Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Wren
"Show me," I whisper, and the two words ignite something feral in Calvin's eyes.
His control—that perfect, frightening control I've witnessed since we met—shatters like glass.
His hands are suddenly everywhere, gripping my hips, lifting me as though I weigh nothing.
The counter is cold against my thighs as he sets me down, his body pressing between my legs, crowding me, claiming me.
This should terrify me. The strength of him, the size, the raw hunger in his expression.
Instead, I'm melting from the inside out, a need I've never felt before consuming every rational thought.
"Last chance to run, little bird." His voice is a rough growl against my ear, his hands tightening on my hips. "Because once I start, I won't be able to stop."
My answer is to thread my fingers through his hair and pull his mouth to mine.
The kiss is nothing like I imagined. It's not gentle or tentative.
It's devouring. Possessive. His tongue pushes past my lips without asking permission, claiming my mouth like it's already his property.
And God help me, I let him. I open for him, whimpering when his teeth catch my lower lip, tugging with just enough pressure to sting.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth, and the word vibrates through me, settling low in my belly. "Say it, Wren. Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," I gasp, the words torn from somewhere deep and primal. I've never belonged to anyone before. Never wanted to. But with Calvin, it feels inevitable. Like gravity. Like breathing.
His hands slide under the oversized t-shirt I'm wearing, his palms hot against my skin.
In one swift motion, he pulls it over my head, leaving me exposed in nothing but my plain cotton panties.
I fight the urge to cover myself. My breasts are small, unremarkable.
Nothing like the women a man like Calvin must be used to.
But the look on his face—the raw, undiluted hunger—makes me feel beautiful. Desired. Precious.
"Perfect," he murmurs, one large hand coming up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. I gasp at the sensation, arching into his touch. "So responsive. So sweet."
His mouth replaces his hand, hot and wet around my nipple, and I cry out, my head falling back. I've never felt anything like this—this coiling, tightening need. My hips move of their own accord, seeking friction, relief, something.
"Please," I whimper, though I'm not sure what I'm asking for.
Calvin seems to know. He kisses his way down my stomach, hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wider. When he drops to his knees in front of me, I freeze, suddenly understanding his intent.
"Calvin, I've never—"
"I know, little bird." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, pulls them down my legs with agonizing slowness. "No one's ever tasted this sweet pussy before, have they?"
The crude language should shock me. Instead, it sends a flood of heat between my legs. I shake my head, unable to form words.
"Good." He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, then the other. "I'll be the first. The only."
When his mouth finally touches me there, I almost come off the counter.
The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, my hands fly to his shoulders to steady myself.
His tongue is relentless, circling my clit, dipping lower to tease my entrance, then returning to that bundle of nerves that has me seeing stars.
"Oh God," I moan, my hips moving against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction. I should be embarrassed—spread out on his kitchen counter, his face between my thighs—but I've never felt more right, more alive.
Calvin looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, his mouth still working against me. "So wet for Daddy," he murmurs against my flesh, and the words send a shock of heat through my system. "My perfect little girl, so ready for me."
Daddy. The word should be wrong, twisted. My own father has been dead for five years. But coming from Calvin, in this context, it's different. It's protection. Possession. Care.
"Yes," I whisper, surprising myself. "Yours."
His growl of approval vibrates against my core, and suddenly his tongue is replaced by his fingers—one, then two, pushing inside me with careful pressure.
"Tight," he groans. "So fucking tight. You're going to feel incredible wrapped around my cock."
His crude words, his fingers moving inside me, his mouth back on my clit—it's too much. The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, and then I'm falling, crying out his name as my body convulses around his fingers, waves of ecstasy washing over me.
Before I can recover, he's standing, his fingers working at his belt buckle.
I watch, dazed and wanting, as he frees himself from his pants.
His cock is huge, intimidatingly so, the head already glistening with precum.
I should be scared. I know this will hurt.
But I want it—want him—with a desperation that overrides all reason.
"Look at you," Calvin says, his voice tight with restraint. "Spread out for me like a feast. So beautiful. So perfect."
He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me. One hand cups my face, forces me to meet his gaze.
"This will hurt," he says, the honesty in his voice oddly touching. "But I'll make it good for you, little bird. I promise."
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. This is happening. I'm giving myself to this man I barely know but somehow trust completely.
Calvin pushes forward, the pressure building until there's a sharp, tearing pain that makes me cry out. He freezes, fully seated inside me, his forehead pressed to mine as we both breathe heavily.
"Mine," he groans, his voice strained. "All mine now. No one else will ever have this. Ever have you."
The pain subsides, replaced by a sense of fullness, of completion. I shift my hips experimentally, and Calvin hisses through his teeth.
"Don't move," he warns. "Not unless you want this to be over before it starts."
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. "I want all of you," I whisper against his lips. "Everything."
That's all it takes. With a growl that's more animal than human, Calvin begins to move, his hips driving into mine with controlled power. Each thrust sends jolts of pleasure-pain through my system, building toward something I can't name but desperately crave.
"So good," he murmurs into my neck, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair. "Taking me so well, such a good girl for Daddy."
The praise washes over me, amplifying the physical sensation. I want to be good for him. Want to please him. Want to be whatever he needs me to be.
"Harder," I plead, surprising myself with my boldness. "Please, Calvin. More."
He complies with a savage thrust that has me crying out. "Say it again," he demands, his pace increasing. "Say my name."
"Calvin!" I gasp as he hits a spot deep inside me that makes my vision blur. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need," he growls, his hand sliding between us to circle my clit. "You need to come on my cock. Need me to fill you up, make you mine completely."
His words, his touch, the relentless pounding of his hips—it's all too much. I feel myself tightening around him, the pleasure spiraling higher.
"That's it, little bird," he encourages, his movements becoming more erratic. "Come for me. Come on Daddy's cock like a good girl."
The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, my body arching, clenching around him as I cry out his name. Through the haze of my own pleasure, I hear Calvin groan, feel him swell even larger inside me.
"Gonna fill you up," he pants, his hips slamming into mine with brutal force. "Pump you so full of my cum, get you round with my baby. Make you mine forever."
The words should terrify me. Instead, they send another wave of pleasure crashing over me, my body milking his cock as he continues to thrust.
"Yes," I sob, not fully understanding what I'm agreeing to, only knowing that I want it all. Want him. Want whatever future he's planning for us. "Please, Calvin. Make me yours."
With a roar, he buries himself to the hilt, his body going rigid as he empties himself inside me. I can feel each pulse, each throb, as he fills me with his seed. It's primitive, primal—this claiming. And it feels absolutely right.
As we both come down, panting and sweaty, Calvin gathers me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me protectively. His heart thunders beneath my ear, his breath ragged against my hair.
"Mine," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "My little bird. Safe in her cage at last."
And though the words should frighten me, should make me feel trapped, all I feel is protected. Cherished.
Home.