Chapter 7 #2
I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but the worship in his eyes banishes any self-consciousness. His cock presses hot and hard against my inner thigh, a reminder of how much he wants me.
"I don't have anything here," he says suddenly, regret clouding his features. "Protection, I mean."
I smile, reaching for my discarded dress. "I do." I pull a condom from the pocket, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks at his raised eyebrow. "I might have been hopeful about dinner tomorrow."
"Prepared," he corrects, taking the packet from me. "Another quality I admire."
His fingers trace teasing circles on my thighs as I open the condom. When I roll it down his length, his eyes close briefly, jaw tight with restraint.
"I need to touch you first," he says, voice strained. "Need to make sure you're ready."
"I've been ready since I walked through your door," I tell him, guiding his hand between my legs. "Feel for yourself."
His fingers slide through my folds, finding me already wet and swollen. The contact makes me gasp, hips jerking involuntarily.
"So responsive," he murmurs, circling my clit with gentle pressure. "So perfect."
One thick finger slides inside me, then another, stretching me deliciously. I rock against his hand, chasing the pleasure building with each stroke.
"Cal," I pant, nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you inside me. Now."
He withdraws his fingers, positioning himself at my entrance. "Look at me," he commands softly.
I open eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed, finding his gaze locked on mine. Slowly, he guides me down, filling me inch by exquisite inch until I'm seated fully in his lap, our bodies joined completely.
"Oh," I breathe, overwhelmed by the sensation of fullness, of rightness. "Oh, Cal."
His hands grip my hips, steadying me as I adjust to his size. "Okay?" he asks, voice tight with the effort of holding still.
"More than okay." I rock experimentally, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. "Perfect."
We find a rhythm together, my body rising and falling as his hips thrust upward. His hands are everywhere—cupping my breasts, gripping my hips, sliding between us to circle my clit with practiced strokes. I cling to his shoulders, head thrown back as pleasure builds with each movement.
"You're so beautiful," Cal murmurs, voice raw with emotion and desire. "So goddamn beautiful, Molly."
His words, the reverence in his touch, the way his eyes never leave mine—it all combines to push me higher, closer to the edge. When his lips close around my nipple, sucking gently while his fingers increase their pressure on my clit, I shatter.
"Cal!" I cry out, body clenching around him as waves of pleasure wash through me. "Oh god, Cal!"
He holds me through it, murmuring praise against my skin, his thrusts never faltering. As I come down from the high, I feel him tense beneath me, his rhythm growing erratic.
"Let go," I whisper, cupping his face in my hands. "I've got you."
With a deep groan, he does, his release pulsing inside me as his arms tighten almost painfully around my waist. For long moments, we stay locked together, breathing hard, foreheads touching.
"That was..." I search for words and find myself laughing softly. "For once, I'm speechless."
Cal smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I find that hard to believe."
"It's true," I insist, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "You've rendered me completely wordless. It's unprecedented."
"Give it a minute," he teases, shifting us so we're lying side by side on the narrow sofa, my back to his chest. "I'm sure they'll come back to you."
I snuggle deeper into his embrace, feeling utterly content. "You're probably right. "
His arms tighten around me, one large hand splayed protectively across my stomach. We lie in comfortable silence, our breathing synchronizing, our heartbeats slowing to a steady rhythm.
"I was afraid," I admit finally, tracing patterns on the arm that holds me. "After yesterday, when you pulled away. I thought maybe you'd decided I was too much after all."
Cal presses a kiss to my shoulder. "It wasn't you, Molly. It was me not believing I deserved someone like you."
"Someone like me?"
"Someone vibrant. Passionate. Unafraid to feel deeply." His voice rumbles against my back. "I've spent so long keeping to myself, working with wood because it's simpler than people. Safer."
I turn in his arms to face him. "And now?"
His eyes meet mine, more open than I've ever seen them. "Now I'm terrified. But in a good way." His thumb traces my lower lip. "In a way that makes me want to be brave enough to match your courage."
"I'm scared too," I confess. "Scared that this is too good to be true. That tomorrow you'll wake up and regret letting me in."
"Not possible." He kisses me softly. "I've been alone in my head for too long, Molly. You're like... like walking into sunlight after years in shadow. It's overwhelming sometimes, but I never want to go back to the dark."
Tears prick my eyes at the simple poetry of his words. "And here you said you weren't good with words."
"Only with you," he says. "Only when it matters."
We kiss again, unhurried now, savoring the connection. Cal's hands roam my body with appreciation rather than urgency, learning my curves, my responses, the places that make me sigh with pleasure .
"Stay tonight," he murmurs against my lips. "Let me make you breakfast in the morning."
"I should warn you," I say, smiling against his mouth, "I talk in my sleep sometimes. And I hog the covers. And I wake up early, usually singing."
"Sounds perfect." His hand slides down to cup my bottom, pulling me closer. "Though I might have ideas about how to tire you out enough that you sleep soundly."
Heat pools in my belly at the promise in his voice. "Is that so?"
"Mmm." His lips trail down my neck. "I'm just getting started, Molly Harper. There's so much more I want to show you. So many ways I want to make you feel good."
"Like what?" I challenge, arching into his touch.
His smile turns wicked. "Let me demonstrate."
And he does, repeatedly, until we're both exhausted and sated, tangled together on the leather sofa that's far too small for two people but somehow perfect anyway.
Later, as moonlight filters through the office window and Cal's steady breathing fills the quiet room, I think about the journey that brought us here.
About a reading nook shaped like a tree, about fairy doors and constellation ceilings, about two people who feared being too much and not enough finding perfect balance in each other's arms.
I trace the lines of Cal's face as he sleeps, memorizing the peace I find there. Tomorrow will bring questions, logistics, real-world considerations. But tonight, in this moment, everything is exactly as it should be.
"I think I could love you, Cal Rhodes," I whisper, too softly to wake him. "I think maybe I already do."
His arms tighten around me in his sleep, as if even unconscious, he's determined to keep me close.
I smile and close my eyes, letting sleep claim me, secure in the knowledge that whatever we're building together—like the reading nook, like the fairy doors, like everything Cal creates with his gifted hands—it's being crafted with care, with attention to detail, and with a love that will endure.