Chapter Twenty-Two #2
He lifts up the hem of my shirt, drizzling a thin line of syrup across my lower stomach.
He dips in low, never taking his eyes off mine as he licks it back up, making a show of it for me, with a teasing grin still plastered on his face.
I shake my head, but can’t keep the amusement out of my expression.
He licks his lips. “Shall I keep going?” he signs with his free hand.
“Y-yes,” I manage to stammer, though it does come out sounding an awful lot like a moan.
God, yes. I’m so friggin’ turned on right now. I sure hope Marcus takes Brody out for lunch or something after his appointment because if I’m about to become a sticky, syrupy mess of Caleb’s doing, I better be sexed up and showered before they get back.
“Get naked for me, baby,” Caleb tells me. “Then get comfortable up there. You’re a feast I intend to take my time savoring.”
“Oh, uh—I’m not sure how much time you should take. Brody could pop right in at any second…”
“You didn’t read our group chat, did you? Marcus let us know he was taking Brody out for a ‘dude day,’ and since he was out to let him know if there was anything he needed to brave the grocery stores for before Thanksgiving…”
“Oh.”
“I get to take my time with you,” he reiterates. “And I can’t imagine there being a better way to celebrate both of our wins today—you choosing a career move that will sit right in your soul, and also us planning our future with Aaron in it.”
Suddenly a song lyric flits around in my head, and I can’t help but smirk. Caleb’s brows pinch. “What’s that look for?” he asks me.
“You know how you like your eighties music? Well, I’m still stuck in the nineties era, and right now, I’ve got a Dave Matthew’s Band song stuck in my head. Ant's Marching,” I tell him as I strip off my shirt and slingshot my bra across the room.
He waggles his eyebrows now, while tugging his own shirt over his head. He pauses and signs, “Life is certainly short and sweet, so celebrate, we will.” He leans in and suckles one of my nipples before releasing it with a resounding pop.
I giggle. “You know, if you ever got sick of being a lobster fisherman, you’d make a good concert interpreter…”
He shakes his head. “And miss out on all this domesticity by being out on the road all the time, living the rockstar life? Not a chance.”
“I thought you craved that kind of lifestyle,” I note as I lay back, slipping off my pants and underwear.
When I pop up to rest back against my elbows, I take in the sight of him, really appreciating his body.
He’s muscley, but not over the top—just enough to accentuate his strength.
Even his scar, raised and ragged as it is, isn’t a flaw on him.
He rocks the hell out of it. Even in his silence, his body language—the look in his eyes—screams seduction.
Hell, he may even be sexier than Dean Winchester, and to think—he looks at me as if I’m the sexiest woman alive.
He leans in and over me, hips resting on the edge of the countertop between my thighs, then winks. “That was before I settled down. Now, I have cravings for something different…”
He drizzles a line of syrup starting between my breasts, down my body, stopping right above my pantyline.
My back arches off the cool granite when his hot mouth goes to work, cleaning the gooey liquid, making sure to nip and lick at the droplets that stray from the line.
He works his way up my body, slowly climbing on the countertop with me as he does.
When he laps the last bit off from between my breasts, he drizzles more on both my nipples.
The coolness of the syrup causes me to suck in a breath before I whimper at the feel of the contrast in temperature when his hot tongue flicks and sucks the mess away—paying equal parts attention to both sides.
I make a mental note that sensory play might be an unexplored kink of mine, because this feels… so good.
“More.” The whispered plea leaves my lips before I even have a chance to process the fact that I even said anything at all.
He grins just like a Cheshire Cat. “What’s that, love? Speak up, because I’m not quite sure I heard that, and I’m not even the deaf or hard of hearing one in the household.”
“More,” I assert a little louder as he continues covering me in the sweet syrup and then cleaning it back off—taking his time, just like he promised. “Please, I need more…”
I can feel his lips form into a grin against my goosebump-covered skin, his bristled cheek scraping ever so lightly on my exposed flesh.
He’s everywhere, leaving no bit of what he can reach unattended.
When he licks his way up my neck, I feel his fervent breath puffing, fanning hot, chasing away the chill of the syrup.
Between my legs, rubbing against my core with his pants still on, I feel just how hard he is, but still his neediness doesn’t quicken his pace.
He’s fully enjoying himself, exploring every inch of me with his mouth.
He moves down my body again, climbing off the island as he does.
Caleb then shucks off his pants, wincing when he sits his bare ass on the cold metal of the stool.
“Come here, babe,” he signs before leaning in, hooking my legs over his shoulders, and then scooting me down so far my ass is literally hanging off the edge of the counter. “I’m just getting started…”
I sit up again to keep feasting my eyes on him, craving more…
more. He takes the bottle of syrup, draining the rest of it by dousing both of my inner thighs with it.
With an intense expression of pleasure on his face, he rolls his head back onto each of his shoulders, as if he’s cracking out any kinks there before settling in for the time of his life.
And—“Sweet baby, mother of fuck!” I curse, squirming as his tongue runs entirely up my slit, from my entrance right to my clit.
He grins, flattening his tongue out, licking broad stripes over and over again before finally settling his lips around my thoroughly needy bundle of nerves.
When his lips surround my clit entirely and his tongue flickers against it, my hips buck off the granite surface.
His arms curl around my thighs, holding me in place against his face.
As good as this feels—and, trust me, it feels fantastic—it doesn’t take much more of this before I realize what he’s really up to here.
He keeps bringing me to nearly my brink, before he pauses “to breathe.” I partially sit up again and narrow my eyes at him.
I know by now just how long he can stay down there, feasting on my pussy before he needs to come up for air.
“You’re edging me.” I fix him with an accusatory glare. “I’m not Marcus. That’s not my cup of tea.”
He pops a shoulder, raising his hands so he can sign, “I know you’re not Marcus.” He nods at my pussy. “You want to come?”
I roll my eyes and huff. “Fuck yes I want to come! And as thorough as you’ve been about cleaning the syrup off of me, I’m still sticky!”
“Shower? I can get you all cleaned up in there.” He winks again, and I melt all over again.
That’s all it takes before I’m scooting off the counter and leading him into the bathroom, practically by the balls.
He chuckles, essentially hauling me into him as he keeps kissing me until the water is heated up enough for us to both step under the spray.
Of course, like the true gentleman that he is, he spins us so that I’m primarily the one getting all the hot water.
He smirks the entire time he lathers me up, starting with my hair, and diligently working his way down my body—never once reaching for my sponge. Shit, and I’m shamelessly riding his fingers just as soon as he sinks two inside of me, beckoning my orgasm when he makes a come hither motion with them.
“Caleb,” I whine into the crook of his neck, feeling my body start to writhe in on itself. “I-I’m ready. I want you to fuck me, please.”
He pauses, pulling his fingers out, and I whimper at the loss. With one finger, he tilts my chin up and his eyes flick between mine, concern etched into his brow. “You sure?” he mouths.
I nod emphatically. “I’m very sure.”
He raises his hands. “That’s not why I was edging you, just so we’re clear.”
“I know. I’m sure. I love you, and I trust you. I’m ready, so fuckin’ ready.”
“Do you want me to step out and grab a condom?”