Chapter 36
ALIA
Cal’s promise slithers down my spine and swirls in a pool of heat at the base of my belly. Gore and violence have never turned me on, but his calm, assured declaration enthralls me.
I don’t know if I’m embarrassed for being aroused by such neanderthal claims or confused. It’s never been like this with anyone. I’ve never wanted a knight in shining armor, never relished someone being protective of me.
With every interaction, it’s becoming clear what I think I want and what I actually want are diametrically different when it comes to Callum Finnigan.
“Why have you been ignoring me?” I ask, my voice choked. He can’t say stuff like this after going cold.
“I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“You’ve been weird all week. I don’t expect you to call me, but even your texts. . .”
Cal looks pained, a little tired even.
“Stupid Novak and his fucking advice. All those Elmo gifs are dumb.”
“You promised our friendship wouldn’t be affected.”
“You asked me to go slow. I was trying to give you space.”
“I don’t want space from you,“ I interrupt angrily. “Unless you do, in which case, at least be honest.”
His thunderous frown should scare me, but I find myself jutting my chin up and glaring at him instead.
A flicker of frustration crosses his handsome face at my show of defiance.
His eyes gleam with something wicked when he snags my hand in his and drags me down the hall toward a door I hadn’t noticed.
He throws it open and ushers me in, slamming the door behind us and latching it shut.
We’re in some sort of utility room. The walls are mirrored on one end and there are jerseys, tumblers, and Ironhearts paraphernalia everywhere.
The streetlight streaming in is from the rectangular windows sitting so high on the wall that only birds flying by would be able to peek inside.
I don’t have time to notice anything else because Cal spins me around and backs me up against the closed door.
Crowding into me, he presses my hand against the bulge growing in his pants, and growls in my ear, “Does this feel like I want space?”
My palm flattens and my fingers flex automatically over him, causing him to let out a harsh groan. The sound makes electricity zip through me, shooting straight to my core.
“Fuck baby, you’re killing me.”
“Sorry.” I’m not. His cock stiffens under my touch and I love it.
“You should be,” he scolds, trapping the lobe of my ear between his teeth, biting it gently. I shudder. “I don’t understand why you keep questioning how much I want you.”
“Hard to believe,” I sigh, arching my neck so he has better access.
“I’m not him.“ He says it like a curse; I know he’s referring to Namik. “That bastard didn’t know how good he had it with you.”
“I’m not thinking about him. I don’t think about him anymore.”
His thumb settles into the center of my chin, his index curling under to hold me captive. His eyes gleam even in the dark, changing shades as he processes my words.
“Who do you think about then?” he questions, the tip of his nail tracing the lower line of my lip in a caress that holds me in trance.
“You.”
I doubt it is assurance Cal is asking for, but I provide it anyway. I don’t want him to ever wonder if I have any attachment left to Namik.
“Good.” Cal’s gruff approval, his hands roving my body, his mouth flirting with mine has me wanting to fuse myself with him. “Because from the moment I saw you, I’ve had a hard time thinking about anyone else.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, contrite. This time I mean it. I can’t imagine how frustrating my insecurity is for him to deal with.
“Tots, I need something from you.” He licks his lips nervously, yet all I can think about is when he’ll kiss me. “Will you touch me? I. . . I need you.”
My heart stutters.
“Right now?”
“Right fucking now. I’ve had only my hands for company for far too long.”
My desire to feel Cal’s desperation for me overtakes any sense of time or place.
“Teach me how.”
The clink of his belt being unbuckled has the temperature rising between us.
When I stand frozen with indecision, he reaches for me and guides my hand down his now open fly, trapping my palm over his cock. I explore him gently through the barrier of his boxers before tugging at the waistband, wordlessly asking for permission to go further.
“Touch me however you want, Tots,” he says, a slight strain in his voice. “Just. . . don’t stop.”
His throat works when I run my fingers down the slight dusting of hair below his navel before slipping inside his boxers. The heat of him sitting thick and heavy sears my palm. He whimpers into my neck when I stroke him tentatively, his dick hardening further under my touch.
“Oh my god,” I breathily exclaim.
“I agree,” he murmurs, jutting toward me with an earnest hum.
“You’re big.”
“No, I’m totally average,” he insists, kissing my neck while he snaps open the button on my jeans and pushes them down my hips. My skin cools considerably as my thoughts spiral.
“This can’t be average,” I squeak. It’s nearly half of my forearm! And the girth? I create a tight ring around his cock, noting that my fingers get close but don’t meet. The only gauge I have without the benefit of vision is that he’s thicker than the handle of a cricket bat.
He wants to put this weapon inside me? He promised it wouldn’t hurt, but that’s obviously a lie. Oh god, how does he walk around with this stuffed in his pants all day long? Does it hang loose? Dangle side to side? Is sex with Cal worth the risk of ruptured organs?
I’m severely questioning my life choices and my grip slackens, something I fail to notice until his palm traps mine, his mouth hot at my ear.
“I didn’t tell you to let go. I need your hands on me, please.”
“Cal. . .” I worry, unable to voice my concern. I attempt to glance down to confirm what he looks like when his hand cups my jaw, forcing my eyes to his.
“Don’t think about it. I’m average. Nothing special.”
I scrunch my nose, confused. Don’t most men want their dicks to be massive? Why would Cal protest when. . . oh.
“You think I’m going to be afraid of you if you have a big dick?”
“Nothing to be afraid of,” he says soothingly, dropping nibbling kisses wherever he can. “When the time comes, you can handle me.”
“I’m handling you right now,” I mutter, causing him to let out a rough guffaw.
“Then wrap your hand around my cock like you mean it,” he orders, his challenge gliding over me like hot silk.
“Like this?” My fingers tighten as I pass my thumb over the wide head where moisture leaks from him.
I smile when he enthusiastically jerks against my palm, groaning my name against my temple.
Goosebumps erupt across my skin at the low, rumbling sound of pleasure he makes, the sultry timbre wrapping me in an erotic embrace.
I nuzzle the skin of his neck, pressing a kiss on his pulse before licking into the hollow at the base of his throat.
“Fuck, you’re going to be the end of me,” he whimpers, helplessly swaying like he can’t contain himself.
I’m drunk on a power I never realized I desired. The ability to make a man beg for me. Moan for me. Yearn for me.
His desperation for my touch only makes him irresistible. I hitch my hips, grinding against him to relieve the unbearable ache between my legs. “You think you can wipe away all my fears, don’t you?” I ask softly, circling the slick tip of his cock.
“I don’t have to,” he murmurs, lips brushing mine with a gentility that wrecks me. “You’re strong enough for that yourself.”
His hand slides down the front of my pants, taking no time to slip beneath the thin fabric of my underwear. Moisture pools under his touch as he uses the flat of his fingers to swirl and rub slow, wide circles over me with just enough friction to make me want more.
“God, Cal, I n-need you.”
I have no time to be embarrassed about begging because he dips one thick finger inside me, stroking me unhurriedly and making me moan when he stretches me with a second finger.
“Fuck yourself on my hand, Tots. Take what you need and come for me.”
My breath hitches, caught in my chest as I chase the high I’d gotten in Vegas. My hips undulate to the rhythm he creates while I grip, stroke, and squeeze his stiff length, reducing us both to urgent moans and heavy breaths.
The air around us is stiflingly hot but I’d rather asphyxiate than let the pressure building within my body lose momentum.
“So hot and wet, baby,” he gruffs. “This pussy loves getting stuffed with my fingers, doesn’t it?”
His words spur me into stroking him like he showed me before, his instant groan of pleasure heightening my sense of control—one as alien as it is addicting. I’m not the only one who loves being touched here.
“Fuck, I need you to come quick, baby,” he rasps, thrusting his fingers harder and deeper, making me struggle for my next breath. My mind is torn between concentrating on achieving an orgasm and the responsibility of delivering it.
“Cal, oh my god, I— I—”
“Let go.” Sharp teeth flirt with the tendons of my throat, biting down just hard enough to mark me.
The innately possessive action pushes me over the edge.
In a brilliant explosion that whitens my vision, I fall apart.
His fingers continue to curve into me in a come-hither motion that has me writhing, my orgasm lasting longer than it ever has before.
I’m panting, my knees jellied, when I realize Cal is still rock hard.
“You didn’t come. I want you to finish.” As I go to pump him again, he grips my wrist.
“Cal,” I protest.
“I want to come grinding on you,” he says gruffly. “Here,” he emphasizes, swiping the tip of one blunt finger through my still throbbing pussy. He watches me like a hawk observing a succulent prey, his eyes simmering with a fever that reflects his desire. For me.