Chapter 73 Pretend it Didn’t Happen #2
Cal picks me up easily; those beautiful muscles of his more than just for show.
My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom and deposits me onto his bed.
Making quick work of my boots, jeans, and socks, he leaves me in nothing but my bra and panties.
As he looms above me, I can see how his carved chest moves along with each breath, appearing more intense than I’ve ever seen him.
A wildness has set into Cal, and it makes me want him even more.
He stares down at me, and then, with no hesitation whatsoever, he takes ahold of each of my thighs with his hands and parts them.
He does pause then, another offering of consent, perhaps?
The communication between us flows with a knowledge of where this will go.
I nod once up at him, letting him know my answer.
Then he buries his face between my legs.
I cannot hold back the gasp that slips out of me as his hot breath burns through the black satin of my panties.
Rubbing myself shamelessly against his face, and nearly out of my mind from the sexual heat of his lips against my clit, separated only by a thin wisp of satin, I bury my hands in his hair—hair I’ve wanted to touch since the day I first laid eyes on him.
Soft—so much softer than I thought it’d be.
I lose all conscious thought once he pulls my panties to one side and slips a finger inside me while keeping up with what his clever mouth was doing already. I won’t last long at this rate. I can’t stop what’s coming. Literally. Coming.
Incoherent words bubble out of me. “Oh, God, yes. Please. More of that.” When a second long finger penetrates me, I feel the wave of pleasure start its fatal roll.
My head thrown back against his bed, I try to encompass everything I’m feeling with him.
Yes. Yes. This is what I needed. What I craved. Yes. Yes. So much, yes.
Doing this with him was worth it.
When he interprets my signals of impending orgasm (thank the Lord) he rips my panties off fully, grabs a condom from his nightstand, and sheaths himself.
“Is this okay?” More intense staring out of those deep blues of his. “Billie?”
I love the way he says my name, his Canadian accent working as a sort of beacon, forcing me out of my head and back into this moment with him.
“Yes. Yes. Please. Please.” I’m begging him now, panting, half-crazed, wanting to come so badly, I don’t care about the hurt that’s coming—the good hurt I’ll feel when he stretches me wide with that huge cock he’s sporting.
Calum slides inside me without hesitation, then. He holds still for a moment while I get used to the fullness. “Tight,” he breathes, his forehead on my forehead.
“Been a long while,” I say, widening my legs, allowing him fuller entrance.
When he starts to move, I come. No buildup.
No preamble. I just come, tightening and pulsing around him as he sucks in a surprised breath.
My hands on his perfect ass, I encourage him to move faster, to go harder.
He does, and it seems my orgasm goes on forever and ever until I can’t breathe.
I think I forget how to say real words. It’s just me and him and the intensity of my body’s reaction to him.
“Harder, Calum.”
He fucks me, then. Hard. His every muscle straining as he pushes in and out of me, the headboard banging against the wall.
His eyes are on mine, teeth bared like an animal until he climaxes, when his face relaxes into a state of ecstasy.
It’s gorgeous, really, to see him like this. Totally abandoned.
He slows a bit, his cock throbbing inside of me, and when it finally settles, he stops, falling to the side of me, breathing heavily.
“That was—”
“Intense?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Good intense?”
He considers my face for a moment. He looks a bit dreamy, heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted. Relaxed looks really fantastic on him.
“It was more than good, at least for me.” There’s a bit of a question in the statement.
“Good. I liked it, too.” I put a hand on his smooth cheek and lean in, softly kissing his lips.
Calum kisses me back, softly, sweetly. Not a kiss I would call forgettable. Not a kiss I would give or receive from someone who should be forgotten.
My eyes are heavy, and while I know I should leave, should thank him for the massive orgasm and head home, never to speak of this again, I don’t.
I don’t do any of that.
I don’t leave.
Instead, I let my eyes close, drifting in and out as I struggle to stay awake.
But staying awake is an impossibility.
Impossible once I feel the gentle weight of a soft blanket being tucked around me, my naked body still tingling from what he just did to it.
Impossible with the way he lies next to me—close but not making it feel too intimate, too soon.
Impossible because everything feels too wonderful to do anything but give in to the call of glorious, superb, intoxicating sleep.
So, I do.
I let myself fall asleep next to a man I know I should not be falling asleep next to.