Chapter 12
Alistair
Her scent still lingered on my sheets. My tongue remembered her taste, and the image of my come leaking out of her—glistening, dripping—seared itself into my brain like a brand.
I tried to work. Failed. Every few minutes, my eyes cut to the clock on my monitor, not to check the time, but to calculate when I could have her again.
When I could be buried inside her, stretching her open, filling her up.
The moment I came inside her rewired something in me, and now I couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
I pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and unbuckled my belt with a snap. Before she could move, I reached over and popped hers too. Her laughter spilled out—soft, playful, trusting—and it scraped against something feral in me. She still thought this was a game.
I never wanted children. Never saw the point. They were messy, loud, unpredictable little creatures. But Callie changed that. She was still young—barely out of university—but everything about her was sharp and sweet. Clean lines, focused chaos. Just like me. We fit.
Now when I looked at her, I didn’t just see her lips or the arch of her back—I saw her fertile womb. The soft curve of her belly. What it would look like swollen with my child. It wasn’t fantasy anymore. It was a biological urge that had become a primal need.
She’d laugh if I said it out loud, but something ancient in me wanted to mark her, breed her, claim her. Not just with my come, but with my blood. Callie was made to be worshipped—made to be filled—and she’d understand that eventually.
I reached into the back, grabbed her bag, and slung it over my shoulder. She’d be too sore to sit straight by the time I was finished with her
Too spent to argue and too fucked-out to leave.
Yes. My girl will feel me inside her even when I’m not there. She won’t give those immature little students a second glance. Not when she knows what it feels like to be owned by a real man.
Once she was unconscious in my bed—wrapped in my sheets, my scent, my come—I’d catch up on work, then feed her, hydrate her, and bend her back over something to start again. She didn’t realise it yet, but she’d already been claimed.
And I wasn’t letting go.
Ever.
I whipped my sunglasses off and tossed them onto the dashboard. Callie turned to look at me—her smile faltered. Her hand fumbled for the door handle.
Oh yeah. She recognised the look.
“You’re going to walk into my bedroom,” I said slowly, voice low, deliberate, “strip, and present yourself for me.”
Her pupils dilated, darkening those hazel eyes I knew too well.
“Today’s lesson is all about presentation.”
The tip of her tongue darted out as she nervously licked her lips. God, she was trying so hard to play it cool.
“What do you say, Callie?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Not sassy this time.
Sultry, hungry and fucking perfect.
It was time to breed.
?? ?? ??
Armed with drinks and spare towels, I walked into the bedroom.
What I saw nearly made me drop the water bottles.
She lay at the foot of my bed—arse balanced off the edge, back arched ever so slightly, her slick folds glistening under the soft light.
Her thighs were spread, shamelessly open. Waiting. Offering.
My breath caught for a moment.
Callie had followed my instruction to the letter… and then elevated it.
That sweet cunt of hers looked swollen, sensitive—used. I may have overdone it yesterday, but it looked like she wasn't done.
I approached slowly, letting my gaze roam. Her auburn curls framed her bare pussy like flames licking at porcelain. Her breath hitched when I stopped in front of her.
“Are you sore, baby?” I murmured, tossing the towels and bottles onto the bed without looking. My focus was on the trembling of her inner thighs. The way her fingers curled slightly against the sheets, like she was resisting the urge to touch herself.
“No, sir,” she whispered.
Her voice was small. Hoarse. Not from fear—but from the ache. The need.
I tilted my head, watching her chest rise and fall. Her nipples were already hard, pink and tight from anticipation.
“Are you lying to me?” I asked, letting the weight of my stare drag across her body. My voice dropped even lower. “Is that cunt still tender from taking me?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes fluttered closed, lashes dark against flushed cheeks.
I stepped closer, between her legs.
“Callie,” I warned softly.
“No, sir,” she breathed again. “It’s not too sore.”
“Mmm.” I reached down, trailing two fingers lightly from her inner knee to the slick seam between her legs.
She twitched.
“You’re wet,” I said, letting my fingers ghost over her folds without pressure. “You like presenting yourself for me?”
She nodded. Just once.
“I asked a question.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
I straightened slowly, watching the way her mouth parted. Her hands balled into fists against the comforter. I could see it—all of it. The trembling restraint. The burning want.
She didn’t just want to be fucked.
She wanted to be owned.
And I was more than ready to oblige.
I reached for my T-shirt, watching her through half-lidded eyes as I peeled it off, slow and deliberate. Her gaze locked onto my chest like she’d forgotten how to breathe. Good. Let her look.
I wanted her staring.
I wanted her wrecked just from watching me undress.
Her lips parted, eyes wide behind those sweet little glasses she never took off. God, those fucking glasses. They made her look studious and innocent—but I’d had her bent over my desk, begging for more, filled to the brim with my cock and my come. That same mouth now trembled in anticipation.
I flicked the button open with a practised twist of my wrist, then dragged the denim down my thighs slow, and deliberate, watching her eyes track every inch. I stepped out of them one leg at a time, letting the weight of her stare stroke over my skin like a second pair of hands.
Her eyes dropped to the vee of muscle cutting across my abdomen, then to the bulge straining in my boxers. I saw her thighs shift. She was getting impatient.
“Don't move. Keep those legs open,” I warned.
I stood there a moment longer, letting her take it all in—every inch of me she’d begged for just yesterday, every inch I’d driven into her until she couldn’t remember her own name.
“You’re not blinking,” I murmured. “Does that mean you like what you see?”
She gave a shaky nod, pupils blown, lips glossy from where she’d licked them raw.
I slid my boxers down slow, watching the way her breath caught the moment I freed myself.
And still, I was only halfway hard.
“You see what you do to me?” I asked, fisting myself once, lazily. “This is what your body calls for. What it needs.”
Her hips lifted instinctively. Desperate little thing.
“You want to be split open again?” I asked, stepping closer, cock heavy in my hand. “Want to feel me ruin that sweet cunt until you cry?”
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer.
“I told you, baby. Today’s lesson is about presentation.”
I gripped her thighs and dragged her closer to the edge of the bed. Her back arched as she tried to raise her hips, like instinct.
And maybe it was.