Chapter 14
Fourteen
Simply The Best — Billianne
ELLIOT
C alliope Derrick.
Asleep in my bed. Naked. Exhausted. Cheeks flushed from the amount of times she’d come. She’d followed every order, she’d submitted to me completely. I knew that she’d never done that for any man, hadn’t let herself let go of control. It was a big fucking deal to me.
It was everything to me.
Very quickly, it was becoming clear that Calliope Derrick was everything to me. It should’ve scared me, the speed at which I was becoming fucking enchanted by her. But I didn’t spook easily, and it felt so fucking right. For her to unravel for me and me only. For her to feel safe with me.
What a gift that was. One I wouldn’t take lightly. A strong woman, one who never accepted help, never shared the load. One who had gone through some shit felt safe with me.
Yeah, that was a fucking gift.
I brushed her hair from her face. She was splayed across my chest, where she’d passed out seconds after I’d pulled my cock from her.
She hadn’t even woken when I’d gotten up to get a washcloth to clean her with, nor when I’d gradually rubbed it across her inner thighs, her pussy, which was red, swollen from the attention I’d given it.
I took my time doing that, taking care of her while she slept. When I’d climbed back into bed, lifted her onto my chest and held her tight, she’d let out a moan of contentment yet stayed asleep. No arguing about the intimate position. Nope, she’d curled into me like she was made for me.
She was. Calliope Derrick was made for me. Designed to obey me when we both consented to it. To argue with me everywhere else in life.
My thumb brushed against the spot between her eyes which was currently smooth but often creased with anxiety, with a frown.
I didn’t consider myself a mind reader or anything like that, but it was impossible not to see that Calliope was carrying something heavy, something dark.
That she was running from something or someone.
Aside from that crease, she didn’t reveal much. And I only got glimpses of that anxiety. Regardless, I was sure of another thing.
Calliope Derrick was scared. The strongest woman I’d ever come across. And that fucking terrified me. Because if it was enough to frighten her, it had to be pretty fucking bad.
Though I didn’t know how yet, I promised myself that I’d figure out a way to protect her from whatever chased her. That I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
I held her tighter and let myself drift off into the best fucking sleep I’d have in my life.
CALLIOPE
I woke to lips on my neck, hazy with sleep. I’d fallen into a deeper slumber than I could recall ever experiencing.
My body ached. That was something I noted within moments of waking. It felt as if I’d done three Barry’s Bootcamps back-to-back. My hips were sore from being spread so wide for so long, my calf muscles were strained, and my pussy felt swollen. But none of it was unpleasant.
And the lips at my neck, the coarse hands running across my pebbled nipples were definitely not unpleasant either. I gasped as he tweaked the sensitive peaks, lust and pain shooting through my nerve endings that I’d thought surely couldn’t handle another bout of pleasure.
But that wasn’t my choice.
It was Elliot’s. He decided how much I could handle. Even fuzzy with sleep, that thought settled inside of me, unfurling muscles that would’ve been tight, loosening a jaw that was perpetually clenched.
He didn’t say anything. No rumbled good mornings in a voice gravelly from sleep.
Elliot merely stared at me while he toyed with my nipples, a witness to my submission, his hand ghosting down my stomach, trailing over my navel and to the apex of my thighs.
He parted my folds, fingers expertly finding the spot that was throbbing and starving at the same time.
The urge for my eyes to roll to the back of my head in ecstasy was uncontrollable, yet I found myself unable to wrench my gaze from his.
He was gradually bringing me to what I already knew would be an earth-shattering climax, and he was just … watching me. There was something infinitely intimate about that. He wasn’t gazing at my naked body. No, he was watching the contours of my face change as he languidly stroked me.
He was playing me like an instrument only he knew how to play.
It was vulnerable, being so exposed. I was at my weakest, after all, unraveled by nothing but his hands. No makeup, no armor, nothing but me. Stripped down, figuratively and literally.
I might’ve freaked out, sought escape if it hadn’t been first thing in the morning. But he’d grabbed hold of me like a snake handler might, in the right place to ensure it wouldn’t escape or strike him.
All coherent thoughts quickly left me as he tipped me past the edge of being inside of my head, forcing my focus to my insides and only my insides. His fingers worked me to the precipice, bringing me one inhale away from it, and then he stopped.
My exhale was sharp, pained by the loss of the friction. I wanted to writhe underneath him. Wanted to curse, shout, use my own very capable fingers to finish the job. But I was glued in place.
Not just because of the dynamics of our sexual relationship. Actually, those bonds had nothing to do with it.
He had me frozen by just his expression, the heavy weight of his eyes on mine. There was reverence. There was fucking wonder.
No man had looked at me in wonder before. Just fear. Desire. Anger. All of the things I was used to. They’d all viewed me as a tool, an enemy or a sexual plaything. Nothing else.
Elliot lifted the hand that had been toying my nipple, brushing it alongside my face. Just a finger, trailing the edges of my profile in a gentle touch.
I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.
My heart was galloping in my throat, and my body was tense, desperate for release, for movement.
Elliot took his time, as if he was committing every part of me to memory. Still, he hadn’t said anything.
I needed to break the silence, sever the moment to ensure it didn’t create any more of a profound effect over me. Yet even I wasn’t brave enough to spoil something so precious.
I feared he’d make it last longer, that I’d be stuck in this suspended state for the rest of my life. But finally, with devastating slowness, he resumed his ministrations, rubbing circles on my clit at a speed that meant I’d get the urgent release I was craving. Building me up yet again.
I gave myself permission to throw my head back, squeeze my eyes shut. I wouldn’t survive otherwise.
“No.” The command was soft, almost a whisper. Yet the two letters wrapped around my head and snapped it back to where it was, my eyes locking with his.
“You don’t stop looking at me,” he ordered, gray eyes blazing.
I sucked in a ragged breath as the prospect felt impossible, but I held his gaze.
Once he was satisfied that I’d obey his command, he continued.
My breath caught as he found the right spot, using just the right rhythm that sent me hurtling into the abyss.
My orgasm was a cresting wave. Just when I thought I’d reached the top, it rose higher and higher.
Mewls of bliss erupted from my throat, my hands gripping the sheets so hard I feared I’d shred them to tatters.
And still, I didn’t close my eyes. With a probing gaze and rapt satisfaction, Elliot watched me.
By the time my body started to come down, I was spent, stretched and ruined.
But Elliot wasn’t done.
He seemed to sense the slacking in my limbs, the lengthening of my breaths. Because then he was on top of me, poised at my sopping-wet, pulsating entrance. I squirmed as his hard cock pressed against my tender flesh.
He hovered there, one hand framing my face, the other bracing himself on an elbow, face inches from mine.
Ever so slowly, he crossed the scant handful of inches he’d left between us in order to lay his lips on mine.
Considering the lasciviousness I’d seen etched into his features, I had expected him to be at the point of explosion.
I was prepared for the savage teeth, mouth and tongue that I had become used to when we kissed with a desperate intensity.
But he moved slowly, with an intentional tenderness that took the breath from my lungs.
As he pushed into me, he kept kissing me like that, not lurching inside but easing himself in, delicious inch by inch.
The sensations were indescribable, my body still quivering with aftershocks, my insides tender from the fucking from last night.
Elliot’s slow entrance was a torture in itself. He didn’t use enough force to hurt me, nor did he provide sufficient friction to elongate my orgasm or send me hurtling into another.
Once he was all the way inside me, he looked upward, again observing me.
My entire body shook as if his attention was an earthquake, shattering me to the very foundation.
“Perfect,” he uttered. Then he thrust in and out. My body reveled in the sensation of fullness, of pleasure. “Fucking perfect,” he grunted again, moving slowly, torturing us both.
I wanted desperately to buck my hips, if only to speed up the process, to turn this into something familiar, that didn’t feel so pivotal.
Yet I stayed still, letting this happen to me because it was the most beautiful thing I’d experienced.
And it was the ruin of me.
When we were finished, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my mind nothing but the echoing boom of my heart pounding in my chest. My limbs were made of jelly, my insides mush. Elliot’s arms around me seemed to be the only thing holding me together.
I lay there much longer than I should’ve, letting him draw lazy circles around my navel. Warmth from the soft morning light filtered through the room, the feeling of contentment slithering through my pores to somewhere deep inside.
“That was…” My voice was raspy, as if I’d smoked a pack of cigarettes, which I felt like I could do right then—the sex was that good.