Chapter 15
Callie
When I felt something wet land on me, I glanced back to see him gathering spit in his mouth before allowing it to land on my arse. He gathered it with his thumb and tried again. He looked at me when his digit breached my ass.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, closing my eyes.
He was still inside me—but it felt different now. That dull ache in my pussy pulsed, throbbed, craving more.
“We’re starting a new lesson plan tomorrow,” he murmured. “I need to train all your holes to service me, Callie.”
“Oh, God,” I gasped as he began to work his thumb in and out.
“Yeah. That’s it. Open up for me.”
“Yessss,” I hissed, digging my nails into the soft leather beneath me.
Then I felt it. He placed his cock at my entrance while his thumb was jammed into my ass.
“Good girls get cock,” he murmured as he pushed his cock back into me.
I whimpered and tried to push back but his hand on my ass held me in place.
“Be patient,” he drawled lazily.
I nodded, trying to remain still while he split me apart.
“Yeah, you take what I give you, Callie,” he groaned. “My good little slut. So wet for me.”
He shifted behind me before he used his hand and thumb to move me up and down his length, giving me what I needed. I moved with him, crying out when he began to plunge his thumb back and forth. The dual assault on my senses made me howl. I never wanted it to end. Alistair was dangerously addictive.
“Oh, yeah. That's it, baby. Soak my cock, you filthy little cocksleeve,” he said, pummelling me with deep, hard thrusts.
I didn’t care that I was being used like a toy. I didn’t care that I’d forgotten how to say no. All I wanted was more. Of him. Of this. Of us.
That blunt pressure against my cervix made me whimper. I wasn’t supposed to like it—but it made me feel split open. Owned.
My breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as his thighs pressed against mine with every deep thrust, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing off the walls.
“Right there,” he rasped close to me. “Fertile and ready for my seed. You’re about to be bred, Callie.”
Heat bloomed in my belly, low and sharp, coiling tighter with each stroke. My hands scrabbled at the armrest, trying to ground myself, but the ache inside me was building—thick, overwhelming, and impossible to outrun.
“Please use me. Breed me. Don’t hold back. You know I can take it,” I cried, uncaring of the consequences.
“Goddammit, Callie.” He growled, pulling his thumb out. “You’re fucking perfect.”
He gripped my ass cheeks until pain and pleasure merged. Using my body for momentum—and I loved it.
Every time he bottomed out, it sent a shiver down my spine, tipping me closer to the edge until I felt like I’d shatter. I panted, mouth open, eyes unfocused, my whole body trembling for release. For him.
Then he went too deep—too fast—and the dull ache bloomed into pain as he struck something deep inside me. White light burst behind my eyes as the tension shattered and ecstasy took over. I clamped down around him, muscles locking him inside while I used him, grinding back as my body trembled.
He shouted my name as he poured himself into me. Even in the chaos, I knew—this wasn’t one-sided. This was mutual and an all-consuming obsession.
He twitched inside me, setting off another ripple as I fluttered around him, over-sensitive and overflowing. I sagged back, resting against him, heart thudding.
We fit perfectly—like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
He moved, wrapping his forearm around my neck and pulling me back until he sat us down. I adjusted my legs over his and settled against his chest. We didn’t speak—there was no need. His hand rested possessively over my belly while I was still full of him.
The girls thought I was at an all-night revision fest with classmates.
I smiled when I felt him kiss my head.
It was a small white lie.
What could go wrong?
?? ?? ??
With every step, I felt him—etched into my limbs. From the tight ache in my legs and back to the dark bruises blooming across my hips, reminders of his grip. Even the rub of thick denim against my tender skin felt like a reward.
Judging by the number of messages he’d sent, I was clearly still living in his head.
After two weeks of non-stop fucking, the obsession hadn’t waned—it had deepened. Intensified.
I sat in the furthest corner of the canteen, anticipation curling low in my stomach as I opened his messages. He’d been nasty. Depraved. Just how I liked it.
Alistair: You left your vitamins on the counter.
Alistair: Again.
Alistair: I swear you do this just to get punished. Wait till you get home.
I giggled, already picturing his face. Yup—his prenatal and supplement regimen was non-negotiable. So, I rebelled the only way I could, by taking them in the evening instead of the morning. A tiny, petty detail that drove him insane.
Alistair: I know you did it on purpose.
Alistair: -D FAILED.
Alistair: I’m picking you up—be ready.
Alistair: What do you want for dinner tonight?
I grinned from cheek to cheek. This man made me so frikking happy. Every day, we grew more comfortable. Closer.
And the sex? Top-tier. The things that nasty bastard did…
I shivered.
He hated the days I snuck back to my place, and it was getting harder to keep lying to my housemates. The only thing stopping him from full implosion was the upcoming summer break.
I scrolled down and saw the photo.
A selfie of us.
I remembered that morning vividly. He’d woken me up still buried inside me from the night before. I was asleep in the photo, mouth slightly open, and he was grinning down at the camera. That filthy smirk said everything—even with the glare from the flash.
The accompanying message didn’t surprise me.
Alistair: Missing my tight little cocksleeve.
Me: Would sending me a dick pic once in a while kill you?
His response was instant.
Alistair: I told you, I’m not doing that. It looks fucking abnormal when I get the whole damn thing in.
I choked—then burst into a full belly laugh. The fact that he’d tried was killing me.
Alistair: Why did it take you so long to respond?
Me: Just got out for lunch. Thanks for packing it for me.
I sighed, glancing down at the box he’d packed: fruit, my favourite chicken wrap, and a single Babybel.
It was impossible not to love Alistair Graves.
And that was a terrifying thought.