15. Ash #2
“Yes.” Like it’s even a question at this point. I’m so hard from him kneeling astride me, I might die when I get inside him. Just the thought sends a shiver through me, and he notices.
His eyes darken, gaze boring into mine, and something tightens deep in my belly, something more than the sex I hope we’re about to have.
For a split second, his eyes widen with what looks like recognition, then it’s gone, and maybe I imagined it.
I forget about it altogether as I watch him squirt lube onto his fingers, then get himself ready.
I want to do that.
Next time.
Because I already know I’m going to want more after this.
My hands find their way to his thighs of their own accord, soft hairs tickling the palm of the hand not strapped up. I can feel all that coiled strength as he rises up on his knees.
He taps my brace and whispers, “Be careful with this.”
Then he wraps a smooth, warm hand around my cock and sinks down, eyes never leaving mine.
“Fuck.” It’s all I can manage, my mind wiped clean by the sheer perfection of Callum’s body surrounding me. By the way his eyes see into my fucking soul.
He starts to move, settling into an easy rhythm like this is familiar instead of brand new.
Each rise and fall of his hips fans the flames he ignited when he appeared at my door.
My toes curl as he bottoms out, fingers dig into his strong thighs, the movement pure instinct. So is the wince as my wrist twinges.
He notices, of course he does.
And stops.
I groan, needing him to move. “It’s fine,” I grit out. “Honest.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not. Not yet.” Gently, he eases my braced wrist off his thigh and sets it on the bed. “Leave it there. Let me do all the work.” It’s not an order or a directive. It’s a request. A plea for me to take care of myself, and it’s that that makes me nod.
“Yeah,” I rasp. “Okay.”
He grins down at me, and I know what’s coming before he says it. “Good boy.”
“Oh, fuck yo—” I’m cut off as he rolls his hips, my words trailing off into a throaty moan.
Our eyes meet again, and there’s a wildness to his, raw and dangerous, that sparks excitement in my veins.
My heart beats heavy against my ribs. My focus narrows to the rise and fall of his hips, the feel of him tight around me, and the way his eyes never leave mine.
As our bodies move together, pleasure building exponentially, I slide my hand around the back of his neck and draw him into a kiss, because I need to be closer. I need to feel his mouth on mine, taste the moment he falls apart, and hope he’s close, because I am.
Fire floods my veins, my hips rising off the bed to meet him as he grinds down onto me. I go to reach for him with my braced hand, forgetting, but Callum’s there before I make contact. He takes my hand, kisses my fingers, then sets it carefully back on the bed.
I’m inside him, and yet this one act feels more intimate than anything else. My heart stutters, breath catching, because this feels like more. Like something we shouldn’t have, and yet I want so badly in this moment I don’t care about anything else.
He drops forward, hands braced either side of my head. “Touch me,” he growls, the rough scratch of his voice sinking into my bones.
I wrap my hand around him, the slide easy with how turned on he is. He bites his lip, I stroke him harder, and then he’s coming, marking my stomach and my chest as he groans out his release.
I’m so close, riding the edge, needing the barest of nudges to fall over it with him. He falls forward, head buried in the crook of my neck, heavy breaths replaced by the sharp scrape of teeth. And that’s all it takes.
The sweetest pain mixes with the pleasure flooding my body and my back arches, hand grabbing his hip to hold him steady as I come and come, in an orgasm that feels fucking endless.
It takes a few minutes for me to float back down, for my mind to process what we’ve done. Then I laugh—can’t help it. I run a hand through my hair. “Fucking hell.”
Callum hasn’t moved, his weight pinning me to the bed, but I like it, want to keep it there for as long as possible. I get another minute before he finally pushes himself upright.
His thumb traces the base of my throat, eyes trained on that exact spot.
It’s tender when he presses down.
My belly clenches. I like that too.
He doesn’t apologise for leaving a mark that I know will be there.
I don’t want him to. When our eyes meet this time, there’s a look in his eyes I don’t recognise.
The wildness lingers, but there’s a soft edge to it now.
Warmth floods my body, starting behind my ribs and rolling outwards like the gentlest of waves.
Callum tenses, then takes a deep breath in and relaxes. He eases off me and lies down on his side, propped up on one elbow. When I turn my head, he leans in and kisses me. Soft, unhurried, a kiss that’s leading nowhere but is just as potent.
He traces the side of my face, along my jaw, before his hand comes to rest where he left his mark. It throbs under his touch. “I need to tell you.”
I don’t need to ask what.
I don’t want to.
I’m sleepy and sated, content in a way I haven’t been for months. Part of me knows whatever truths spill from his lips could shatter all that, and I want to hold on to it for a little while longer. Part of me insists that Morgan should be the one to tell me. I promised I’d wait for him to be ready.
I cover Callum’s mouth with my hand before he can say anything else. “Tomorrow.”
It seems like forever before he sighs and leans in to kiss me again. “Okay.”