Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
MAX
My stomach drops at his words. Not an unpleasant feeling, but a dip of excitement.
I prop myself up on my hands, dragging my lip between my teeth as I stare down at him. I slowly release my lip with a swipe of my tongue. “Are you asking me for something, Eli?”
“Do I have to ask?”
I grind against him with a growl. And he starts to grow hard again beneath me.
He’s still breathing hard when I catch his chin between my fingers and make him look at me. The flush creeping up his throat, and the way his lips part like he’s trying to find air—is enough to undo me all over again.
“Mine’s clean, too. Are you mine, Princess?” I ask. It comes out rough, closer to a confession than a question.
For a heartbeat, he doesn’t answer, just grabs the front of my shirt and drags me down into a kiss that feels like a yes. Slow. Certain. The kind that settles somewhere deep and refuses to leave.
When he finally pulls back, his breath ghosts over my mouth. “Yeah,” he whispers, eyes flicking between mine. “I’m yours.”
Something inside me stutters—hope, disbelief, and want all tangled together. I press my forehead to his and breathe him in, every thought burning down to one simple truth: I’m his too.
“Good.”
He wiggles beneath me and leans up to nip my chin. “But you are going to have to fuck me soon, or we’re going to have a problem. It’s been way too long since I’ve had your big dick deep inside of me. And I’m looking forward to feeling you bare.”
His attempt at dirty talk makes me snort, but I snake my hand down between us anyway, brushing over his shaft, and past his taint to the rim of his ass. He arches into me, spreading his legs wider for me.
“My big dick, huh?” I press against his hole, and he relaxes for me. My finger dips inside, the lack of lube making it feel tighter than normal. I rub the digit over his prostate, finding it easily, and he moans. “I’m pretty sure size doesn’t matter.”
“Fuuucckk,” he presses his head back into his bed, his eyes dropping shut as he exposes his throat.
I lick the line of his neck from his collarbone up to his Adam’s apple before sucking it between my lips, until it rumbles with another groan. “You taste so fucking good. I think sugar comes out of your pores.”
He lets out a shaky laugh, eyes still closed. “That’s probably the sugar scrub,” he says, voice rough around the edges.
I can’t help laughing against his throat, the sound muffled and low. “Of course it is,” I whisper, lips brushing the curve of his jaw before I kiss him again.
He laughs again, quieter this time, the sound catching between us. I can feel it vibrate through his chest when I press my mouth there.
I grin against his skin. “Leave it to you to not only smell edible, but be edible too.”
“Can’t help it,” he says, a smile edging into his voice. “Occupational hazard of being me.”
“Cocky,” I tease, tracing the line of his collarbone with my thumb.
“Confident,” he counters, and his hand finds the back of my neck, tugging me down until our mouths touch. His breath is warm against my lips. “Now stop stalling and fuck me, Calder.”
I angle my finger to rub his prostate again, and he pants against my mouth. Then slowly drag it out and reach for his bedside table without looking. Pulling the drawer open and blindly finding the lube he stores there.
I kiss him once, then let the words slip out against his skin. “Face down, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart?” he challenges.
“Mmm, gotta mix it up. And I want to see myself sinking into your tight ass.”
Eli moves fast, a rush of motion that makes me grin—half obedience, half challenge. He props himself on his hands, glancing back over his shoulder with that spark in his eyes that always wrecks me. Then he wiggles his ass in my direction.
“I’m ready.”
It’s too tempting, and I move, biting his ass cheek, trailing a finger down his crack.
The lube is forgotten for a moment as I lick and kiss and suck all of his exposed skin.
The second my tongue circles his rim, he drops to his elbows, spreading his legs slightly wider to give me better access.
The sounds he makes drive me on, as I massage his balls with my other hand, slipping down to squeeze his hardening shaft.
I want him right there on the edge with me when I enter him this time.
His moans become broken, and I’m sure he’s seconds from begging.
But that’s not what this is about, so I lean back on my calves again and squeeze lube over my cock.
I stroke myself as I admire him in this position.
Reaching forward and running my slick thumb over his hole.
He pushes back at me, and the digit disappears inside of him easily.
When he shifts forward again, I add more lube and change fingers, so I can add more than one. He moans out a complaint until he realizes what I’m doing, and I lean over him, biting his shoulder blade.
“You don’t have any patience,” I say.
“Surprised?” he pants. “I’m prepped, fuck me.”
I chuckle, nipping at him again as I scissor my fingers inside of him, brushing his pleasure spot. “We’re going to work on that, Starling.”
He hums his agreement, and I withdraw my fingers before nudging my crown at his opening. I hold my breath as I push the tip in, and it’s my turn to gasp, because he is so fucking tight and the feeling of him, skin-to-skin, is so much more than with a condom between us.
I’m going to blow my load in one stroke. He shifts, and I grip his hips, holding him still.
“Eli, fuck, hold still.”
He doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t fucking listen. And I sink another inch into him.
“Holy fuck, Eli, shit, if you actually want me to fuck you, don’t move.” I groan as he clenches around me, squeezing me even more.
The sensation is overwhelming in the best fucking way.
After a few seconds, I test out sliding deeper, until I’m bottomed out inside of him and he’s squeezing me so fucking good.
I lean over him and grab his chin, angling his head so I can kiss his mouth.
Our tongues tangle in a messy kiss, every intentional squeeze of his ass muscles working through me as I pulse inside of him.
“You feel so fucking good,” I say, tugging his lower lip between my teeth. “I’m not going to last.”
“Good thing we’ve got forever, unless I die first, because you’re not fucking me.”
I move, pulling out before thrusting back into his warmth.
If I could climb inside of him, I would.
The second stroke feels even better than the first, and pleasure gathers at the base of my spine, tightening my balls even as they slap against his.
Reaching around him, I grip his cock, stroking him in time to my thrusts.
Our pants and the sound of our bodies coming together over and over again fill his room.
Until I’m spilling inside of him, my cum seeping out around my shaft with each stroke as I ride out my orgasm.
Eli cums all over my hand and the bedspread as I grind into him, needing to be as deep as I can as he milks me for every last drop.
We stay like that for a while, long enough for the world to come back into focus.
His breathing evens out under me, slower, steadier, and that’s when it hits me that I’m probably crushing him into the mattress.
I shift, easing back just enough for him to breathe, both of us reluctant to move too far away.
Then I slowly pull out, watching as my cum drips out with me. It is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. And I want to do it again, until he’s reminded of me every second of every day. Fuck, I might be addicted.
My body feels heavy and unsteady, but I still drag myself to the small bathroom to grab a towel and run it under warm water.
The sound of the tap fills the quiet, grounding me in the ordinary.
When I come back, he’s sprawled across the bed, eyes half-closed, hair sticking up in about six directions.
“Hey,” I murmur. He hums something that might be a word, might not. I smile and take my time, careful, wiping away the come along his chest and stomach, small, slow movements meant to soothe more than clean.
“Didn’t know you were the nurturing type,” he mutters, voice rough with exhaustion.
“Yeah, I think it’s part of the job description for being a trainer. But don’t tell anyone,” I say, and he laughs—soft, drowsy, the kind of sound that makes the room feel lighter.
When I’m done cleaning him and the bed off, I toss the towel into the hamper and head back to the sink to rinse my hands. The mirror catches me on the way out: flushed, a little wrecked, but smiling anyway.
By the time I crawl back into bed, Eli’s already half-asleep, one hand reaching for me even before his eyes open. I catch it, tugging gently until he’s pressed against my chest. He makes a small sound—content, worn-out—and settles there like he was made to fit.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing start to sync with mine. The room hums with leftover warmth and the faint hiss of the radiator. It’s ordinary in all the best ways.
He shifts once, murmuring something I don’t quite catch, then goes still again. I bury my face in his hair, breathing him in until the scent of soap and skin feels like home.
This, I think as my eyes start to close, this is perfect.
Morning finds us in a tangle of sheets and limbs, sunlight sneaking through the blinds in thin gold lines that stripe across his back.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just breathe him in—the faint citrus of his shampoo, the warmth radiating off his skin, the soft hitch in his breathing that always happens when he’s still half-asleep.
He’s plastered against me, head tucked under my chin, one leg hooked over mine like he’s afraid I might slip away. The weight of him is steady and familiar now, the kind of closeness that makes every muscle in my body forget how to hold tension.