Chapter Ten
Calvin
Riot’s bare chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but his eyes had gone dark, pupils nearly swallowing the warm brown.
“You’re serious,” I said.
“Don’t say things I don’t mean.”
My fingers found the hem of my shirt before my brain caught up. The fabric slid over my head, catching briefly on my ears before I yanked it free. Cool air hit my skin, raising goosebumps. Riot watched every movement, his gaze tracking from my collarbone down to my stomach.
“Your turn,” he said, voice low.
“Already did my part.” But my hands were moving again, working at my belt. The buckle clinked, loud in the quiet room. My jeans slid down my legs, pooling at my ankles. I kicked them free then hesitated with my thumbs hooked into the waistband of my boxers.
Riot leaned back on his palms, giving me space. Waiting. The calm in his expression steadied something shaky inside me.
“You’re still wearing too much,” I said.
Without breaking eye contact, he shoved his briefs down and off. Then he was naked again, and I was staring again, and the heat pooling low in my stomach spread outward until my skin felt too tight.
“Better?” His mouth curved.
“Getting there.”
I pushed my own underwear down, and his smile faded into something hungrier. His gaze traveled the length of my body with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“Come here, Calvin.”
I crossed the small space between us, my bare feet silent on the rug. Riot reached up and caught my hip, pulling me to stand between his spread thighs. His palm was warm against my skin, rough with calluses. The touch sent electricity racing up my side.
Bending down, he pressed his mouth to my stomach, just below my navel. The kiss was soft, reverent, nothing like the desperate kiss in the driveway. His beard scraped gently, and my stomach muscles jumped under his lips.
“Been thinking about this,” he murmured against my skin. “Touching you. Tasting you.”
My hand found the back of his head, my fingers threading through his hair. “How long?”
“Since the cookout.” Another kiss, lower this time. “Since you walked through that gate looking like you belonged there.” His mouth moved to my hip bone, his teeth grazing the ridge. “Since you stood next to me at the food table and pretended you weren’t watching me just as hard.”
A laugh escaped me, breathless and surprised. “I wasn’t pretending very well.”
“No.” His hands slid up the backs of my thighs, squeezing gently. “You weren’t.”
Tugging me down, he guided me onto the bed. I went willingly, letting him arrange me against the pillows. The comforter was soft beneath my back, still carrying his scent. He settled beside me, one arm braced near my head, the other tracing idle patterns across my collarbone.
His mouth found mine. The kiss was slow this time. Deep. His tongue swept inside, and I opened for him without hesitation. The kiss went on and on until my lips felt swollen and my thoughts had scattered like marbles on a hardwood floor.
Breaking away, he trailed kisses down my jaw, my throat, the hollow where my pulse hammered. His beard left a pleasant burn in its wake. My hands roamed across his shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle, the shift of bone beneath skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he said against my chest. “Every part of you.”
Heat flooded my face. “You don’t have to—”
“Don’t tell me what I have to do.” His teeth grazed my right nipple, and my words broke into a sharp gasp. His tongue soothed the sting immediately. “I say what I mean. Always.”
His mouth continued its path downward, leaving wet kisses across my ribs, my stomach, the sensitive skin just above my hipbone. My cock strained upward, hard and aching, but he bypassed it entirely. Instead, he pressed his lips to the inside of my thigh.
“There’s a very important part you’re ignoring,” I managed to say.
“Patience.” His breath ghosted across damp skin. “Want to take my time with you.”
“Your concept of time is terrible.”
His laugh vibrated against my thigh. He lifted his head and looked up at me from between my legs, and the sight of him there—lips reddened, eyes dark, beard slightly mussed—nearly undid me on the spot.
“Bossy,” he said.
“Starving.”
His mouth closed around my erection before I could get another word out.
Heat. Wet heat and pressure and the slide of his tongue along the underside of my cock. My back arched off the mattress, a sound tearing from my throat that was half moan, half his name. His hand pressed flat against my stomach, holding me in place while he worked me deeper.
The world narrowed to the pull of his mouth, the rhythm of his head bobbing, the occasional scrape of teeth that danced right on the edge of too much.
My fingers twisted in the comforter, knuckles going white.
His name fell from my lips in fragments, broken syllables that didn’t form anything coherent.
He pulled off with a wet sound that made my face burn. “You taste good.” His voice came out rough, scraped raw. “Could do this all night.”
“Please don’t.” My hips bucked involuntarily. “I’ll die.”
“Wouldn’t want that.” He dipped back down, his tongue tracing the vein along the underside before taking me deep again. One of his hands slid lower, cupping my balls, and the dual sensation sent a jolt straight through my nervous system.
My thighs started trembling. Pressure coiled low in my stomach, building with every stroke of his tongue. My breathing went ragged, my chest heaving.
“Close,” I gasped. “Riot, I’m—”
He pulled off immediately, leaving me aching and desperate. A whimper escaped before I could stop it.
“Not yet.” He pressed a kiss to my hip. “Want you to come with me inside you.”
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“Then get inside me.”
His laugh was low and rough. He reached toward the nightstand, rummaging through the drawer before producing a small bottle. The cap clicked open, and the faint scent of something slightly floral reached me.
“Sit up,” he said.
I pushed myself upright, leaning back against the pillows. Riot poured lube onto his fingers, warming it between his palms. Then his hand was between my legs, his slick fingers circling my entrance with gentle pressure.
The first finger slid in slowly. I forced myself to relax, to breathe through the stretch. He watched my face the entire time, reading every flicker of sensation, adjusting his movements accordingly.
“Good?” he asked.
“More.”
A second finger joined the first. He worked them deeper, slower, crooking them until they brushed against something that made my vision blur. My hips jerked, and a sound escaped me that was entirely involuntary.
“There.” The word came out strangled.
His mouth curved. He stroked that spot again, and my legs fell open wider. A third finger pushed in, the stretch bordering on too much but somehow still not enough. He scissored them gently, opening me up, taking his time despite the tension coiling in every line of his body.
“Ready,” I said. “Now. Please.”
Withdrawing his fingers, he shifted onto his knees between my legs, and for a moment, he just looked at me. His gaze traveled from my face down to my chest, my stomach, my cock leaking against my belly.
“So fucking gorgeous.” The words came out reverent. “Can’t believe you’re here.”
“Believe it.” I reached for him, pulling him down on top of me. His weight pressed me into the mattress, solid and grounding. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my heels digging into his ass. “Now fuck me before I lose my mind.”
“Bossy,” he said again, but he was lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
The first push stole my breath. He went slowly, inch by inch, letting me adjust to the stretch. My nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescents in his skin. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath coming hard and fast.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Perfect. You’re perfect. Don’t stop.”
He pushed deeper until his hips met mine and he was fully seated inside me. Full. I felt impossibly full, stretched around him, every nerve ending singing with the pressure. He held still, giving me time to adjust, but I didn’t need time. I needed him to move.
“Move,” I said. “Now.”
Pulling out almost all the way, he thrust back in. The drag of his cock against my walls sent sparks racing up my back. Again. He did it again, setting a slow rhythm that was simultaneously perfect and torture.
“Harder.” My legs tightened around his waist. “Can take it.”
His hips snapped forward, driving deeper, and a sound ripped from my throat that was half-moan, half-plea. Better. That was better. The angle hit something inside me that made my toes curl.
“Right there,” I managed. “Don’t stop.”
His hand found my hip, gripping hard enough to leave marks. Each thrust pushed me higher, building pressure low in my stomach. Sweat slicked our skin where our bodies pressed together. The sound of our breathing filled the room, ragged and uneven.
“Calvin.” My name came out broken. “Look at me.”
I opened my eyes—when had I closed them?—and met his gaze. Something raw moved behind his expression. Not just want. Something deeper. Something that made my throat tight.
“Hi,” I whispered.
His laugh was breathless. “Hi.” He shifted his angle, driving deeper, and my brief moment of coherence shattered. “Want you to come for me. Can you do that?”
“Close.” The word came out strangled. “Really close.”
Touching myself was beyond my coordination, but his hand wrapped around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.
The dual sensation pushed me past the edge.
My vision went white, pleasure crashing through me in waves.
Distantly, I felt his teeth sink into my shoulder—sharp, grounding—and the pain mixed with the pleasure until I couldn’t separate them.
I came across his fist and my stomach, a shout tearing from my throat. His hips stuttered, the rhythm faltering, and then he was pulsing inside me, a low groan vibrating against my shoulder where his teeth still held.
Time stretched. Shrank. Eventually, he released my shoulder and collapsed partially on top of me, careful not to crush me with his full weight. Both of us were breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.
“Okay,” I said finally.
“Okay?” His voice was muffled against my neck.
“That was…okay.”
He lifted his head, eyebrows drawing together. “Okay?”
“Fine. It was incredible. You broke me. Happy?”
“Very.” He pressed a kiss to my jaw then pulled out carefully. The emptiness made me wince slightly, but he was already moving, heading into the bathroom then returning with something in his hand.
A warm, damp cloth wiped gently across my stomach, cleaning me up with a tenderness that made my eyes sting. He wiped himself down, tossed the cloth toward the general direction of the bathroom, and gathered me against his chest.
Rolling onto his side, he arranged us so my head rested on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around my waist. The bite mark on my shoulder throbbed, but it was a good ache. The kind that would remind me of this moment every time I moved.
“What happens now?” My hand found his, lacing our fingers together.
“Now we sleep.” His thumb traced patterns on my hip. “Tomorrow, we figure out everything else.”
“That’s very vague.”
“That’s very me.”
I laughed against his skin. Outside, somewhere in the clubhouse, a door closed. Voices murmured. The puppy barked once before falling silent. Normal sounds. Pack sounds. A world I’d stumbled into without meaning to and found myself wanting to stay.
“Riot?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad you showed up at the laundromat.”
His arm tightened around me. “Me too, unicorn. Me too.”