Chapter 26 #2
His belt gave way under my fingers, and something shifted in him—restraint melting into something darker, needier. He kissed me like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. Like he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since the last time. Maybe he hadn’t.
My sweater was gone before I even realized I’d raised my arms. He sat back just enough to take me in. His hands skated over the curve of my waist, the rise of my ribs—slow and reverent, as if he had all the time in the world.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast.
Then he moved again—lips at my collarbone, my throat, a trail of heat down my chest. His hands followed—confident, unhurried. He wasn’t rushing. He was savoring.
He smiled against my skin—smug, warm, and completely focused. “Is this what you want?” he asked low and gravelly as he slid his hand under the waistband of my jeans.
“Yes,” I breathed. “God, yes.”
“Good,” he said, leaning in. “Because I’ve been imagining this all day.”
He kissed his way down my stomach, fingers following steadily, every motion tuned to me as if I were the only thing that existed. When he slid his hand lower and found me—really found me—my hips arched helplessly, and he groaned into the fabric of my jeans.
“You’re soaked,” he said, voice thick.
“Your fault,” I managed, barely holding on.
His laugh was pure sin, low and close to my ear—and then he was kneeling between my legs, dragging my jeans and underwear down with aching slowness, as if every inch of bare skin was something he needed to see, to memorize.
He dipped his head and kissed the inside of my thigh. Then another. And another, higher each time. I shivered beneath him, the air cool on my skin, my nerves electric.
When he touched me—featherlight at first—I jolted. Pleasure flared, sharp and immediate. He dragged his fingers more firmly through the slick heat between my legs with maddening control, learning the rhythm of my breath, the arch of my hips.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“Because you’re not doing anything.”
He smiled against my skin. “I’m doing plenty.”
He slid a finger inside me, slow and deliberate, and I moaned—tipping my head back, my spine lifting off the floor. He added a second, pumping gently, curling just right, just enough.
Still working his fingers inside me, he sealed his mouth over my clit, tongue stroking in perfect sync—unrelenting, terrifyingly precise. He pinned me with one arm braced across my thigh, holding me steady as I writhed against him, unable to stay still.
“Cal,” I cried, broken and breathless.
He hummed against me, the sound vibrating through every nerve. My hands scrambled for purchase—his hair, a crate, the rug beneath us—anything to hold on to.
Every flick of his tongue, every press of his fingers, every low sound in his throat wound me tighter.
When I came, it was all at once—blinding and helpless, a full-body shudder that tore through me like a live wire. I cried out, legs trembling, breath ragged, but he didn’t stop. Not until I gasped his name again and pulled at his shoulders, needing him with me.
He kissed the inside of my thigh, then my hipbone, then dragged himself up my body, blanketing me in his warmth again.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he whispered, brushing his lips over mine. “I could die right here and not regret a thing.”
His breath turned to a low groan against my mouth as I kissed him harder, hands everywhere.
I fumbled with his fly. He froze—just long enough for me to look up and meet his eyes.
“This is insane,” he murmured.
I brushed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Then stop me.”
He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.
The zipper gave, and I pushed his trousers open, slipping my hand just beneath the waistband. His face was flushed, breath ragged—but he was still holding back. Barely.
I paused. We hadn’t exactly…planned this.
“You didn’t, by any chance, bring anything…did you?”
I expected a no. Prayed for a maybe.
He paused. Just for a second. “Wallet. Back pocket.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
He let out a breath. “It’s not what you think.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t sleep around, Gabrielle.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s just a precaution. I always keep protection on me—a habit ingrained from boyhood.”
I searched his face. He looked half-guilty, half-desperate—not for forgiveness, but for me to believe him.
I kissed him—slow, certain. “Well,” I said, reaching around to fish his wallet from his back pocket, “thank God for outdated male conditioning.”
He laughed—breathless, wrecked. “I swear it’s not expired.”
“Better not be,” I said, tearing open the foil. “I’m not going to hell and the health clinic in one afternoon.”
I guided him down to the floor and straddled him, hands sure and steady as I rolled the condom on. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, hands fisting at his sides, like if he touched me now, he might break.
I didn’t give him the chance.
I sank onto him slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully inside me. The stretch burned—delicious and deep. He gasped as if it broke him.
“God,” he breathed. “You feel like sin.”
“I was going to say heaven.” I rolled my hips, and his hands flew to my waist, fingers digging in like he was holding on for dear life.
We moved together—slow at first, testing the rhythm—then faster as heat built and the world slipped away. His hands roamed, reverent and greedy. I leaned in to kiss him, and he met me with everything—teeth, tongue, breath—as if I was the only air he had left.
The rug burned my knees. The air was thick with sweat and want and the soft, rhythmic thud of bodies meeting in secret.
He tangled his fingers in my hair. “Let me see you,” he said, voice wrecked. “Please.”
I sat up just enough for him to watch me ride him—eyes locked, hands everywhere. Desperate worship, nothing to do with religion, everything to do with us. With now.
He brushed his thumb over my nipple, and I gasped. With his other hand, he gripped my hip, guiding the rhythm—anchoring me as he moved, deeper, slower, then harder again.
“Come for me again,” he whispered. “I want to feel it.”
The words struck somewhere deep. I closed my eyes and gave in—to the friction, the steady drag of him inside me, the way my thighs trembled from the strain, from the pleasure, from the wave cresting higher with every breath.
I clutched at his shoulders, then slid one hand between us, circling my clit, desperate for just a little more.
Then everything went hot and sharp and brilliant.
I shattered with a cry I didn’t mean to make—body clenching, every muscle locking down as the orgasm tore through me. I pulsed around him—greedy, relentless—and he groaned.
“Fuck, Gabrielle—” He thrust once, twice—then he was gone too, undone beneath me.
We had no words for a long moment. Just the echo of what we’d done. And knowing that nothing about this was safe anymore.
I collapsed onto his chest, both of us breathless, hearts pounding in sync. He wrapped his arms around me—like instinct, like shelter—holding me through the aftershocks.
When I finally stirred, my muscles trembling, I eased off him with a soft, spent sound. The rug scratched my shoulders as I rolled onto my back, blinking at the flickering overhead lights. Cool air licked across my sweat-slicked skin, a sharp contrast to the molten ache still humming through me.
Cal stretched out beside me, then he rolled over and crawled over me with slow, deliberate care, as if he couldn’t bear the loss of contact. He pressed kisses up my thighs, over my hip, back to my lips.
“Now,” he whispered. “Now I’m officially going to hell.”
I pulled him down. “As long as you take me with you.”