Callan’s POV
I can’t stop staring, in front of me, Mackenzie sits on a kitchen chair, her white top plastered to her breasts giving me a clear view of the hot pink bra she’s wearing underneath.
I should be rushing over to her, making sure she’s OK, that she hasn’t burnt herself from the coffee but my feet are planted unable to move, my mouth dry as I take in the prominent n*****s poking through the wet material.
Her gaze, following my own, she glances down, a shriek of horror leaving her as she stumbles to her feet, cheeks flaming. Grabbing a tea towel, she turns away from me, running it under water and dabbing at her top while I stand there like an i***t.
Her words rattle around my head, ‘I need to get laid . . three years . . ‘ I swallow thickly, three years? Three fricking years sin
