15 #2
But now, here with Cal, I’m feeling indescribably compliant. I want nothing more than to trust, to follow his lead, and to let him show me how good it could be to feel feminine and soft and willing.
“Romy,” Cal whispers. “You are so, so beautiful.”
“So are you,” I agree. “I’ve always thought so. I’ve thought many times about the quiet boy with cutting blue eyes who made me feel more seen than anyone else ever did. About how he was…how he might be.”
His lips find mine before pulling back on a gentle whisper. “All the things that I am are designed by the universe for you. To serve you. To comfort you. To please you. To love you. Without this satisfaction, I am nothing. Without you, I am hollow.”
“Cal, please. Make love to me tonight. I don’t think I’ll survive without it.”
“I feel the same way,” he whispers against my mouth, kissing me deeply. “I’m drawn. Desperate. Incomplete.”
“Yes.” It’s my every sensation down to the very last detail.
“I wish we had more time,” he says then, his lips finding my forehead. “More time for me to woo you, as it were.”
My smile aches as I sink my forehead into his chest. “I guess my question is what prompted your swift interference tonight?” I ask, a little embarrassed by how cavalier I was with risk. Both Lucian and Nathanial could have killed me on the spot for being so disrespectful, I have no doubt.
His hum is both conciliatory and humorous. “I’ll never ask you to be something other than who you are, but you definitely threw me for a loop with that one.”
“Sorry,” I apologize, but I’ve barely completed the word before he’s shaking his head.
“Don’t be, Romy. You don’t ever have to be sorry with me.”
His gentle nature and fierce acceptance are all the confirmation I need to take the rest of the night in both hands.
Grabbing his hair, I pull his mouth down to mine, but this time, I don’t go gently. It’s an assault with my tongue, a beg and a plea and a million other desperations I can’t name. I ask him to react, but more than that, I invite him to lead.
To show me the way. To take and give in equal measure, and to seal the connection between us in a way that’ll never break.
“First,” he says. “Your pleasure.”
I swallow. “And then?”
“My pleasure.”
“And then?”
“ Our pleasure.”
A shiver runs along my spine and settles in my hips. They lift toward him of their own accord, and my eyes widen. It’s not that I didn’t want to do it—but the call to my brain definitely came from outside the house.
“You just…”
He nods, a smile alighting in both his eyes and across his mouth. “Lie back, my love. I want your pussy to be my first taste.”
Holy. Shit.
My first bout with sex is going to be with a vampire. I might be in over my head.
“Don’t be nervous,” Cal urges, scooting down the bed and pushing apart my knees.
My whole body shakes, so it’s not like my anxiety is a secret—still, I can’t help but wonder if he somehow read my mind.
“Everything about me is about you, remember? I’m built to read your cues.
Built to put your needs above my own. I promise, you will have the best experience of your life, or I will throw myself on the sword trying. ”
A giggle I can’t stop escapes my lungs. “You know, a couple vampires tonight couldn’t help but talk about you.
About your blue-collar background and how unrefined they find you to be.
” Cal scowls, and I laugh. “It’ll be our little secret for now, but I think you’re better with words than all of them. ”
He grins. “Oh Romy, we’re in good shape, then. Words, I’m afraid, are at the very low end of my abilities.”
I laugh, but it’s cut off sharply as he dives between my legs, sealing his mouth over the lace of my panties and sucking. My sleep shorts left so fast, I didn’t even notice.
As the suction releases, my back contracts, and my panties disappear too, leaving my heated skin to a breeze from the central heat as it kicks on. Cal’s tongue alleviates the shock quickly, licking a path up my center and swirling around my clit.
Air leaving me in a whoosh, my body bucks.
With soft, steady strokes, he works me into a frenzy in every sense of the word. My body, my mind, my hope—all of it soars so far beyond these walls it touches the moon and the stars.
I grip his hair tightly as he urges me on, but he doesn’t complain at all. When I loosen my grip, he renews it by reaching up and squeezing with his hand.
As my other hand wanders, he finds it with his own and rubs mind-numbingly at my wrist. With every stroke he gives—both with his fingers and his tongue—the pound of my own pulse inside my ears grows louder.
It’s then that I understand.
My pleasure.
Then his .
He meant my blood.
“Cal,” I cry, the softness of my voice a pure stroke of necessity. I want to yell and scream and cry from the way he’s making me feel. But with the guard right outside, I know I can’t.
He doesn’t reply—at least not with words. But with actions, his answer is loud and clear.
He wants me to jump, to fly, to free-fall into my pleasure and not look back. It’s a vulnerability and a gift to see him like this—to have this from him. And with a single sweet touch of his palm, lying flat on my stomach as his tongue works its magic, I cascade.
Over the cliff and into the deep pool on the other side. My vision blurs and then blackens as my eyes clench, and my toes curl into his back. His tongue moves slowly as I come down off the high, and then, without delay, his mouth is at my wrist.
There’s no pain as he sinks his teeth in—only a rising sense of renewed pleasure and an overwhelming wave of purpose.
They’re not wrong about how powerful this feels. But I highly doubt it feels this way with the wrong person.
I cannot imagine that anything could feel like this ever, with anyone else at all.