Chapter 12 #3
"No. If you fuck me one last time, I'll leave.
I promise. Cross my heart. I'll leave and never come back.
" I gesture to my lap with my outstretched hand.
"You get one last ride on my cock. I get to fill that desperate pussy, knowing I did my best to convince you.
And then we're done. Forever. Because if you truly want Ryan, fucking me right now won't change that, right?
You'll still want him tomorrow… if… we're not meant to be together. "
Scarletta shakes her head. "You're trying to trick me."
"Trick you into what, Scarletta? Either you want to be his, or you don't. Come on, come here. At least let me hold you."
She takes a step forward.
Then another.
I don't move. Don't rush her. Just keep my hand extended, palm up, like I'm offering food to a scared animal.
"You look beautiful," I say softly. Gentle. The way you'd speak to something fragile. "Your hair—the platinum blonde. It suits you perfectly. Makes your eyes look even more incredible."
Her bottom lip trembles.
"You've always been beautiful, Scarletta.
Even when you were hiding in that ratty hoodie and living off Lucky Charms. Even when you thought no one saw you.
" I keep my voice low, soothing. "But this—what you've done over the past six months—it's fucking stunning.
You've grown up. Matured. Become the woman you were always meant to be. "
A tear slides down her cheek.
"Come here, baby," I whisper. "Let me hold you. Just for a minute. That's all."
She shakes her head, but her feet keep moving forward. One step. Another. Closer.
"You're doing so good," I murmur. Encouraging. Sweet. "Such a good girl. Just a little closer."
Another tear falls. Then another. She's crying now—silent tears streaming down her face while she stands there clutching that towel like it's the only thing keeping her together.
"Sit, Scarletta."
Her knees bend. She lowers herself onto my lap—awkward at first, hesitant, like she doesn't trust this. Doesn't trust me.
But she sits anyway.
I wrap my arms around her immediately. Pull her close against my chest. One hand slides up into that platinum hair—so soft, so perfect—while the other settles at the small of her back.
"There you go," I breathe against her temple. "Good girl. Such a good little slut."
She breaks.
The sob that tears out of her is raw and desperate and everything I've been waiting for. She buries her face against my shoulder and cries—really cries—while I hold her, and stroke her hair, and tell her how good she is.
"I've got you," I whisper. "Right here. I've got you."
Her whole body shakes with it. Seven months of holding it together, seven months of pretending she's fine, seven months of running—all of it comes pouring out while I sit there and let her fall apart in my arms.
"Shhhh," I soothe, fingers threading through her hair. "You're okay. You're safe."
She's not safe. Not even close. But she needs to hear it anyway.
I rock her slightly. Back and forth. Gentle motion while my hand strokes down her spine, over the curve of her lower back, then up again. Repetitive. Calming. The way you'd comfort a frightened animal.
"So beautiful," I murmur against her hair. "So fucking perfect."
Her crying starts to slow. The sobs become quieter, more controlled. She's getting herself together again—rebuilding those walls brick by brick.
I won't let her.
"One last time," I say softly. "And then I'm gone. I promise."
She pulls back enough to look at me. Her eyes are red, nose running. She's a mess.
She's gorgeous.
"You promise?" Her voice cracks on the words.
"I promise." I stroke her cheek with my thumb, wiping away tears. "One last time, and then I walk away. I won't come back until you come to me."
She searches my face. Looking for the lie. Looking for the trap.
She won't find it.
Because this time—this one fucking time—I'm telling the truth.
If we're going to be together forever… it has to be her choice.
"This time," I say quietly, holding her gaze, "I will not waver. I'll walk out that door, and I won't come back. Not to your apartment. Not to the gym. Not to the coffee shop." I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. "If you don't come to me, we will never see each other again. I promise."
She wants to believe me. I can see it in her eyes—the desperate, fragile hope that maybe this time I'm actually telling the truth.
I am.
For once in my twisted, fucked-up life, I'm actually telling the truth.
"Okay," she whispers.
I grip her hips—both hands now, firm and claiming—and lift her. She gasps, instinctively wrapping her arms around my neck as I position her directly over my cock.
The towel falls away.
She's naked in my lap. Wet from the shower. Warm, and soft, and everything I've been craving for seven months.
I lower her slowly.
The head of my cock presses against her entrance. She's already wet—so fucking wet—and I slide in easily. Inch by inch. Stretching her. Filling her.
Her head falls back, mouth opening on a silent moan as I sink deeper.
"That's it," I breathe. "Take it, baby. Take every inch."
She does. Her pussy swallows my cock completely until I'm buried to the hilt, her thighs trembling where they bracket my hips.
I hold her there. Don't move. Just let her feel it—the fullness, the stretch, the way we fit together like we were made for this.
"Fuck," she whimpers.
"One last time," I remind her. My hands tighten on her hips. "Let's make it count."
I stand, gripping her ass with both hands, cock still buried deep. She gasps, wrapping her legs around my waist as I turn and slam her back against the wall.
"Fuck!" she cries out.
The impact drives me deeper. Her pussy clenches around my shaft, and I grind against her, pinning her there with my hips.
"You feel that?" I growl against her ear. "Feel how fucking deep I am? How your pussy is stretched around my cock like it was made for me?"
She moans, head falling back against the wall. Eyes closed. Mouth open. Completely lost in it.
I pull out almost completely, then slam back in.
"Yes!" Her nails dig into my shoulders.
I do it again. Harder. The wet sound of our bodies connecting echoes off the high ceilings.
"This is what you need, isn't it?" I pant, fucking up into her with brutal thrusts. "Not Ryan's mediocre bullshit. Not some vanilla boyfriend who'll treat you like you're normal. You need this. You need me."
"Oh god—"
"Say it." I bite her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "Tell me what you are."
"Your—fuck—your slut—"
"Good little slut," I correct, punctuating each word with a thrust. "Mine. All mine. This pussy belongs to me. Always has. Always will."
She's bouncing on my cock now, using the wall for leverage, riding me with desperate need. Her tits bounce with every thrust, nipples hard, and pink, and perfect.
"You think Ryan can fuck you like this?" I grab her throat—not squeezing, just holding. Claiming. "Think he knows how to make you come so hard you black out? Think he understands what you need?"
"No—no—"
"Fucking right he doesn't." I slam into her harder, feeling my orgasm building. "Only me. Only I know how to wreck this perfect little pussy. Only I know how filthy you really are."
Her pussy flutters around me. She's close.
"You're going to come on my cock," I command. "Right now. While I fill you up. And every time you see Ryan at that gym, you'll remember who you really belong to."
"Caleb—"
"Come, Scarletta. Now."
She detonates. Her entire body goes rigid, pussy clamping down on my shaft like a vice as she screams my name. The orgasm tears through her, violent and absolute.
I fuck her through it, chasing my own release. But this isn't how it ends. if this really is the last time—it isn't, but I could be wrong, stranger things have happened—if it's the last time, then she's going to finger herself relentlessly for the rest of her life to the memory of it.
As soon as her clenching stops—as soon as that vicious grip on my shaft relaxes—I pull out completely. She makes a wounded little sound, confused, still shaking from the aftershocks.
I don't give her time to recover.
I grab her by the hair and force her down. She goes down hard, knees hitting with a dull thud that makes her wince. But she doesn't protest. Just looks up at me with those wide, wrecked hazel eyes.
Fuck, she's beautiful like this. Destroyed. Mine.
"Open up, my little slut," I say, my voice rough, still breathless from fucking her so hard. I stroke my cock once, twice—still slick with her arousal, still rock-hard. "Time to have your cake and eat it too."
Her jaw drops instantly. No hesitation. No shame.
I shove my cock into her mouth before she can even take a breath.
She gags immediately—throat convulsing around me as I push deeper, forcing her to take more than she's ready for.
Her hands fly up to my thighs, nails digging into my flesh as she tries to steady herself, tries to breathe around the intrusion.
I keep going. Deeper. Until her nose is nearly pressed against my pelvis, until tears are streaming down her face and she's making these desperate, choking sounds that go straight to my balls.
Then—just when I feel her starting to panic, starting to push harder against my thighs—I pull out.
She gasps, coughing, sucking in air like she's been drowning. Her lips are swollen and wet and red. She looks utterly debauched.
I bend down and cup her face in both hands, tilting her head back, and I kiss her hard. Deep. Claiming her mouth the same way I just claimed her pussy.
I pour everything into that kiss—possession, obsession, the promise that this isn't over, that it will never be over.
She kisses me back—desperately, hungrily, like she needs my mouth more than air—and then her hand moves between us, finding my cock and wrapping around it with a grip so tight it borders on pain.
I pull back from the kiss with a sharp inhale, my entire body tensing as pleasure shoots through me like lightning. My head falls back, eyes squeezing shut, and I let out a low, guttural moan that I couldn't suppress if I tried.
"That's it," I rasp, forcing my eyes open to look down at her. "That's it, my good little slut. Fuck me with your hand."
She looks up at me with those wrecked, tear-streaked eyes, her hand still wrapped tight around my cock. Her grip is perfect—firm but not crushing, the pressure exactly where I need it.
"Please," she whispers, voice raw from choking on me. "Please, I need—put it back inside me. My pussy. Please, Master."
The word Master nearly breaks me. Seven months. Seven fucking months since I've heard that word from her lips.
I shake my head, grinning down at her. "No."
Her face crumples. "Please—"
"Open," I command, gripping her jaw. "Wider."
She obeys immediately, and I slide my cock back into that wet heat. This time I don't force it. Don't shove deep enough to make her gag. Instead I fist her hair—both hands tangled in all that platinum blonde—and use it to guide her head exactly how I want.
Back. Forward. Slow circles that make her lips stretch around my shaft.
"That's it," I breathe, watching my cock disappear between her swollen lips. "Fuck, that's perfect. You're so fucking good at this, baby."
She moans around me, the vibration traveling straight up my spine. Her tongue works the underside, tracing the vein that runs along my length, and I have to force myself not to thrust hard enough to make her choke again.
Not yet.
I want her to finish me properly this time. Want to feel her take control, show me what she can do when she's not fighting for air.
"Use your hand," I instruct, loosening my grip on her hair slightly. "Show me how well you know me."
Her hand comes up immediately, wrapping around the base while her mouth works the head. The combination is devastating—wet heat and tight pressure in perfect rhythm. She hollows her cheeks, sucking hard, then releases to lap at the slit with the tip of her tongue.
"Fuck," I groan, head falling back. My hips start moving of their own accord, shallow thrusts that she matches perfectly.
She knows exactly what she's doing. Seven months hasn't dulled this at all. If anything, she's better—more confident, more deliberate. Like she's been fantasizing about this, practicing in her mind.
The thought makes my balls tighten.
"I'm close," I warn her, voice rougher than I intended. "You want to swallow me, baby? Want to taste it?"
Before I finish the question, she lunges forward.
Takes me deep—so fucking deep I feel the head hit the back of her throat. Her eyes water instantly but she doesn't pull back. Just holds there, throat convulsing around me, and then swallows.
The orgasm hits like a physical blow.
I come hard, buried in her throat, my entire body going rigid as pleasure detonates through me. Wave after wave, each pulse filling her mouth while she struggles to take it all.
I pull out before she chokes—before the lack of air becomes dangerous—and the last few spurts hit her face. Her cheek. Her lips. One thick rope across her nose.
I'm laughing before I can stop myself. Genuine laughter, rough and breathless, as I look down at her kneeling there covered in my come.
She's smiling too. Actually smiling, despite everything. Despite the tears and the way she's gasping for breath.
Fucking perfect.
I drop to my knees, cupping her face in both hands—not caring about the mess, not caring about anything except getting my mouth on hers. I kiss her hard. Brutal. Claiming every inch of that mouth.
Then soft. Gentle. Reverent, almost.
Then everything in between—rough, and tender, and possessive, and worshipful all at once. My tongue traces her bottom lip, tasting myself there, and I don't give a single fuck.
When I finally pull back, she's looking at me with those wide hazel eyes. Vulnerable. Open. Everything I've been craving for seven months.
"I love you," I say.
The words come out easier than I expected. No hesitation. No calculation. Just the truth, simple and absolute.
Her breath catches.
I stand before she can respond. Tuck myself back in, button and zip my pants. The fabric settles around my hips, and I'm already moving toward the door.
"Caleb—"
"You know where to find me," I say without turning around. My hand finds the doorknob. "When you're ready."
I open the door.
Walk through.
Close it behind me with a soft click that sounds impossibly loud in the silence.
Then I'm in the hallway, walking toward the stairs, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I didn't lie.
I won't come back.
Not until she comes to me first.
The thought terrifies me more than anything I've ever done.
But she will come.
I've already made sure of it.