Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alberto
I kiss her hard, hungry, sweet, and deep—like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her mouth and carve a promise into her skin. Like I’m telling her everything I can’t put into words. That she’s not a choice I’m making. She’s a truth I’m finally accepting.
She gasps into my mouth and I cup her face, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw as her hand slides over mine, my other hand still resting on her stomach. Her fingers curl into mine—tighter—pulling me in, holding me there like she’s terrified I’ll leave again.
But I won’t.
Not this time.
I shift, just enough to press my forehead against hers, and she lets out a breath that shivers between us. Her eyes flicker down to my mouth, then lower—to my chest, to my lap.
And then she moves.
She swings one leg over mine and straddles me right there on the couch, her knees bracketing my thighs, her hands sliding into my hair as her body settles onto mine like she belongs there—because she does.
Fuck, she does.
“Ves . . .” I murmur, already breathless.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers back, voice trembling but certain. “Please don’t stop.”
Her hips shift—barely—and I feel her heat through both our shorts. My cock pulses hard beneath her, straining against fabric, already aching to be inside her. And when she rocks against me again—more insistent this time—it’s not careful. It’s need.
I groan, low and broken, because fuck, I’ve missed this.
Her mouth finds mine again, messier this time—wet and open, all tongue and teeth and urgency. She kisses like she’s reclaiming something, like she’s pouring every silent moment and unsent message into the seam of my lips.
And I take it. I take her.
I wrap my arms around her back, one hand dragging up her spine, the other cupping her ass, pulling her tighter against the length of me. She gasps, but she doesn’t stop. Her hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my chest, my jaw—like she doesn’t know where to hold on because it’s all too much.
“Tell me you want this,” I whisper against her mouth, voice wrecked. “Tell me I can touch you.”
She nods, frantic. “Yes. Please, you can touch me.”
I slide one hand beneath her top, palm dragging over warm skin and soft curves.
Her stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breast. I take my time—because I need to.
Because I want to remember every second of this.
She arches into my touch, whimpers softly when I finally cup her.
When my thumb drags across the tight peak of her nipple, she moans like she’s been waiting years for this moment.
Her hips roll harder now, rocking into me like she’s chasing something just out of reach. The friction is blinding. My cock is so fucking hard it hurts, the only thing separating us a few thin inches of fabric and the unbearable restraint I’m barely clinging to.
“Fuck, Ves,” I groan into her mouth. “You feel like a fever dream. Like something I’m not allowed to want but never stopped craving.”
She kisses down my neck, her mouth hot and open, and when she sucks just below my ear, I nearly lose it.
“I want you inside me,” she whispers. “I need it, Monty. I need you.”
That shatters me.
Because I need her too—not just to fuck, but to feel. To stay. To be real.
I slide my hand beneath her waistband, fingers finding heat and slick and the kind of welcome that makes my eyes roll back.
She’s soaked. Already. For me.
And it’s everything I can do not to come right there, just from touching her. Just from knowing she’s this wet for me—because it’s me.
I slip a finger inside her and she gasps, hands clutching at my shoulders as she rocks down onto me, greedy and beautiful and wide open. I add a second, fucking her slow and deep, curling my fingers just enough to make her hips jerk.
Her breath stutters. “More. Please.”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’ll always fucking have you.”
She moans my name like a plea and a prayer, and I know—I know—that when I finally slide inside her, I won’t be able to pretend this is just need.
It’s not.
It’s her.
It’s us.
It’s everything I thought I couldn’t have—begging me to take it anyway.
I’ve got two fingers inside her and she’s dripping for me, rolling her hips with this quiet, breathless urgency that feels like desperation and devotion wrapped into one.
My thumb slides lower, finding her clit, rubbing slow at first—just enough to make her gasp—then firmer, tighter, until her whole body jerks.
Her cry tears out of her, sharp and unguarded, hips bucking hard against my hand.
I lean in and take her nipple into my mouth, sucking deep, tongue flicking until she’s shaking. I bite lightly, then soothe it with my tongue, pulling a scream from her that goes straight through me.
“Fuck—Monty—”
Her body clenches hard around my fingers, soaking me, begging without words. I keep rubbing her clit, relentless now, mouth working her breast.
“More,” she whispers, voice cracked open. “Monty, please fill me.”
And I’m about to give her everything. I’m ready to fuck her right here on this couch, slow and deep, but the universe has other plans.
The door swings open behind us.
“Hope you two like mango or I’m drinking both—Benji’s off on Sundays, so it’s me or starvation.”
Callaway’s voice.
Vesper freezes.
So do I.
Her breath catches in her throat as she goes completely still on my lap, my fingers still inside her, my cock still painfully hard, every nerve in my body lit up like fire under my skin.
I turn my head slowly, as if moving too fast might shatter something sacred.
Callaway stands in the doorway, holding three tall smoothies—condensation slipping down the sides of the cups, forgotten.
His sweatpants hang low, barely clinging to his hips like a suggestion, his curls damp from the sink or maybe the sweat at the back of his neck.
He places the drink carrier on the counter.
That fucking smile—golden, warm, the kind that used to undo me with just a glance—vanishes in slow motion.
He stops mid-step.
His eyes drop.
To Vesper, flushed and panting in my lap. To where my fingers are buried in her. And fuck me—the air shifts. Goes thick. Electric. Like something’s about to break and we’re all asking for it.
He blinks once. His throat moves around whatever he’s about to say, but it doesn’t make it out.
“Umm. Okay, so we’re busy doing that,” he finally says, trying to sound casual. Trying not to look like he’s about to come apart. Then he glares at me. “Though we did have, you know, a lot to talk about before . . . all this.”
Vesper’s face flushes deeper, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t run. She just sighs and tilts her head against my shoulder.
“I . . .” She swallows. “We kissed. And then, I needed him. This.”
Callaway’s jaw flexes. He looks between us again—my hand between her legs, her gasping breaths, my cock so hard I could come just from watching him take us in.
“Should I leave?” he asks lightly. “So he can finish?”
Then his tone dips. Darker. Lower.
“Or I can stay. Until, you know, he makes you scream. I wouldn’t want to leave you needy. The books say leaving a pregnant woman craving release is a crime.”
Vesper laughs—breathless, wrecked. “Really? Where does it say that?”
It seems like she’s trying to laugh this off and make it disappear. But when I move to pull my fingers from her slick heat, she tightens around me. Her whole body clenches, and she shudders in my lap, hips jerking forward like she’s chasing something only I can give her.
My lips find the shell of her ear. “You want me to make you come, baby?”
She whimpers, her nails digging into my thigh.
“You want him to watch you fall apart?” I ask, my voice dragging hot and thick against her neck. “You want him to see what you look like when I fuck you with my fingers and you beg for more?”
“I—” Her voice stumbles, but her hips keep moving.
And Callaway—fuck—he steps closer, slow and sure, the way a man walks when he knows exactly what he’s walking into.
He leans in—his lips brushing her other ear as his voice dips into a place so low it feels like sin.
“Let me watch,” he says. “It’s the least you can do after letting him fill you while I was away, baby.”
She gasps.
Her entire body jumps at the sound of his voice, and when his hand cups her breast, her nipple already tight and waiting, her moan shreds through the silence. He rolls it between his fingers, then leans in and puts his mouth on her neck, sucking hard.
She arches—pressed between both of us—chasing, trembling, needing.
Her hips move again, grinding against my hand, against the base of my palm, harder now. Desperate.
Callaway lifts his head, mouth glistening.
“You heard her,” he says, his voice almost reverent. “Our Ves wants to come.”
He meets my eyes.
“Make it good.”