Chapter 18 #2
“Then don’t stop,” I breathed, dragging his mouth back to mine.
He swore—low, reverent—like I’d just granted him absolution.
Hands on my waist, he pulled me flush against him, the contact igniting something molten.
I gasped into the kiss as he slid his fingers under my blouse, sweeping over bare skin.
He pulled back just long enough to tug it over my head, his eyes raking over me like I was something precious and half-forbidden.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice rough with want.
“So are you,” I whispered, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. “But wearing too many clothes.”
His laugh broke warm against my throat. “Then by all means…”
Clothes vanished between kisses like we’d both been waiting far too long for this. When he eased me onto the cool sheets and came down over me, the last of my doubts dissolved.
This was happening.
And it was everything.
He looked at me like I was sacred.
Not fragile—never that—but important. Desired. Revered.
He was solid and warm, every inch of his body pressed against mine. The weight of him was grounding, his presence a gravity I didn’t want to escape. He kissed along my collarbone—soft at first, then hungrier—tasting my skin like it was a language he’d once known and ached to relearn.
“Tell me if I go too fast,” he murmured, voice frayed, hands roaming—discovering me inch by inch. “If I do anything you don’t want—”
“I want—” I cut him off with a breathless pull of his mouth back to mine. “God, Cal. I want all of it.”
That broke him.
He kissed me like he’d been denied for days, like every second we hadn’t touched had been torment. I arched into him, hips rising on instinct, and he groaned into the kiss—low, rough, unraveling.
His hands were everywhere, each pass more certain than the last. He traced the curve of my waist, the swell of my hip, the sensitive line where my thigh and torso met.
He learned me like he learned everything—thorough, exacting, maddening in his focus.
I gasped when he replaced his hands with his mouth—charting lower, kissing across my stomach, teeth grazing just enough to make me tremble.
“I need—” The rest burned away. I couldn’t find words. Only fire.
“I know,” he said, eyes lifting from between my thighs—dark with something close to worship. “Let me.”
And then there were no more words.
Only sensation.
Pressure.
Heat.
Anticipation gave way to devastating relief as his mouth moved against me—slow, sure, relentless.
Each stroke of his tongue was maddeningly precise, coaxing pleasure in rising, measured waves. I arched into him, hungry for more, and he didn’t hesitate—hooking my thighs over his shoulders, pressing firm hands to my hips to hold me still as he devoured me like a man starved. For this. For me.
I clutched at the sheets, at his hair, at anything to keep myself from flying apart.
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. I was reduced to nerve endings and want, unraveling one breathless second at a time.
His mouth—God, his mouth—was revelation made flesh.
All that intellect, all that control, funneled into the way he moved against me.
Methodical. Deliberate. He teased and tormented, then soothed and satisfied, mapping me with a scholar’s devotion combined with the hunger of a man who’d waited far too long.
I gave in—utterly, helplessly—hands tangled in his hair, thighs trembling around his shoulders, voice catching on every broken moan until I shattered, a cry tearing free as I came hard against his tongue.
But he didn’t stop.
He slowed, softened, licked me through it—through the tremors and the breathless blur and the melt of my bones—until my body begged for mercy.
He finally kissed his way back up, trailing heat along my abdomen, my ribs, my breasts. When his mouth met mine again, I tasted myself on his tongue. It was filthy. Intimate. Honest.
“You all right?” he asked, voice low and barely leashed.
I could only nod. Dazed, I managed, “More than.”
He pressed his body over mine again—solid, warm, and impossibly beautiful.
I’d imagined him naked before, but reality was far better.
He was all carved lines and shadows—strength wrapped in elegance.
The kind of beauty that did things to you if you looked too long.
His abdomen flexed under my palms—hard and defined.
I traced the sculpted plane of his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms, memorizing him with every pass.
He kissed me again—deeper this time—a groan rumbling against my lips as I slid my hand between us.
He hissed when I wrapped my fingers around him—hot, hard, pulsing in my palm.
And the sound he made when I stroked was pure poetry—broken, reverent, wrecked.
He kissed me harder, like he couldn’t help himself, like he might come apart from the sheer intensity of being wanted.
I twisted beneath him, pushing at his chest until he rolled onto his back—his eyes dark, almost disbelieving. I slid lower, kissing down the center of his chest. His muscles tensed as I trailed downward—lips, tongue, teeth—all softness turning to heat.
He trailed his fingers along the curve of my spine, brushing into my hair—his gaze fixed on me like I might vanish if he blinked.
The moment I swept my tongue across his tip, he shuddered—his whole body tensing like holding himself together took everything he had.
He dropped his head back against the pillow, a strangled groan breaking loose as I took him deeper.
Every inch was velvet and steel, hot against my lips, pulsing with barely contained need.
He dug his fingers into my hair, then clenched the sheets—as if caught between anchoring himself to me or holding on to the bed for dear life.
“God,” he gasped, hips lifting before he forced them still. “Gabrielle…”
The way he said my name—pleading, awed, and utterly undone—was everything.
I moved over him slowly, deliberately, savoring each twitch of his stomach, each breath that caught in his throat as he struggled against the urge to let go.
Each broken sound he made sent a thrill through me, and I reveled in the power of it—this brilliant, carefully controlled man unraveling beneath my touch.
He gripped my shoulders, dragging me up his body until we were face to face, both breathing hard.
“Not like that,” he managed, kissing me with dizzying desperation. “Not this time.”
He rolled us, pinning me beneath him.
“Condom?” I whispered.
“Of course,” he said, pulling back just long enough to grab one from his nightstand and tear the foil. He rolled it on, eyes locked on mine, then slid a hand to my thigh, guiding us into place—close, closer—until there was nowhere left to go.
“Are you sure?”
I hesitated—not from doubt, but from awe. From the weight of what this was becoming. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I said, echoing his words.
When he finally pushed into me, it was slow. Careful. One sinfully exquisite slide that filled me so completely I forgot how to breathe.
I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, overwhelmed by the feeling of him everywhere. Inside. Outside. Devouring me and holding me together all at once.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed—half-groan, half-prayer.
“Not God,” he rasped against my mouth, words fraying between kisses. “Just a man. A very, very lucky one.”
He stilled—forehead to mine, jaw clenched so tight it trembled, every muscle strained, and the heat in his eyes—God, the heat—made the rest of the world vanish.
“All right?” he asked, voice ragged. Barely holding himself together.
“Oh, yes.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, anchoring him to me.
And God, when he moved…
It shattered me.
Each thrust was deliberate—deep, reverent, like he was memorizing the way I wrapped around him.
Like worship. Like discovery. I took in every inch—the slow drag out leaving me aching, the sharp rush when he pushed back in stealing what breath I had left.
My body opened to him—greedy, grateful, trembling under every relentless stroke.
Pleasure bloomed low and hot, each movement stoking the flame. I arched beneath him, back lifting from the bed, meeting him thrust for thrust as his rhythm deepened—slower now, but somehow more desperate. More certain.
His breath was rough against my skin, hot and ragged in the hollow of my neck.
He kissed me between gasps—cheek, collarbone, the swell of my breast—leaving a trail of heat where his mouth lingered.
I traced the curve of his back, his shoulders, feeling every flex and shift as he moved over me—inside me.
“You feel—” He broke off with a moan, teeth grazing my shoulder. “You feel like heaven.”
I clung tighter, digging my nails deep into his skin. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, almost pleading.
“I couldn’t,” he said. “Not even if I tried.”
His control slipped further by degrees—each thrust harder, rougher—his rhythm unraveling into something raw and real. His body was fire against mine—sweat-slicked skin, the air between us charged and electric.
I met every thrust, hips rising to take him deeper, chasing that sweet edge with abandon. The pressure surged, cresting higher with every filthy-sweet word whispered against my throat.
“You’re perfect,” he groaned. “Bloody perfect.”
Pleasure coiled in my spine, my thighs. Hot and high. Ready to snap.
“Cal—” I gasped, voice breaking as the orgasm slammed—sharp, overwhelming, stealing the ground from under me. I bowed into him, shuddering, my cry muffled against his mouth as he kissed me through it.
He didn’t stop. Neither did I. A few more thrusts, and then he broke—body tense and trembling, face buried in the curve of my neck, spilling into me with a sound that was pure need and surrender.
He slumped against me, panting, every inch of him draped over me like armor. His heart pounded wildly against mine. I held him close, wrapping my arms tight around his shoulders, threading my fingers into his damp hair, not ready to let go.
Not ready to come down.
We sank into each other—a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths—his weight anchoring me in the best possible way.
Minutes passed before either of us stirred.
He braced on one elbow, looking down at me with eyes full of mischief. “Well,” he said, voice hoarse, “I think that concludes the tour.”
My laughter bubbled up like light. “Best tour I’ve ever had.”
And when he kissed me again—gentler now, slow and soft and aching—it felt like more than passion.
It felt like the start of something that might change everything.