, and lifted her eyes to his. “Okay? What's wrong with it?”

“Well first of all, it's a duet. Obviously.”

She blinked. “Is it, now?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded. “And, uh, the notes on your second verse are too low, too flat, for the strength of the lyrics. You should bring it up like, half a step; the music should follow the emotion.”

“Okay.” She blinked, several times, thinking a compliment had better be coming soon, or she was leaving. He just sat there, though, reading the lyrics through again, frowning at the page, and then looked over at her.

Suddenly, a wide grin burst across his face and he laughed. “You were supposed to freak out, babe!”

Callie wilted, almost ready to cry. “Oh. You’re an ass.”

He laughed, a long loud laugh from his belly, until a smile broke across her face and she laughed, too.

“It's beautiful, Callie,” he said, finally, laying an arm around her shoulder. “I like it a lot. I do. Really.”

She leaned forward, resting her head against the shiny wood surface. “You are not funny. I thought you hated it. I was about to cry.”

“I know. I was just messing with you. I love it. But it's a ballad. You hate ballads.”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “It just wouldn't leave me alone, though.” She played the second verse, a half step higher as he suggested. He nodded, and gave her thumbs up.

“That's because you're turning into a pop tart.”

“I’m tired of you. Go away.” She pushed him off of the bench, laughing, and picked up the sheet music and a pencil to make the edit.

“So, do you want me to work with you on it, so you can sing it with me?” He stretched out on the floor where he landed, a hand behind his head, one ankle crossed over the other.

She turned to look at him, lounging on the floor as if he'd meant to be doing so. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, what if... I mean, this song will live forever somewhere and ten years from now you'll hear it and it will remind you of me.”

“And the problem with that would be what?”

“Well... what if... I mean...” What if she got scared, again and they split up? What if, in ten years, he didn't still know her?

“Callie, don't worry about ten years from now. For all we know, in ten years you'll still be calling me a fucker.”

“And you’ll still be messing with me. I'll think about it,” she said, getting up from the piano bench and filing the song away.

“Calpernia.”

“What!? You always call me that when I don't do what you want. Get up from there, I'm hungry.”

###

JC glanced above him toward the vaulted ceilings of the empty condo that Callie was touring. He noted dust and cracks in the ceiling, and peeling paint near the fan. “So, I guess this means you're not staying with me?”

“We talked about this. I'm just looking, J. I appreciate the offer, I just, you know, I like to be able to go home when I want. I need a place for all my stuff to live.”

JC opened and closed cabinets, peered under each sink at the plumbing, kicked at the scuffs in the wood floors. Altogether, he wasn't impressed.

“You don't like it,” she said, reading his face as they stepped back into the car.

“You don't, either,” he said, reading hers.

“Complete dump. Next.”

A few more tours through a few more substandard units was making JC cranky. They parked in front of a new development that the Real Estate Agent insisted that Callie had to see. “This is the last one, Calpernia. Then I need to get back.”

“I know, I know. Let's just look through it really quick, if we don't like anything in the first five minutes, we're out. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed and they piled out of the car.

“These residences are brand new, just opened for sale. You're one of the first to look at one,” the Agent bragged. “The floors are genuine hardwood and stone, floor to ceiling windows give you a lot of light. It's very open and comfortable, kind of chic. It's also very eco- friendly, using natural light when possible.”

Callie glanced through the freshly built living space, impressed with the design. It was a little preppy, but it was the best she'd seen, so far. JC didn't look impressed but the look of disgust was gone.

“There is a patio and pool upstairs, private elevator, gathering rooms if you like. Private storage, secured parking, and the building has round-the-clock security on staff. Anything else you'd like to know?”

“What's the price range? And the clientele?” Callie blushed. “I mean. Obviously I want to make sure I have privacy and not have nosy neighbors. And what about a piano, would I be able to have one?”

The Agent didn't miss a beat. “Price range is eight hundred thousand to one point five million, depending on the unit. Each owner is hand interviewed and approved. These aren't your neighborhood condos, miss. Baby Grand is probably fine; a Grand piano would be tricky. You would need approval for it, I imagine, but the construction is sturdy.”

Callie took another turn about the unit, taking it all in, standing at the floor to ceiling windows and viewing bustling Wilshire Boulevard below. JC followed her, quiet, hands in his pockets, leaning against the door jamb. The Agent stepped into the hallway to take a phone call.

“What do you think, rocker chick?”

“Price is nice. I think it's austere, but maybe if I decorate it right--” she turned to look at him, and didn't like the expression on his face. “J, don't. I’m not moving to LA to live with you. I know you want me to but I wasn't planning on it. You know I'll be there a lot.”

“Yeah. I just thought, you know, you'd take your time and stay with me awhile before you started looking. That's all.” He paced in front of the window.

“Well,” she said, compromising. “I'm not in a hurry. No one says I have to buy a place today. Eventually, though, you'll have an album out, and you'll be touring and I'm supposed to hang out at your house with your brother?”

He smiled at her newfound optimism, which wasn’t really so newfound, since she’d been so pushy about him getting back to music. “I hadn't thought that far ahead, but it's not like he would mind.”

He stood next to her, admiring the view, and a grin spread across his face. “Sex in front of these windows would be amazing.”

“Well, then I'm sold. Because that's what's important.”

The Agent came back from her phone call and chattered on and on about the view and the neighborhood. Callie decided that she liked the place but would wait to buy anything. She wasn't in a hurry and he was pouting. And lately, she was all about him being happy.

###

Callie sat in an LA studio, one she'd never been in before, with a heavy set of headphones on her head, eyes closed, listening. She felt lucky enough that he was letting her sit in on his recording session, but he hadn't let anyone hear any of his new music, so was savoring every note. JC dropped into the seat next to her and tapped her on the arm. She took the headphones off and handed them to him.

“What do you think? Too 'out there'? Give me your notes.”

“No, no. Not at all. It's kind of europop meets pop tart meets--I don't know-- like, Freddie Mercury? It works. I like it.”

He gave her a half grin and shyly ducked his head. “You're just saying that. You don't have to like it.”

“I don't lie,” she said, tapping his thigh. “You know I tell you what I don't like.”

“You want to work on our song?” He swiveled back and forth in the chair. “Since you're here? We could knock it out.”

Callie turned around to look at the small crowd of people milling around. “With all these people here? Are you crazy?”

“You can sing in front of a sold out concert crowd but you won't sing in front of six people?”

“Six people that you know, that know you, that I don't know, on a song I’ve never sung with you.” She glanced back at the group and shook her head. “No.”

“Okay,” JC said, swinging his chair around and raising his voice. “I need everyone out, except the engineer. I need to work on something important. Sorry guys. Have a good day,” he called after them, as they filed out of the door.

He swiveled back around to her and motioned his head at the piano.

“You didn’t have to do that. We could have done the song another time.”

“Come on, Calpernia,” he said, pulling her toward the piano.

“One of these days I'm not going to give in to you.”

“That day is not today. Let's go through it once.”

Callie found she loved singing with him. The mix of her sultry, earthy tone and his silky, rich one made for a beautiful sound. The first time they had sung together, back when she was doing her album, she thought they made a great mix. Now, singing together, on purpose, achieving a common goal—the sound gave her goosebumps and the feeling was amazing.

 JC had broken up the arrangement into several parts and they floated from part to part seamlessly. He let her play piano for the recording -- he didn't feel right playing it and didn't want to give it away to some piano player who charged by the hour. It was her baby, so he let her carry it.

Later that evening, they listened to the playback, the fruits of their labor. It hadn't been mixed or mastered, so it wasn't perfected, but Callie liked it, even if it was a ballad.  And even if she did think ballads were cliché and too emotionally charged, it sounded exactly as she heard it in her head. She couldn't help but be excited when the song ended and she hung the headphones back on their stand.

“You did a good job with it. I like it,” he said, flipping switches and shutting down panels. “If the meeting goes well, I want to put it on the album.”

“Thanks. I had fun with it. I think we made a great team. I like singing with you. You sound so different than I expected.”

“Now you see why I said it was a duet. We sound good together; I could totally hear us in my head. We should do that more often.”

“But JC…what if people don't like it?”

“What?” He shot her a look that said he thought she was crazy. “Why would people not like it? They like everything else you write. And why do you care? You like it, right?”

“Yes,” she said, standing up, pacing the small, dark room. “But. This isn't my album, to not care about. It's been years since you released something, and people are waiting, with baited breath, I'm sure. They’re waiting to hear you, not me.  And I'm sure people already don't like that we're dating, and won't like that I wrote a song for you, much less a ballad, and that I'm singing on it, with you. I just mean, that maybe it shouldn't go on the album. Or maybe your should record a solo version, just in case.”

JC didn't answer, just flipped more switches, and turned off the computer. The studio was eerily silent, and the engineer had long since gone home.

“You know what amazes me, Callie,” he said into the quiet, his face shadowed by the dim light from the hallway. “You have... perfect musical instincts. You have an incredible sound, and a great personality, and an extreme amount of talent, and you're an entirely wonderful person to be around. Most of the time. But I get so frustrated with you when… you try so hard to have this tough exterior and hard shell and ice princess thing going on, when really you just care way too much about what people think. My brother has this saying, you know? He says it all the time. It's 'Fuck People'.”

“That's catchy. Did he write that himself?”

“Do you like the song, Cal?” he asked, leaning his head back against the chair.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. Shyly, she nodded. “Yeah. Yes, I love the song.”

“Are you proud of it, at all?”

“Very much so.”

He stood then, crossed the room, pushed her up against the wall, and kissed her. “Then fuck people,” he said, taking her hand and dragging her out of the studio. “Let's go home.”

###

Callie was fussy, which was usually fine, he just ignored her until she calmed down. But when Callie was fussy in his office, JC straddled the line between annoyed and amused. He had a system, and she was messing with it, rifling through things and setting things all out of order.

“Do you have everything you need? Your sunglasses, your songs, your notebook, pens, you have your bag? Do you need your bag?” She glanced around, in a tizzy, looking for his brown leather bag that he took everywhere he went.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, grabbing a notebook from her and setting it back onto the stack she dug it from. “I’m not taking that one. It’s full. I should have sent you to Paula's. Leave me alone,” he said, laughing, swatting her away from his desk.

“I'm just trying to help. I'm nervous, sue me!”

“Go be nervous outside of here, you're freaking me out.” He turned back to his monitor, where he was checking, reading, deleting emails.

“Fine,” she said, and stomped out, her sandals slapping against her feet.

“Nice ass, though, honey.” he called after her. He laughed when she didn't answer.

An hour later he leaned over the couch and kissed her forehead. “I'm leaving. Wish me luck.”

“Luck, nothing. You got this, baby.” She stood and walked him to the door of the garage. “Hey,” she said, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.

He stopped, and turned around. “What? I forget something?”

She rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. His free arm circled and squeezed her. “I love you. And no matter what happens, I'm proud of you for doing this. Just... I just want you to know that.”

“Thanks, honey. I’ll be back in a bit.” He smiled at her, one of those smiles that made her wish he'd hurry back, made her realize she loved him, deeply. She tipped her head up to meet his lips, and then he was gone, his worn brown leather bag on his shoulder, a happy bounce to his step. He waved to her as he pulled out of the garage and disappeared down the street.

Callie and Tyler waited, and waited, watching the clock. The hours passed very slowly, and by the time the sound of the garage door sliding open wafted up to the living room, they were on pins and needles and very impatient-- but didn't want to jump him as soon as he came in. JC took his time coming into the house, whistling and singing, and smiled at them both as he hit the main landing.

“You guys have been sitting here since I left?” He dropped his bag next to the couch and checked for mail and messages, of which there were none.

“Yes! What happened?” Callie asked, patting the seat cushion next to her.

“Well...” he stalled, grinning. “They liked it. A lot. And uh...we hope to hear something in a couple of days... so. Yeah.” He nodded and looked from Tyler to Callie and back again.

Callie blinked. “So.. yeah, what? What does that mean?”

“Yeah, what?” Tyler parroted.

He tossed up his hands, and then let them fall. “Well, you know. They could come back with the same shit I've been getting-- limited control and shit for points, no publishing, what not-- or they could come back with something really good. We, Eric and I, laid it out as to what we would be looking for, and they didn't seem to object.” He shrugged. “So, we'll see.”

“Well good. So it wasn't bad, then. How do you feel? How was the atmosphere? Why do I have to drag this out of you, dammit?!”

“Callie-- relax, honey. Relax.” He ran a hand down the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. “I feel good. I feel really good about it. The best I've ever felt.” He tapped her on the arm, lightly. “They liked your song.”

Her eyes lit up and she squealed. “They did?”

“Yeah. They liked it a lot. A little worried about the cross label promotion but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, right?”

“Right. YES! I'm so excited for you!”

“Well, don't be excited yet. Now we wait. I should hear something in a few days. In the meantime, I want to sleep. I want to eat. I want to hang out with my girlfriend.”

Tyler coughed.

“Geez,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And, my brother!”

The answer came when they least expected it. Callie was in New York with Paula, sure that she would return before he heard back from them. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she ignored the call. She knew it was him, but planned to call him back. When it buzzed again, she considered picking it up, since he rarely called twice in a row, but missed the call. Then a text message came: 'Pick up the damn phone, woman!'

Paula leaned over her shoulder, glancing at the message. “Uh oh. Better call Producer Man. You don't like him mad at you.”

“Whatever,” Callie mumbled, and navigated the menu to dial him back. “Why are you blowing up my phone, Producer Man?” she demanded when he picked up.

“To tell you to get your ass back here. We got come celebrating to do!”

Callie gasped, and smacked Paula on the arm, her eyes wide. “We do? We do!? Tell me! Hang on, let me put you on speaker. Okay. Tell me.”

“I don't want to be on speaker.”

“J!”

“Okay. Damn. So.” He paused, and then began to sing. “I got a de-al! I got a de-al! I got a de-al!”

Paula screamed and Callie screamed and hugged Paula, then kissed the phone. “Hear that? I just kissed my damn phone. I wish I was there with you!”

“I wish you were here, too! You better take me off speaker or I'm…I’ll embarrass you silly.”

“Okay,” she said, phone to her ear. “Say some embarrassing things to me, now.”

“I need you,” he said, in that voice that made her melt, “to get your cute little rocker chick ass back here, pronto. We have some serious celebrating to do. The things I'm gonna do to you... I can't even say. There aren't words for them yet.”

Callie fanned herself and grinned. “Oh God. I can't tell you how sexy that sounds. I have no idea what it means, but I can't wait for it. We fly out tomorrow, though so you'll have to wait.”

“I. will be. waiting. on you. Don't dawdle.”

“Dawdle!” she laughed. “You totally just used my word!”

“You're rubbing off on me. And on me. Can't wait for tomorrow.”

“Well, sIo, tell me. Did you get everything you asked for?”

“ ‘Course not. Doesn’t hurt to ask, though and they came close enough. I can work with it and I'm not insulted by it. I'm excited.”

“I can tell! I'm so happy for you, J. I can't even tell you how big my smile is.”

“I'll find out tomorrow about an hour after you get here.”

She shook her head and wished she was home already. He hadn’t been this jovial in a long time and she hated to miss a good mood. “So, did you sign it?”

“I sign it Tuesday. You'll be here, right?”

“I can be. If you want me to be.”

“Please be. So, I'll let you get back to Paula. I just wanted to call and tell you the news.  And thank you for pushing. I wouldn’t be here, without you. Love you, have a good time, and see you tomorrow.”

“I knew you could do it. I’m bossy for a reason. I love you, too. I'll see you tomorrow!”

Callie hung up and smiled at  the phone for a minute, then sighed.

“He excited?” Callie didn't even notice Paula was chewing and talking.

“In more ways than one,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I did not need that. You know I think he's hot. Stop helping. Let's go,” she said, grabbing up her bag and swinging it onto her shoulder.  

###

The plane could not land fast enough, they could not gather their baggage quickly enough, Paula could not speed enough for Callie.

The car had barely pulled into the driveway before Callie was out and at the trunk, waiting for Paula to pop it so she could retrieve her suitcase. She knew better than to pick on Callie about it, but Paula found it amusing how cute and happy her little friend was, lately. JC was so good for her, in every way, and she seemed to be good for him, too. Paula watched from the driveway as he met her at the door, enveloped her in a bear hug, and took the suitcase from her, rolling it into the house. He waved to her from the door, and she pulled away.

“So, how was your trip?” he asked, closing the door behind them. “Did you have fun?”

“Ugh, so amazing,” she beamed. “I'm happy I went. But I'm sorry I wasn't here for your news. I thought I would be here when they called.”

“It’s okay,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. “You're here, now. Let's go unpack you and not come back down stairs.” He hauled her suitcase up the steps and dropped it next to the closet.

“Well, in honor of your very good news, I have a present for you, Producer Man, soon to be recording artist… again.” Callie dropped her shoulder bag next to the bed and kicked off her shoes.

“Yeah? Where? You need your bag?” He reached for it, but she stopped him.

“No, no. It’s something you’ve had me thinking about it since yesterday. Come sit down, over here.” She pulled him toward a leather chair in the corner of the room, a seductive, wry grin on her face.

He clapped, his face filled with glee. “Is my present what I think it is?”

“Yes,” she said, pushing him into the chair. “Sit back. Enjoy it.”

She leaned down to kiss him, slowly, teasing him with her tongue, then pushed him so he was leaning back in the chair. Methodically, she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling them off. He watched with half open eyes while she took her time rubbing, touching, feeling him through his briefs.

In a low, soft voice, she said, “Do you know this is my favorite part of giving? Well. One of my favorite parts.”

“I did not know that,” he answered. “Tell me why.”

“Because,” she said, softly, lightly gently massaging.. “I know it’s there, but I can’t see it. I can feel it, though. I feel how solid you are… I can feel the veins. And I can feel the heat. It’s like a sneak peek, that lets me paint a picture, in my mind.”

She kept her voice low, suggestive while she caressed him through the fabric. Callie looked up at him—his eyes were closed, his brows knit together in concentration, his breathing quickened. He liked to go as long as he could without grabbing her head and pushing it down onto him. She liked teasing him to that point. It was a funny, sexy little game they played and as much as he complained, he loved every minute of it.

“Driving me crazy…your hands feel so good on me… can we take these off?” His hand clutched at his briefs but she took over and pulled them down. He moaned as he leaned back again. Callie laid a hand on each thigh and slid her hands up, slowly, past his hips, his waist, up to his chest and back down again.

“Take your top off… and your bra. Please.” JC mumbled his request and watched, eye lids drooping, as she lifted her shirt and bra up and over her head and then removed her bra. Released from captivity, her breasts moved freely, the skin flushed red with arousal and nipples taut and standing at attention. Callie resumed her slow massage, leaning into him so that he rubbed up and down her chest, flanked on each side by a full, bouncy breast. He was hot… so hot… and rock hard. Every movement caused a few drops to seep out of the head, which excited her.

“Mmmmmm…baby, please. Please.” He reached out and took both of her hands in his and squeezed. Obliging, she opened her mouth and brought it down over the head, running her tongue around the rim and slowly sliding down and back up, applying an increasing amount of suction. A low moan, a hip roll and a half smile told her all she needed to know. Callie teased and licked and sucked and caressed until his moans reached a fever pitch and he lifted his body up off of the chair, shaking furiously, holding his breath and flushed crimson red.

He let out a long, loud moan and she took him further into her mouth and looked up at him, their cue for him to let go if he was ready. Seconds later he jerked and she felt the pulse of his orgasm and warm splash against the back of her throat. She waited for more—there was always more… another few pulses, another splash and then he relaxed, collapsing against the chair. She pulled off and let him sink to rest on his thigh.

He was panting so hard he could hardly get a breath. Callie dug two bottles of water from the bin he kept in the closet, opened one and handed it to him. He sucked it down in under a minute, regaining control over his breathing, a satisfied smile on his lips.

He sat up, then, and invited her to sit with him in the chair. Callie removed her jeans, leaving her panties and settled on his lap, feeling him under her leg, coming back to life. He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her so she leaned back with him, against his chest. His lips found a bare shoulder, neck, ears. His breath was still hot, the moisture tickling her skin.  

Warm hands found a breast each to play with, nipples to flick and twist and rub, to Callie's delight. She freely moaned and gasped with pleasure, hips rolling in response to his lips and hands. JC moaned in chorus, rising again. Every hip roll brought her into contact with him. When she could no longer resist, Callie reached for his hand and put it where she wanted it, guiding him into a firm slow rub. Her eyes slid closed and she cried out, hips bucking, her climax crashing down on her without warning. She held her hand over his and told him not to stop-- he rubbed her through another wave of painful pleasure before finally collapsing, sated and exhausted. She watched as he stroked himself, stopping just short of another orgasm.

“Take your panties off. I want to finish inside you.” Callie complied and moved into a comfortable position for him to enter. He began slow, teasing her, then sped up, holding her close to him and moaning in her ear. She savored the sound of his thighs slapping against the back of hers, him pumping into her with strength, so much passion. She started a slow climax, her muscles clenching and spasming, breath catching in her throat, clutching at anything to hold onto while she writhed against him, which sent him over the edge and they finished together, a loud chorus of moans and groans.

For the second time, Callie fell slack against him and laid while she waited to catch her breath. His breathing slowed from a rapid pant to steady, calm breaths. Callie's hair stuck to her face, caught in beads of sweat. He reached up and tucked a few strands behind her ear. She turned her head and met his lips in a long, slow kiss.

“Thank you, for my present. It fit perfectly.”

“Mmm...” she hummed, smiling ear to ear. “You’re welcome. Congratulations honey. I knew just what to get you.”

Callie attempted to sit up, and he pushed her to standing. She offered a hand and helped him up and they stumbled toward the shower.

“I’m like… stiff.  I don’t think I’ve ever had sex in that chair.”

“You have now. I’ll give you a massage after our shower. Then you can floss and swab and smile all relaxed.”

Later, in post shower bliss, arms and legs intertwined and the faint glow of the beginning sunrise creeping across the room, they laid side by side, facing each other. Saying nothing, but saying everything. He reached over to run his fingers through her hair, moving it back from her face. A look of contentment crossed his face as he closed his eyes. He would sleep well, for the first time in a long time.