24. Callum #3
“I thought you said it wouldn’t hurt,” I murmur against her wet skin, my hips maintaining a relentless, agonizingly good pace.
“It doesn’t,” she whimpers, her hands coming up to clutch at the muscles of my back, her chest rising and falling fast. “It feels…so fucking good.”
“Yeah?” I growl, swirling my tongue over her peak while the vibrator buzzes between us. “You like being stuffed full of me?”
“Mhmm,” she hums, her head rolling back as she surrenders completely, her body tightening around me once more.
“Look at you,” I murmur, my voice rough as my hips keep up their rhythm. “Fuck, Win…you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The heavy wooden headboard thuds loudly against the plaster wall with every deep push, making a small brass lamp on the nightstand rattle softly.
I pull back just an inch to watch her, mesmerized by the beautiful wreck I’ve made of her.
Her eyes are fluttering closed, a fine sheen of sweat glistening along her hairline, her mouth parted as she gasps for air.
Every time my hips strike hers, her breasts bounce up and down in a cadence that drives me completely out of my mind, the flush on her chest spreading all the way up her throat to turn her cheeks a deep, dusty red.
Suddenly, her body clamps down around me. She gasps hard, her entire frame going taut as another wave of her orgasm crashes over her, the pulse of her release squeezing me so tight I let out a guttural groan.
“Oh god…oh god,” she whispers over and over like a chant, her fingers digging deep into the muscles of my back, her nails dragging over my skin as her heels press hard into the backs of my thighs.
I reach down and set the humming little vibrator on the bedside table, taking her completely with my own hands now.
I pick up the pace, my thrusts turning harder, faster, completely erratic as I chase the edge of my own climax.
Winifred lets out a broken series of soft moans and whimpers, her head tossing from side to side against the pillow.
“Am I hurting you?” I check, panting against her jaw, my breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts.
“No,” she gasps out, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Don’t…don’t you dare stop.”
I reach down, my palm heavy and hot as I knead her breast, my thumb rolling over her sensitive, pierced peak. On the next hard thrust, I angle my hips just right, grinding straight into that sweet spot deep inside her that makes her whole body jump. A high, sharp cry breaks from her throat.
Satisfied, I do it again—and again—my pace turning punishingly sweet.
The wet, slick sound of our bodies colliding fills the quiet room, mixing with the heavy creak of the old mattress springs.
Winifred reaches up, her hands clutching at my biceps, hanging on for dear life as the world narrows down to just the heat of this bed.
The tension in my lower stomach snaps, and I still completely inside her, my hips driving in one last time until there’s not a fraction of space left between us.
A loud, deep moan tears out of my chest as I spill into her slick warmth, my head burying deep into the crook of her neck.
Winifred groans softly against my ear, her arms locking around my shoulders, holding me tight while I empty myself entirely inside her, our breathing settling into a shared rhythm in the quiet inn.
I slowly push myself up onto my forearms, taking care not to crush her, though I stay right where I am, anchored deep inside her.
My hand moves up to her face, my thumb gently brushing a few damp strands of dark hair away from her forehead. She’s looking up at me, her eyes soft and hazy.
“Win, I…”
The words die right on my tongue. I open my mouth to try again, but there’s nothing there. No speech, no clever sarcastic joke, no smooth line to wrap a bow on this moment. The truth is, I don’t have the fucking words for whatever this is.
It isn’t love—not yet, anyway. But it sure as hell isn’t casual.
There is no universe where what just happened between us fits into a neat little box labeled casual.
It’s reaching the point where I can’t look at my daily routine, my morning coffee, or my walk down the street without seeing her in it.
And the scariest part is, I don’t want to.
The sex is, without a doubt, the best I’ve ever had in my life.
But it’s not just the physical part of it, as incredible as that is.
It’s the intimacy of it. It’s the way she looks at me—really looks at me—like she can peel back every layer of bullshit I hide behind and understand the raw stuff on the inside that nobody else ever bothered to look for.
And I can do the same for her. Lying here, tangled up in white sheets, completely stripped bare, we’re seeing each other in a way that should scare the living daylights out of me. But I’m not afraid.
I’ve never felt like this with anyone before her. I don’t know if I ever will again.
Winifred just watches my face as the silence stretches between us. “It’s okay, Callum,” she whispers. “I know. I feel it too.”