The mood was somber after he'd told me about his childhood. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything at all. Instead, I left my chair and crawled up on his lap, resting my cheek against his chest.

Hooking my arms around him, I gave him a hug. I didn't know which of us needed it the most; my heart broke at his story, and I could tell he didn't like to revisit that part of his life. He'd been tense and angry when he talked about his parents, and all I wanted to do was comfort him.

Callan let out a breath as he relaxed under my touch and hugged me back. His head fell into the crook of my neck.

The sound of something being placed on the table made me withdraw from his embrace just enough to see that the chef had put down a plate of chocolate cake. It was a huge piece, more than enough for the both of us.

"Thank you," I said to the retreating chef, and he stopped only for a second to give me a nod before moving away from us, giving us space.

I didn't make a move to get off Callan, and he didn't let me go either. We sat like this in silence for several minutes before the scent of chocolate became irresistible.

He shifted my position on his lap with little effort, so my back was to his front. One of his hands rested on my thigh, while the other reached for one of the teaspoons and filled it with cake.

"Open up, sweetheart," Callan ordered as he held the spoon to my mouth. I didn't object and hummed as the creamy chocolate goodness hit my tastebuds. He continued feeding himself and me, taking turns on who would get the spoon of cake.

There was an intimacy in letting him feed me, and I think both of us took pleasure in it. Callan was back to his relaxed self as if the conversation about his parents never happened.

When the plate was empty, we walked back inside to the warm living room. As I sat down on the couch, Callan went to the speakers and hooked it up to his phone. The sound of Norah Jones's Come away with me filled the room.

I was surprised when Callan walked up to me, offering me one of his hands.

"What are you doing?" I questioned, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Emma, will you give me the pleasure of dancing with you?" He smiled warmly down at me. It was rare when either one of them used my name, but when they did, it made my heart thump loudly in my chest.

Hesitantly, I accepted his hand, and he helped me up from the couch. "I've never done this before," I admit with a blush. When would I ever have had the chance to dance with someone when I'd never been on a date? Sure, I went to prom in high school with some friends, but I stayed far away from the dance floor.

"You'll be fine. Just relax and let me lead," he whispered against my ear. His lips tickled my skin, and I shivered in his arms.

Callan guided my hands around his neck while he placed his around my waist, holding me tightly against him.

"See, this isn't so hard," he said as we started moving gently to the slow music. He was right; as long as I relaxed and let him lead, it wasn't a problem–I didn't even step on his feet, which I was oddly proud of.

Resting my head on his chest, we danced, first through this song and then two others. Feelings of joy and affection filled me as we moved in sync; my body instinctually followed his.

When the third song was over, he grabbed my chin and angled my lips to his own, kissing me sweetly. I melted against him, and a soft sigh escaped me as we withdrew from each other.

"Thank you, Callan," I said softly.

"What for?"

"For everything. For this night. It's been...perfect."

"The evening isn't done yet." He smiled. "Sit down, and I'll go get us some wine." He gave me one last kiss before moving away from me.

Taking a seat on the couch, I took the heels off, groaning as I did. While I could wear heels without breaking my ankles, they were far from comfortable.

Because it reminds me to never make the same mistake my father did. Callan's words echoed in my mind when I got a second to myself.

Callan joined me promptly, with two wine glasses in his hands. I took a few sips before lying down with my head on his lap, making myself comfortable. The one and a half glass I've had this evening left me feeling warm and cozy.

The captain had steered the boat back to the harbor and left with the chef while we stayed put.

"What are you thinking about?" Callan asked; his hand automatically started stroking my hair. If he'd made any plans for this part of the evening, he didn't seem in a hurry to get to them, which was fine by me; I enjoyed simply being in his company.

"The conversation we had earlier," I answered honestly.

"Which part of it?" He stopped playing with my hair but started again a few seconds later.

"Every part, but mostly the one about you not making the same mistake as your father." I could still feel the look he'd given me when he'd told me that. It was like he'd been telling me something more with his eyes than what his words did.

"Mmm, what about it?"

"I...I don't know. It just stuck with me, I guess." My words ended in a yawn, and Callan chuckled.

"Tired, are we?"

"It's your fault," I accuse him. "If not for your magical fingers, I would've been wide awake right now." The way he was stroking my hair was so damn good and so relaxing; I couldn't help how my eyes grew heavy.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm well aware of how fantastic my fingers are. In fact, you're well-acquainted with them." He smirked smugly. "Or do you need a reminder of just how magical they are in other places?" And just like that, the atmosphere in the room changed. The relaxation in my body shifted to something else–something more intense.

With deliberate moves, his free hand trailed down my body, tickling me with the light, barely-there touch. I was a prisoner to his gaze as he stared down at me, his eyes dark with lust.

My breath caught when he brushed the hem of my dress up to my hips, exposing my already damp panties–panties he'd picked out for me.

As he nudged my legs, I spread them without thought, giving him the space he needed to slide his hand slowly–oh so slowly–up my legs.

I moaned softly when his fingers slid to the apex of my thighs and connected with my sex. He stroked me through the material of the panties, all the while staring at my face, taking in my every expression.

"You have no idea what you do to me, Bella," he whispered.

Opening my mouth, I was just about to tell him the same thing, but at that moment, he put more pressure on my clit, circling it with the perfect amount of speed. My words turned into a moan instead, as my back arched with the pleasure he was eliciting in me.

His other hand left my hair, moving down to my nape. His fingers found my pulse, and he pressed down on it lightly. "Mmm, is this for me? Is your heart pounding from what I'm doing to you?"

Before I answered back, he shifted the panties to the side, baring my pussy. I hissed as he slid two fingers inside. "Yes, Sir," I moaned. My legs opened further, desperate for more of his touch.

I needed more; more of him touching me, more of him inside me–more of him.

"Please, Sir," I begged. My voice came out raspy and frantic.

"What do you need?" He curled his fingers and massaged my walls with so much skill, my stomach tightened with jealousy. I didn't want to think about where he'd learned to please a woman so expertly. He knew all my pleasure points, even ones I wasn't even aware of.

"You," I whimpered, my vision hazy with pleasure.

Callan muttered a curse, and a second later, he removed his fingers from inside me. Before I could utter a complaint, he'd managed to shift my head away from his lap and rose from his seat.

A squeal escaped my lips as he hauled me over his shoulder and started walking.

"What are you doing? Put me down!" I demanded.

He smacked my ass hard. "What am I doing, Sir," he corrected me. "And for your information, I'm carrying you to the bedroom so I can have my dirty way with you." He said it so casually, but my body felt every word.

On the way down the stairs, I had to grab ahold on him to keep my upper body from bouncing. It so happened that the part I grabbed was his ass, and damn what an ass it was; muscled and deliciously solid.

"Are you copping a feel, sweetheart?" Callan chuckled but didn't stop me from "copping a feel," as he so nicely put it.

"You know...you should definitely become my personal trainer. I want an ass like this," I quipped, squeezing it for good measures, beyond happy to finally get a feel.

"I prefer to be your personal trainer in a whole other sense of the word," he answered. "And I will not let you change anything about this juicy bottom of yours. I love it like it is." My grin was hidden from his view.

Hearing a door open, he walked us through it before kicking it shut. I didn't get to see any details of the room before he threw me onto the bed, and another shriek escaped me while my pulse sped up from the slight adrenalin.

"Take that dress off of you, but leave the underwear for me," he commanded. He was loosening his tie and started undressing.

Reaching behind me, I unzipped the back of the dress and worked it off. Callan tracked every movement of mine while he worked on getting his white shirt unbuttoned. He'd left his suit jacket in the living room.

My skin prickled from his attention, and while I shunned away from any sort of attention before, I found myself liking it more and more when these men gave it to me. No matter how intense they could be, there was something about them that made me feel safe. I knew, with certainty, that they would never judge me.

I swallowed heavily as I took in his physique. A body made for modeling and a face made for every women's wet dream. The combination was devastatingly sinful.

My mouth literally watered as he shed his pants and underwear. His dick curved upwards, standing proudly against his stomach and his piercing glinted with pre-cum. I'd never get over how big he was–how big either of theirs was. Would I ever get used to their size? I had a feeling I wouldn't.

Callan joined me on the bed and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "You look breathtaking," he said reverently. "I love watching you in clothes I've chosen for you."

"I love wearing what you've chosen for me," I admitted. I really did. There was something so...freeing about having another person make this kind of decision for me.

His eyes darkened even further, and his jaw clenched like he was keeping himself from saying something. His reaction made me think my confession meant something more than I was aware of.

Finally, he broke the loud silence. "As much as I like this on you." His fingertips trailed the cup of my bra. "I much prefer you naked and wanting underneath me or over me; it all depends on my mood." He winked.