Chapter 10 #2
Molly could hardly catch her breath, the aftershocks of her second orgasm rippling through her with each new kiss Caleb dropped against her overheated skin.
He blew a stream of cool air against her clit and she groaned, shuddering when he pressed another too gentle kiss to the sensitive spot.
His stubbled jaw scraped pleasantly against her thighs in stark contrast to the softness of his kiss.
“Caleb,” she groaned, tugging on his hair, “kiss me.”
“I am kissing you.” She could hear the smirk in his voice.
“You know what I meant.”
“You like when I kiss you here.” Another too soft press of his lips, a flick of his tongue sending a bolt of pleasure through her.
“Father West,” she said in her best teacher voice.
He froze and for a moment she wondered if it had been the wrong thing to say, but when he looked up at her from between her thighs, his pupils were blown black, ringed by a thin circle of green. “That is not the way to get me to stop kissing your pussy, Ms. Proulx,” he warned.
Another tug on his hair and his eyes narrowed.
“I want to kiss you too,” she said.
With one last forlorn glance between her legs, he crawled over her body, settling his hips between hers and balancing his weight on his palms by her shoulders.
The starchy fabric of his pants was rough against the skin of her inner thighs, but she wrapped her legs around him all the same, pulling him closer so she could press her lips to his.
He tasted like her, and suddenly she was met with a fresh wave of heat arrowing down to her core.
She trailed her nails down his chest, cataloging the little grunt of pleasure he made in response, and hooked her fingers through his belt loops.
She tugged. “I want to kiss you here.”
He lifted his face enough to meet her eyes, searching, as though he expected to find she was lying. As if she hadn’t been fantasizing about his cock for months. She palmed the impressive bulge in his pants, biting back a smile when he groaned in response.
“Please, Caleb. Let me touch you.”
He rolled off of her and for a moment she thought he was going to tell her no, that he was going to put an end to it right then and there.
Instead, he sat up on his knees and, as he held her gaze, slowly worked his belt open.
The metal buckle clattered against the hardwood floor as he tossed the belt aside.
He waited, an invitation and an out all in one.
But Molly didn’t want an out. She wanted him, every messy moment she could grasp hold of before time ran out.
She scrambled to her knees in front of him and drew down his zipper, shoving his pants and boxer briefs down around his thighs.
His cock bobbed between them, long and thick and ready for her.
The flared red tip leaked precum, glistening as it dripped down the length of his erection.
She wrapped her hand around him, squeezing at the base.
When she began pumping over him in slow, tight strokes, he hissed and fell back to sitting, his back resting against the couch, as though staying upright while she touched him was too challenging.
Molly knelt by his side, scooting closer until her knees brushed his thighs, and continued to slowly stroke him.
“Come here,” he said, his voice gruff, as he grasped her hip and pulled her even closer.
He caressed her backside, taking great handfuls of her ass, before sliding his hand between her legs again, dipping his fingers inside. “You’re so soft,” he marveled.
“You're so hard,” she teased.
“Perfect opposites.”
“Just perfect.” She leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, taking only the tip into her mouth. His fingers stilled between her legs, as if his entire body had frozen when her lips made contact with his erection, before he redoubled his efforts, pumping harder, deeper.
“You’re perfect,” he said.
“Shh.” She flicked her tongue over the ridge at his crown. “It’s my turn to worship you.”
She lowered her mouth over him, taking him as deep as she could—which, given his impressive length and girth, wasn’t very deep. All the same, he sucked in a breath as though he’d been punched in the chest.
“That’s blasphemy, Ms. Proulx,” he choked out.
She did it again, dragging the flat of her tongue over the underside of his erection as she moved up and down, up and down. He pressed his thumb to her clit, working her in the tight circles she liked, and her climax coiled low in her belly, tighter and tighter with each of his movements.
“Molly,” he said through gritted teeth, “I’m not going to last long.” She hummed around him, and he cursed under his breath, his head falling back. “Come for me, Molly. Come with me.”
She rocked back against his fingers, driving them deeper into the place behind her clit that made her see stars, while she continued to suck his cock.
He said her name again, a pained, tense warning, and then, just as she fell over into yet another climax, he gripped her hair with his free hand and pulled her off his cock.
Thick ropes of cum spurted from the tip and lashed across her breasts.
She rode his hand, her inner muscles clenching around his fingers, as he coated her in his release.
It felt like being anointed, baptized even, like the start of something new, something that would fundamentally change them both.
When at last they’d both finished, he withdrew his fingers, pressing each one inside his mouth and sucking them clean, his eyes locked on hers with such intensity she thought she might burst into flame.
She watched as he used that same hand to massage his cum into her skin, spreading it over her breasts, circling her nipples in deliberate strokes.
“How are you even more beautiful now than you’ve ever been?” he whispered.
“That’s just the orgasm talking.”
He pinched her nipple, twisting until she gasped at the sharp bite of pain before releasing her. “No, it’s not.”
They sat together in silence, idly touching each other, his fingertips dancing over her belly, her breasts, her hand resting on his thigh.
Easy. The way it would be if this thing between them could be more than a snowed-in fever dream.
The casual caresses and quiet care that underscored a life together.
But this wasn’t that. And as her body cooled, doubt began to creep in. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Though he let his hand fall away, he frowned at the change in her position.
“Don’t shut me out, Molly.”
“I’m not.”
He shot her a disbelieving look, but the doubt had well and truly caught hold of her now, twisting in her stomach and crawling up her throat. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, command slipping into his voice and making her want to curl up at his side and do whatever he asked.
She shook her head, as though she could shake free the voice at the back of her brain telling her to stop this now. Every second she let this continue would only make it hurt more when it ended. “I was thinking, we should make gingerbread cookies.”
He eyed her warily. “Gingerbread?”
“Mmhmm.” She forced brightness into her voice she didn’t feel. “If we only have twenty-four hours, then we should do it all. Make all the Christmas memories.”
He slid his hands into her hair and held her captive so she had to meet his eyes, a spark twinkling behind his eyes despite his stern expression and the careful way he studied her, as though he were looking for a crack in her story, an indication she didn’t mean it.
“And what other memories did you want to make, Ms. Proulx?”
“We could start with a shower,” she said, glancing down at her chest.
He bit back a smile and pressed a kiss to her lips, chaste and lingering. “A shower sounds perfect.”