Chapter 36 #2
“I miss you so much,” I whisper, my voice breaking as I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer like I’m afraid he’ll disappear again. “I hate this, Calvin. I hate being apart.”
I see it all in his eyes: the ache, the hunger, the same maddening loneliness that’s been gnawing at me. “I know, Peach,” he breathes. “I hate it too. But it’s almost over.”
His hand comes up, brushing a loose curl from my face, but the touch lingers, fingertips trailing along my cheek like he’s memorizing me all over again. “Come here.”
Before I can say a word, his lips crash onto mine, fierce, starved.
There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s desperate, consuming, like he’s trying to erase the weeks we’ve spent apart with the press of his mouth against mine.
My hands clutch his shirt, anchoring myself as heat flares between us.
His mouth moves over mine with a hunger that makes my whole body tremble. I melt into him, into the scent of his cologne and the solid warmth of his chest. When he deepens the kiss, I gasp softly, the sound swallowed between us as his arms lock around my waist, drawing me tighter.
He finally breaks the kiss, just enough for his forehead to rest against mine. His breath is hot against my lips, uneven and ragged. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he says hoarsely, voice full of restrained fire. “I can’t think when I’m around you.”
“Calvin…” My hands press to his chest, feeling the pounding of his heartbeat against my palms. It matches mine, wild, erratic, like we’ve both been holding back for too long.
His mouth finds the corner of mine again, soft at first, but then trailing lower, along my jaw, down to the hollow of my throat. Every place he touches, he sets on fire. My knees nearly give out when his lips graze that sensitive spot just below my ear.
“Calvin, we shouldn’t,” I whisper, the words weak, hollow even to my own ears. “My family’s right down the hall…”
“Then you better be quiet,” he says against my skin. “Because you in this dress is my fucking kryptonite.”
He gathers the fabric of my dress, slowly, like he’s unwrapping something sacred.
“I’ve missed you every second,” he says, kissing the base of my neck. “Every breath without you has felt wrong.”
I clutch his shoulders as his body presses against mine, pinning me gently to the wall. The firm strength of him surrounds me, shelters me.
“Just five minutes,” he pleads. “Not to be dramatic, but I might die if I don’t feel you wrapped around me.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. “And if they come looking?” I ask, breath catching as his lips graze the edge of my collarbone.
His mouth curves into a smirk against my skin. “Then they’ll learn the hard way that you are mine.”
Before I can catch my breath, he spins me around. My hands move instinctively, bracing against the wall. The cool surface contrasts with the heat of his body behind me. His chest presses into my back, and I can feel the sharp rise and fall of his breath, like he’s holding himself back, barely.
His hand covers my mouth again, possessive and grounding.
“Spit,” he commands.
Heat floods my core as I obey, the mix of dominance and tenderness sending a shiver down my spine.
His touch is all-consuming now, fingers sliding between my legs, finding how wet I am for him. My thighs tremble.
“See how fucking soaked you already are for me?” he growls, dragging his fingers through my slick folds, teasing me with maddening patience. “You want more?”
I nod, helpless.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper. “Please.”
“That’s my good girl,” he says before sliding a finger in me, then two, then three. I can’t take it; a moan rips out of me.
“Fuck, Calvin, oh my God.”
“Quiet,” he rasps, wrapping his hand over my mouth again. “You’ll take my fingers… and you’ll come for me. But you’ll do it silently. Understood?”
I bite down on my lip, nodding frantically, already shaking under the pressure. My body’s strung tight, wired and aching, and he knows it. He knows me.
“Just one more, baby. One more, and then you can come. You can take it, can’t you?” His tone deepens, rougher. “I’ve trained this sweet cunt well, haven’t I?”
I can’t answer, not with his hand covering my mouth, but I nod again.
He pushes in, slow and deliberate, stretching me even more. When he adds that fourth finger and presses down on my clit, I completely lose control.
My head falls back. My eyes roll. My whole body starts to seize around him as the orgasm rips through me. I unravel silently, shaking, ruined in the best possible way.
Behind me, I hear his low groan, laced with pride and possession.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Fall apart for me. Just like that. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
And before the tremors have even left my limbs, he’s right there, pressing close, his hard length sliding slowly between my thighs. There’s no rush, no teasing this time. Just a quiet, reverent kind of intensity.
When I forget to breathe, he’s there, one hand cradling my waist, the other brushing soothingly over my ribs.
“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”
He pushes in slowly, steadily, and when he bottoms out, he stays there. Deep. Still. Surrounding me.
A shudder rolls through him, and he exhales against the back of my neck.
“Home,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my skin. “It feels good to be home again.”
He doesn’t move right away. His hands stay on my hips, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go.
Then slowly, he draws back just enough to move. His grip tightens.
“I wish I could make you come again, this time around my dick, but we’re running out of time,” he murmurs. “I promise to make it up to you tonight.”
I want to tell him it’s okay, but I can’t speak because his hips snap forward, filling me in one fluid thrust. It’s fast, hard, desperate, a pace that only happens when the need’s been building and building and there’s no more patience left.
I swear I can feel every raw emotion behind every thrust: his hunger, his possessiveness, his love. He’s chasing his own release now, but he’s still locked onto me like I’m the anchor holding him in place.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groans into my neck. “Tight. Wet. Fuck, I could live inside you.”
My hands grip the wall harder as his pace grows punishing, the tension in his body coiling tighter and tighter.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he pants. “You bent over for me, dripping and ruined. Mine. Always fucking mine.”
A low, guttural moan tears from his throat as he slams into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His whole body shudders.
“Shit, fuck, Peach,” he gasps, his release crashing into him like a wave.
He stays there, chest pressed to my back, as we both try to hold our breath.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice softer now.
I turn my head, puckering my lips. He leans in immediately and kisses me, slow and sweet.
“I’m more than fine,” I say, smiling. “I needed that. But… we really need to go.” I laugh, still a little dazed.
He presses a kiss to the back of my shoulder, then pulls out gently, steadying me with both hands before reaching for mine.
“Let’s get cleaned up first,” he says, tugging me toward a door I hadn’t noticed before. “There’s a bathroom in here.”
I squint at him. I want to ask how he knew that, but maybe he saw it on the Airbnb listing.
He cleans me up first, every careful swipe of the cloth somehow both intimate and reverent, then moves to clean himself. I don’t move. I just watch him, awestruck and still wrapped in disbelief. How is he mine?
As he buckles his pants, he glances at me and catches the look on my face. His mouth curves into that dangerous, wicked smile.
“Careful,” he warns playfully. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll start thinking you want to wear my last name and carry my babies.”
I freeze.
He laughs, but it sounds more wary than anything else, before pulling me into a warm hug. “Should I be offended that what I just said made you look like I threatened to hit you with a brick?”
“Cal…”
But before I can get the rest out, he cuts me off “Do you like the place?”
I blink, thrown. “Uh… It’s beautiful,” I admit cautiously, glancing around. “But it’s huge. Who even needs this much space?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Then, quietly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, he says, “We do.”
I frown. “What?”
“I want a big family,” he says, almost shyly.
“Not now. I know you’ve got things you want to do, and I’ll wait as long as you need me to.
But one day? I want a house like this, full of kids.
Our kids. I want noise and chaos and traditions and joy.
Family vacations in France. Pancakes on Sundays. Matching pajamas at Christmas.”
My heart stops. Everything inside me stills.
“That’s why I bought this place,” he adds. “For us.”
I stare at him, struggling to breathe. “You… bought it?”
He nods, fingers lacing with mine. “We can talk more about it later,” he says softly. “Right now, your family’s waiting.”
“Calvin, wait…” I protest, but he’s already leading me out of the theater room.
My head is spinning. My heart’s racing.
And I think I might be falling even harder for him than I thought possible.