Chapter 29 Calder
Calder
The kiss breaks something open inside me.
Not the careful control I’ve maintained for weeks. Not the walls I’ve built to keep her at a distance while still keeping her close. Something deeper. Something that’s been locked away so long I’d forgotten it existed.
Her mouth is soft under mine, yielding but demanding at the same time. Her hands slide up my chest to grip my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I feel the desperation in her touch. The need that mirrors my own.
I’ve wanted her completely for so long. Since that night outside her father’s house when she was eighteen and threw herself at me with all that innocent desire.
Since I carried her into my truck bleeding and broken.
Since she stood in that barn, defiant and terrified and more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen.
But I’ve only ever gotten parts of her. Her fear.
Her anger. Her reluctant arousal. The drunken desperation on that kitchen counter when I took what I needed more than I gave what she deserved.
Never all of her. Never this—her choosing me sober, choosing me with clear eyes and full knowledge of what she’s asking for.
My hands frame her face as I deepen the kiss, tasting her sweetness mixed with desperation and courage.
She makes a sound low in her throat, part whimper, part moan, and it shoots straight through me.
Her body is warm against mine, soft where I’m hard, and the thin cotton of her bra and panties might as well not exist for all the barrier they provide.
I can feel every curve of her. The swell of her breasts pressed against my chest. The heat radiating from between her legs. The way her heart hammers against her ribs, so fast I can feel it pulsing through her skin.
I break the kiss just long enough to breathe. “Saint.”
“Don’t talk.” Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with need and trust. “I don’t want to think. I don’t want to be scared. I just want to feel something good. Something real.”
The honesty in her voice undoes me.
I press her back into the mattress, covering her body with mine. The weight of me settles between her legs, and she gasps at the contact, at feeling me hard and ready through my jeans pressed right against her core. Even through the thin cotton of her panties, I can feel how wet she is.
My hands slide up her sides, thumbs tracing the edge of her ribs. Her skin is impossibly soft, like something precious.
“I’m not stopping.” My voice comes out rough, possessive. “I’m going to take this desire you have and sharpen it until you’re begging for me. Until nothing is left in your head but my name.”
“I already want you.” Her hands fumble at the buttons of my shirt, urgent in her need.
I capture her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. The position arches her back and thrusts her breasts up toward me. “You want me. But I’m going to make you need me. There’s a difference.”
Her breath catches, and her eyes search mine. I see the moment she accepts what’s about to happen. What she’s choosing.
I release her wrists and sit back on my heels, stripping off my shirt in one motion. Her eyes trace the scars across my chest and ribs. Old marks from my father’s lessons.
“These are from him, aren’t they?” Her voice is soft. “From Roman.”
“Yes.”
Her fingers trace one particularly brutal scar along my ribs. The touch is gentle, like she’s trying to heal something broken. “He hurt you.”
“He made me what I am.” The automatic response I’ve given myself for years.
“He hurt you,” she says again, fiercely. Her palm flattens against the scar, warm and gentle. “And you survived it. That’s what made you strong. Not him. You.”
Something in my chest cracks at her words. Hearing her separate my father’s actions from my strength shifts something fundamental in how I see myself.
I don’t have time to examine it. Not when she’s spread out beneath me in nothing but white cotton underwear.
I hook my fingers in the straps of her bra and slowly drag them down her shoulders. She shivers, goose bumps rising across her skin. The bra is simple, plain white cotton that makes her look vulnerable.
“Lift up,” I command.
She obeys without hesitation, arching her back. My fingers find the clasp and unhook it. The bra falls away, and I toss it aside.
Her breasts are perfect. Small and high. Her nipples are peaked and flushed dark pink. Her breathing changes, her chest rising and falling faster as I study her.
“Calder.” My name on her lips is desperate.
I cup her breasts, testing their weight. They’re warm and soft and perfect in my hands. I brush my thumbs across her nipples, and she arches into the contact.
“So responsive,” I murmur, pinching one nipple. Not hard enough to really hurt, but firm enough that she feels it. “Every touch, you react.”
I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair. I work her with teeth and tongue, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp, then soothing the sting. The taste of her skin is intoxicating, so clean and sweet with just a hint of salt.
Her back arches, pushing more of her breast into my mouth. I suck harder, feeling her nipple tighten even more against my tongue. My teeth scrape across the sensitive flesh, and she shudders.
When I move to the other breast, she’s panting, her hips already seeking friction. I can feel her grinding against my thigh, desperate for relief. The cotton of her panties is damp against my leg, soaked through.
“Please,” she gasps. “Calder, please…”
“I know what you need.” I sit up and hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties. “But you’re going to have to beg for it.”
“I’m already begging.”
“That’s not begging.” I slide the panties down slowly, watching her face as I expose her. The cotton is soaked, darkened with her wetness. “That’s just asking. I want you desperate.”
I pull the panties free and toss them aside. Now she’s completely bare beneath me. Spread out on the quilt her mother made, legs slightly apart, vulnerable and trusting.
I’ve touched her before. Made her come on my fingers. Fucked her on that kitchen counter while she was drunk and scared. But this is different. This is her choosing me. Choosing this.
The sight of her hits me hard. Her skin is flushed pink from arousal, spreading from her cheeks down her throat to her chest. Between her legs, she’s pink and swollen, glistening. I can see everything. She’s never been seen like this sober. Never been this vulnerable by choice.
“Spread your legs wider.” The command comes out harsh.
She obeys, her thighs falling open carefully to avoid her brand that’s still sensitive.
“You’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you,” I say roughly, my hands tracing up her inner thighs. Her muscles quiver beneath my touch. “And you’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours.” Her voice trembles.
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Calder.”
I strip off my jeans and boxers. Her eyes go wide when she sees me fully hard. My cock is thick and heavy. She’s seen it before, felt it inside her, but this time, there’s no fear in her eyes. Just want.
I settle between her legs, pressing her thighs wider with my hands. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” She rocks her hips up. “All of you.”
“Be specific.” My hand slides between her legs, fingers dragging through her wetness. She’s soaking. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
Her cheeks flush darker, but she holds my gaze. “I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me yours.”
“I’m still going to make you beg first.” I slide one finger inside her, feeling her tighten around me immediately. So tight. So perfect. Her inner walls grip my finger, hot and slick. “I’m going to make you so desperate you can’t think straight.”
I pump my finger slowly, watching her face. Her mouth falls open on a gasp, her eyes fluttering.
I add another finger, working her harder, stretching her. My thumb finds her clit and circles it with firm pressure.
“Oh God.” Her head falls back against the pillow. “Calder, please.”
“Please, what?” I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her whole body jerk. “Say it.”
“Please fuck me.” The words come out desperate. “I need you. Please, Calder, please.”
“That’s better.” I work her harder, faster, feeling her body wind tighter. My fingers pump in and out, the wet sounds obscene. My thumb grinds against her clit with each thrust. “But you’re going to come on my fingers first. I want to feel how tight you get when you fall apart for me.”
She’s trembling, her thighs shaking. “I can’t… It’s too much…”
“You can.” I lean down and bite her neck, marking her. “Come for me, Saint. Show me you’re mine.”
I increase the pressure, grinding my thumb hard against her clit while my fingers curl inside her, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
“Calder, I’m… oh God, I’m…”
“Let go.” The command is absolute. “Come. Now.”
She shatters.
Her orgasm rips through her, and she screams my name. Her inner walls clamp down on my fingers so hard it almost hurts, pulsing and contracting. Her back arches off the bed, her whole body going taut. I work her through it, my fingers gentling but not stopping, drawing out every tremor.
When she finally collapses back onto the bed, her eyes are hazy. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by sensation.
“That was…”
“That was nothing compared to what’s coming.” I withdraw my fingers and position myself at her entrance. My cock presses against her wet heat. “You ready for me?”
She nods.
This time, I don’t have to go slow. She’s not a virgin anymore, not scared of the pain. I push inside in one smooth thrust, burying myself to the hilt.
She gasps, her body accepting me easily. No blood. No tears of pain. Just pleasure as she stretches around me.
“Fuck.” The word comes out strangled. She’s so tight, so hot, so perfect around me.