Chapter 13
Blair feels like sin wrapped in silk. Tight, warm, perfect.
The second I’m inside her, everything else disappears. The plan, the world, logic, it’s all gone. It’s just her. The way she breathes, the sounds she makes, it’s too much and somehow not nearly enough.
Most women see me and freeze. Too much, too big, too everything.
It used to feed my ego. Now it just feels hollow.
But Blair, Christ, Blair took me. Even when it had to hurt, she took every inch like she wanted it.
I felt her shudder, felt her breathe through it, and when she started moving back, meeting me halfway, I damn near came right then and there.
There’s pride in it, and awe, and something darker. I didn’t know pride could feel like that. Didn’t know want could either.
I should slow down. I should stop.
But she fits too perfectly.
And now that I know what she feels like, how she sounds when she whispers my name, I know I’ll want her again.
And again.
“You’re gonna make me come… fuck, fuck,” I grit out, hips slamming into hers one last time before I stiffen, my release tearing through me as I spill into the condom.
My vision goes hazy, my breathing ragged. “Fuck, Peach,” I pant, kissing her shoulder. “You don’t know the monster you just created…”
But then, silence.
She’s completely still, quiet.
My heart drops like a stone. “Blair?” I whisper, suddenly ice-cold.
I ease out of her carefully, panic clawing its way up my throat.
With trembling hands, I flip her over gently, needing to see her face, needing to know she’s okay. She’s out cold, completely limp in my arms. My chest tightens, but then I see it, her chest rising and falling, steady. She’s breathing. Thank fucking God.
Still, something’s wrong. She’s unconscious, and I have no idea how long she’s been like that.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter under my breath, quickly untying her wrists, the silk slipping from her skin as I toss it aside. I grab the condom, tie it off, and toss it in the trash before pulling on a pair of sweats with shaking hands. My phone’s in my hand before I even realize it.
I’ve never had this happen before. Ever. I can still hear the way she was moaning, pushing back against me, begging for more just before I came. She was with me, completely. And now this.
“Blair?” I crouch beside her, stroking her cheek, trying not to let the fear twist deeper into my gut. “Blair, baby, wake up.”
Her lashes flutter, and relief washes over me.
“Calvin?” Her voice is weak, confused. She blinks up at me, then tries to sit up. I catch her, helping her gently, holding her close.
“You passed out,” I tell her softly, keeping my tone calm even though my heart’s still racing. “I’m calling a friend. He’s a doctor.”
“No.” She shakes her head, cheeks instantly flushing pink with embarrassment. She won’t even meet my eyes. “No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I say firmly. “Blair, you lost consciousness during sex. That’s not something I can ignore.”
“I didn’t pass out from that,” she says, voice small. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning… and I didn’t sleep last night. My energy’s just low. What we did… it took the rest of it.” She looks down, visibly mortified. “I just need food. And maybe a nap. I swear, I’m okay.”
It hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Calvin?” she calls softly, sensing the shift in my energy. But I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m too fucking angry.
Not at her, never at her. I’m pissed at myself. I should’ve known something was off. Should’ve seen the signs. Checked in. Protected her.
Instead, I was too focused on getting her under me. On claiming what I’d wanted for too damn long.
She passed out. Because I was too selfish to make sure she was okay.
Never again.
I walk out of the room without a word and head straight for the kitchen. My chef leaves prepped meals for the days she’s off, so I grab a container from the freezer and start heating it, jaw clenched tight. Behind me, I hear soft footsteps followed by her voice again.
“Calvin?”
“Sit down,” I say flatly, not turning around.
She sighs and drops onto one of the barstools, dramatically, of course. “You’re being ridiculous. I told you I’m fine.” The sass in her voice is thinly veiled, but I catch it.
I finally turn, and the sight of her nearly knocks the breath out of me. She’s in my shirt, drowning in white cotton, hair wild, skin flushed, like a perfect peach. She looks thoroughly fucked, and normally I’d eat it up. But I can’t right now.
“Blair,” I grit out. “You, not taking care of yourself? That’s not cute. That’s not negotiable. Not with me.”
She stands and walks over, arms wrapping around my waist, cheek pressed to my chest like she’s trying to anchor herself to me. And the moment she touches me, some of that anger melts into worry again.
“I was scared out of my fucking mind when you passed out,” I say, wrapping her tightly in my arms. “I thought I hurt you.”
She pulls back, just enough to look up at me, her big brown eyes remorseful. “I know. I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“I don’t need your sorry. I need it to never happen again.
” My hand cups the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, keeping her still so she hears every damn word.
“You don’t skip meals. I don’t care how busy you are, what you’re stressed about, or what’s on your mind; you eat. You rest. That’s not optional.”
I pause, the rest of the sentence stuck in my throat.
Not when you’re mine.
Except she’s not. This was supposed to be one night. A line crossed, a craving scratched. All that ‘you’re mine’ talk? Just words in the heat of the moment.
But I’m a dom. I don’t walk away after sex and leave someone hurting, physically or otherwise. I don’t half-ass care, not even for a fling. Aftercare isn’t a suggestion. It’s everything. I don’t get to turn that off, even if this is complicated as hell.
“I was on my way to get food when I saw the orchid petals,” she says softly, her voice laced with guilt. “By the time I realized I was lightheaded… we were already in the middle of everything, and I didn’t want to stop.”
Of course she didn’t. I made it impossible to stop. I pulled her under with me and didn’t give her room to come up for air.
I lift her chin. “Look at me.” My voice is firm. She meets my eyes slowly. “You can stop me. Any time. No excuses or guilt. You come first, before sex, before anything. Always. Understand?”
She pouts slightly, lips full and parted. “Yes, sir.”
The breathy way she says it does not help my already frayed self-control.
My jaw flexes. “Don’t say things you don’t understand, Blair,” I warn.
She ignores me. Of course she does, That defiant streak in her is relentless.
Instead, she rises on tiptoe, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. Just a taste. A question.
God help me, I want to give her the answer she’s begging for.
My control slips just enough for me to kiss her, slowly and deeply. She melts into me, like she always does, like we’re already fused at the core. It terrifies me how right this feels. How quickly she’s burrowed into my life, into my chest, into my blood.
I pull back before I lose myself. She whines, reaching for me again, but I chuckle, stepping away.
“Sit your greedy ass down,” I say, swatting her butt lightly. “You’re getting fed. Then I’m fixing you a warm bath.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I do. Taking care of you after sex isn’t optional, Blair. It matters. So let me do this.”
She bites her lip, then nods, sliding onto the barstool, and I feel a quiet ripple of victory roll through me.
Once the food’s ready, I plate it carefully, grab a fork and a cold bottle of water, then bring it over to her.
“It smells amazing,” she says, smiling wide as she leans in to breathe it in.
She takes her first bite of the pasta, and the soft moan that slips out of her makes something in my chest pull tight, in the best possible way.
I settle into the seat beside her, content just being close. “Are you sore?” I ask, knowing exactly what I just put her body through.
She blushes, nodding. “More than I was when I lost my virginity,” she says with a little laugh.
I don’t laugh back. The thought of someone else ever having touched her sits wrong with me. I know it’s irrational, she’s not mine, and she has every right to have a past. But that caveman shit is hard to keep down when it comes to her.
I’m grateful when she changes the subject.
“So, your brother owns Luxe.”
“Yeah, he does.”
“Tell me about him. Is he older or younger?” she asks between bites. Her tone is light, but there’s genuine curiosity in her eyes. Normally, I don’t share much about my family with anyone outside my circle, but with Blair, it feels easy. It feels right.
“He’s older by eleven months.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, Irish twins? That’s so cute! Do you guys look alike?”
I chuckle, the memories bringing a faint smile to my face. “If you ask my mom, we’re two peas in a pod. But I don’t see it.”
She laughs, soft and warm, like sunlight slipping through the cracks. Something about it just hits. I watch her a second too long, unable to stop myself.
That laugh…
What the hell is in it that makes me want to chase it? Bottle it?
Makes me want to spend every damn day finding new ways to pull it from her lips, loud, breathless, mine?
“What about your dad?” she asks gently. “How did he pass?”
I knew this question was coming eventually, but it still takes me a second to respond. My dad was everything to me, my hero, and losing him… well, it’s a scar that never fully healed.
I shift in my seat, clearing my throat. “My dad was a heavyweight boxing champion, one of the greatest. He’d just won a big fight that night, and we came home to celebrate like always.
He was laughing, telling one of his stories at the dinner table, then he froze.
His body tensed, and he started seizing right there in front of us.
We called for help, but by the time the paramedics arrived, it was too late.
They said it was from all the head trauma, years of taking hits in the ring.
He gave everything to the sport he loved, but it cost him his life in the end. ”
The weight of the memory presses down, and I feel a sting in my eyes. I haven’t cried over this in years, haven’t allowed myself to, but sitting here with her, it’s like the floodgates are on the verge of breaking. I grit my teeth, forcing it down. Not now.
“Calvin…” Her voice is full of understanding. She reaches out and places her hand over mine and squeezes it gently. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you… for your family.”
“Thank you.” I pat her hand quickly before I do something stupid like kiss it when this is just supposed to be physical and a one-night thing.
“Finish eating while I draw you a bath. Then meet me in my bathroom,” I instruct her as I stand.
“Okay,” she whispers, and I want to steal a kiss, but I refrain and walk away. I head to the bathroom, filling the tub with warm water and a few handfuls of bubbles, making sure it’s perfect.
I should feel guilty. Hell, I promised Abigail I wouldn’t lay a finger on her little sister. But I don’t.
Not with Blair still tasting like sin on my tongue, her scent on my skin, and her moans echoing in my head like a fucking addiction I can’t kick.
The more I try to tell myself that this was just a one-time thing to get her out of my system, the more I want her again. I haven’t had my fill, not even close.
Yeah, I’m a bastard for it. But she’s too perfect for me to walk away.
A few minutes later, Blair steps inside, her bare feet silent against the tile. She pauses in the doorway, fingers tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt she threw on, my shirt.
She’s quiet. Her posture is small, drawn in, like she’s trying to disappear. Shoulders hunched, head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor. Even without looking at me, I can see it written all over her face: shame, guilt, uncertainty.
She’s replaying it. What we just did. But I won’t let her spiral.
“Take it off,” I say, my voice low and even. Not a suggestion. A command.
Her head jerks up slightly. “What?”
“The shirt. Off. Now.”
Her brows pull together, her lips part like she’s about to argue, but I don’t give her the chance.
“You need a bath,” I say. “We can think about everything else tomorrow.”
She stares at me for a moment, then sighs like the air just left her lungs. She’s still holding on to all that weight, but she obeys. Quietly. Slowly. She pulls the fabric over her head and drops it to the floor.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just… watch.
My eyes drag over her bare skin, her soft, perfect breasts, the gentle curve of her waist, the delicate ink etched into her thigh like a secret.
Fuck me, she’s built like a wet dream in the flesh.
She steps into the bath, sinking into the warmth with a low sigh, her body slipping beneath the foam. She’s still tense, still holding something back, but I’m going to take care of that too.
I pull down my sweats and step out of them. My dick swings heavily between my thighs as I move toward the tub.
I barely make it in before Blair gasps, then absolutely loses it.
Her hands fly up to cover her mouth, but her laughter bubbles through anyway, full and chaotic and real.
“No. No, no, no, no,” she stammers between peals of laughter. “There’s no way that thing was just inside me. No way. No.”
Her laugh is so pure it actually makes me grin. She’s not embarrassed anymore, just in shock. I step into the bath and sit down across from her, pulling her onto my lap like she weighs nothing.
She straddles me, still laughing, her body wet and warm against mine.
I bury my face in her neck, my tongue tracing up to her ear as I murmur, “Believe it, and you took every inch of it like a good fucking girl.”
She shivers at the praise, even as she laughs again. “I’m honestly surprised I’m not split in half.”
I chuckle, grabbing her ass and giving it a firm squeeze. She squeals, laughing harder, and the sound fills the space like sunlight.
Her laughter turns into a sigh as I start to wash her, soft strokes down her back, gentle care poured into every movement. Just like that, the guilt dissolves. For now, at least.
All that’s left is her, warm in my lap, melting into me.