Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Callie
His lips don’t leave mine, his tongue continuing its exploration of my mouth.
His hunger for me is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
I make a sound I don’t recognize and grab his T-shirt in both fists, dragging him closer as though I’m scared he’ll change his mind if there’s even an inch between us. He tastes like mint, and coupled with the scent of his aftershave, it’s all I can do not to rub myself against him like a cat.
This is so much better than I dreamed. He really is a good kisser, better than I remember from that night.
“Tell me to stop,” he says in a low voice against my lips. It’s a desperate plea, as if I’d be putting him out of his misery.
I should, but I don’t care to, so I grind along the bulge in his jeans.
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper, and then he’s kissing me again.
My back hits the wall softly, his body slotting into mine. The pressure of his solid weight pushing against me hits every fiber of my being.
This is exactly why the team being gone has felt like a mercy. Because if he’d been here, if I’d had to live with him every day, watch him walk around the kitchen as if he doesn’t know what he does to me, I would’ve snapped sooner.
Not that it matters now. We’ve moved so far past the line it can’t even be seen in the distance anymore.
Foster kisses along my jaw, then down my neck, and I tilt my head back, fingers digging into his hair. He says my name as though he’s barely hanging on.
Join the club.
My stomach flips. My heart trips. My whole body tightens, bracing because he’s about to ruin me. I’m certain of it.
He carries me into his bedroom as though he’s done it a hundred times. As though I belong in his bed and in his space. Maybe this moment was inevitable all along.
The bed dips under our weight, then he’s over me, braced on his forearms, staring down as he searches my face. I know what he’s going to ask before the words cross his lips.
“Are you sure?”
I swallow, and for a second, my brain tries to put up a fight. Tries to list all the reasons this is a bad idea. Tries to remind me of the consequences that will be apparent once we see this through.
But his thumb brushes my cheek, and my body melts under his.
“Yes.” It’s true. I’m sure I want him, and although what will happen after scares me, in this moment, there’s nothing I want more than to be with him.
His mouth finds mine again, the kiss slower and deeper. His hand slides down my side, and my skin sparks under his touch. I’m already achy with want.
This is going to be so good. It’s been building for months. The tension. The eye contact. The way we try to pretend we don’t have one eye on the other when we’re together.
This is the moment I’ve been thinking about for days, weeks, months.
Our clothes are tossed aside, and he stares hungrily at my breasts before taking one nipple into his mouth, dragging his teeth along the taut peak, then doing the same to the other. My breasts no longer ache, but they’re more sensitive than normal, so I can’t help the moan that escapes me.
Next, he drifts his hand down to my lower abdomen that’s popped in the time he was away. I’m not showing in a super obvious way, but there’s a swell to my belly that wasn’t there before.
“You have a baby bump now.” His voice is filled with awe. Cradling my tummy with both hands, he moves his head down and places a gentle kiss there.
Something about the gesture almost brings tears to my eyes, but I blink them back.
Foster moves back up my body, and his mouth meets mine again. I slide my hand down the front of him, palming his long, thick cock, wanting it deep inside me.
He groans, then he’s reaching toward the nightstand, but I place my hand on his. “Have you been tested?”
His head rocks back, realization dawning. “Yeah. You?”
“At the doctor. So we don’t need to use anything if you don’t want to. I mean, I can’t get pregnant again.”
His gaze falls to my body. “Shit, you just put me in a tough situation.”
“Why?”
He kisses right between my breasts. “Because this is Operation Give Callie an Orgasm, and if I’m in you bare, I worry I’m gonna come too fast. Like when I lost my virginity, and I can assure you I know I never gave her an orgasm.”
I laugh, and his lips trail over my body, his thigh nudging my legs open, answering my question.
He situates himself between my legs and hovers his lips over my mouth. “But I think I’m gonna take my chances. Can we agree on a third round, just in case?”
“At this point, I might agree to a third even if you don’t make me come.”
“Jesus, I hope it doesn’t come to that, but at the same time, I wouldn’t be complaining.”
His lips press to mine as the tip of his dick pushes past my opening, and he slides into me. His masculine grunt only makes me wetter. I’m not sure the last time I was with a guy who made me feel as wanted as I wanted him. Dare I say this moment with Foster feels different than any time before.
He’s good with his dick—circles his hips, doesn’t move too fast or too slow, keeps up a good, steady rhythm—and as my fingernails are digging into his shoulder blades, and I’m close, my brain decides to come back online.
Why didn’t I come the first time? He’s not bad. In fact, this is amazing. Maybe this is different than the first time?
“Fuck, you feel so good, Callie. You have no idea the number of times I’ve jerked off to you.”
My body heats with his words, but my mind continues to spin, telling me to hurry up and get there.
Pressure blooms in my chest.
Not because I don’t want him. Not because it doesn’t feel good. It feels amazing. Having him on top of me, whispering sweet dirty things is exactly where I want to be.
But I can feel the finish line up ahead, and instead of letting my body move toward it, my mind drags me back.
You have to come.
If you don’t, he’ll know.
If you don’t, he’ll think it’s him.
If you don’t, it’ll turn into A Thing.
My throat tightens.
If I don’t finish, I’ll become a problem instead of someone he desires.
Foster’s mouth moves to my neck. His breath is hot against my skin. His hand moves as though he’s learning me, wants to memorize me. He whispers hot dirty words, but they’re drowned out by my own anxious thoughts.
I should be where he’s at. Both of us floating toward an orgasm.
But the article comes to mind. The numbers and stupid statistics I wish he’d never told me. The idea that there’s some invisible scoreboard, and I’m about to lose. Not just for me, but for him too.
Mark one for Callie being too much work, not worth the effort.
Foster’s head lifts, and his eyes meet mine, searching. “You good?”
I sink into those blue eyes like pool water, slipping deeper under his spell. He pulls one of my legs up around his hip, and my mind turns off for a second, relishing in the feel of the push and pull of his length in and out of me.
“You feel so good.” I mean every word. He feels more than good. But my head is refusing to let me lose myself in him, to just feel and let the pressure float away.
“Are you close?”
“Yes,” I lie, not wanting to hurt him.
Foster kisses me again, and I kiss him back harder, trying to control my thoughts and beat them back into silence.
His hand ventures down between us, and his fingers land on my clit.
I press my eyes shut and try to focus on the sensation. On him. On the way his breath stutters when I run my hands down his back. On the strength there. The way his muscles flex and stretch when he moves. On the sound he makes every time his dick hits deep inside me.
But the pressure is still there, building not in my body, but in my mind.
Any second now.
Don’t ruin this.
Foster’s breathing turns rougher. His forehead dips to my shoulder for a second, and it’s clear he’s barely hanging on.
I feel the shift. The change in his rhythm. The way his body tenses. The sounds he’s making are even more guttural.
And my body snaps into panic mode.
He’s close, and I’m not.
My throat closes.
I could say it. I could say, I need more time. I could say, I don’t think this is working. I could say, do this instead.
But the words are lodged in my throat, and my brain is screaming at me not to make it awkward. Don’t make him feel bad. Don’t make him slow down when he’s right there. Who knows if you’ll ever come anyway?
So I do the easiest thing. The thing I’ve done a million times. What’s the difference now?
I make my breathing hitch on purpose. I dig my fingers into his shoulders. I make like I’m right there with him. I slip out a moan and tense my entire body and hope like hell that I sell it.
Foster freezes for half a second, eyes squeezing shut as he’s hit with his own relief. He says my name as if it’s a blessing and a curse.
And then his face presses into my neck as he falls apart.
I stare at the ceiling.
My heart is pounding, but from guilt and not from an amazing release.
How do we start this co-parenting thing with me lying to him?
Foster stays on top of me, taking care not to put all his weight on me. Still, he’s heavy and warm, breathing hard against my skin. Then he lifts his head, eyes soft, a satisfied little smile tugging at his mouth.
“You good?” His question is quieter this time.
This is the moment to tell him.
I force my lips into something that resembles a smile. “Yeah.”
He rolls to his side, pulling me with him as though he can’t stand not touching me. His arm wraps around my waist, and he kisses my shoulder.
And this moment would be perfect.
If I wasn’t racked with guilt.
The room is quiet except for our breathing as it slows. His fingers trace absent circles on my hip, and I stare at his tattoos while the confession sits like a boulder in my throat.
I tell myself to let it go. To keep and bury the secret.
He got what he needed.
He thinks I did too.
It’s easier than watching him leave because I’m such a disappointment to him.
No harm, no foul.
Except there is harm. It’s in the way my body still feels tight and not fully satisfied. It’s in the way my chest aches because I’m lying to him.
It’s in the way I can already feel resentment trying to take root, not toward him, but toward myself.
And I refuse to let that happen.
I take a deep breath, then I turn my head to look at him.
Foster’s eyes are closed, his face relaxed, as though he finally released some of the weight he’s been carrying around.
My stomach twists. “Foster.”
His eyes snap open. “You didn’t, did you?”
The way he’s able to read my tone unnerves me.
I shake my head. I hate that my reflex is always to lie about it.
For a beat, he looks at me. My heart hammers. My entire body braces for him to be offended. Embarrassed. Annoyed. For him to make a joke about how something’s wrong with me. Worse, for him to retreat.
“I didn’t want to.” The words tumble out, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Fake it, I mean. I just—you were right there, and I could tell you were close, and my brain just wouldn’t turn off—”
He touches my cheek, stopping my spiral with one gentle gesture. “Hey, look at me.”
I do, and I see none of what I assumed would be written on his face. If anything, I see only concern.
“You having an orgasm isn’t for me. It’s for you.”
My laugh comes out broken. “But…”
His mouth tugs into a small smile, but it’s not cocky. “My ego has taken a second hit. It’s okay though. I’ll survive.”
I swallow. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” His forehead wrinkles as though the idea doesn’t make sense. Then his gaze dips. “I’d never be mad. I just feel like a shit partner.” He pauses, then adds, “It upsets me that you felt you had to fake it.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I think I’ve grown used to it.”
I’d be embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve been less than fulfilled by a partner and stayed.
He shakes his head once. “Don’t apologize.” Then he kisses me, soft and slow. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “Tell me what you need.”
My chest lifts with a shaky breath. The truth is, I don’t even know how to answer that. Not without feeling as if I’m asking for too much.
So I say the only thing I can say. “I need to get out of my head. And I’m not sure I ever can.”
His thumb strokes my cheek. “We’ll keep it simple. You feel. I listen.”
“And I need it not to be a thing,” I add. “Not like… a scoreboard.”
His eyes soften. “There’s no scoreboard.”
I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
He kisses my forehead. “I’m not opposed to doing it until you get there. Practice makes perfect.”
My stomach flips from his wicked smile. I close my eyes, and for the first time tonight, the pressure eases.
Not because my body is satisfied, but because my heart is feeling something it probably shouldn’t.