Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
Callaway
I’ve heard him say it before.
He says it to Vesper when he’s lost in it—low and filthy, voice wrecked with need. I’m filling you. I’m breeding you. I’ve heard the way it makes her shatter, the way his body tightens around the idea of giving himself completely.
I thought I understood it.
But this—Monty beneath me, on his knees, open and begging for it from me—this rewires something in my chest.
Because he’s not just talking.
He’s offering.
He’s asking me to do to him what he lets no one else do.
“Fuck,” I mutter, hands gripping his hips as he pushes back against me, desperate, greedy, perfect. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
He whimpers at that. Actually whimpers.
“Cally,” he gasps. “Please—don’t stop. I want it. I want you to fill me.”
The word fill lands like a detonator.
I thrust deeper, slower now, letting him feel every inch, every drag, every deliberate push. I want him to know exactly what he’s taking. Exactly who it’s from.
“You like this,” I say, voice rough, almost reverent. “Like knowing I’m inside you. That I’m gonna finish here.”
“Yes,” he sobs. “God, yes. I want it so bad. I want to feel you in me after.”
My grip tightens.
I’ve wanted him for so long—wanted the fire, the rivalry, the way he never backs down. But this? This is him opening his throat and offering me something raw and unguarded.
He’s letting me be the one.
I lean over him, chest to his back, my mouth at his ear. “Now, I want more than that,” I tell him. “I want to fill both of you.”
He moans so loud it borders on a cry.
“You think about it too,” I continue, thrusting harder now, my rhythm breaking as I chase the edge. “About me filling her. Filling you. About knowing you’re both mine like this—taking it, keeping it.”
“Yes,” he pants, breathless and wrecked. “I think about it all the time—but I want to do this to you too.”
The words slam into me.
Not just want. Not just fantasy.
Reciprocity.
The idea of him inside me—of Monty filling me the way I’m filling him now—hits somewhere primal. Something deep and unguarded. I picture it before I can stop myself: him behind me, hands firm on my hips, his cock pushing deep, spilling inside me like a promise instead of a threat.
Me holding him there.
Me carrying him.
Fuck.
The thought tightens everything in my body. Makes my breath stutter. Makes my grip on his hips go feral.
I want it.
I want to know what it feels like to be that open for him. To let him put himself inside me and stay there. To feel his release settle deep, claimed and kept, like we’re sealing something unspoken but undeniable.
Later, I think.
Later, I’ll let him. I’ll beg for it, more so when I’m inside Ves, doing just the same.
But right now—right now I need to finish this. I need to give him what he asked for.
I fuck him harder, deeper, my hips snapping forward, the sound of skin on skin obscene and perfect. Every thrust is deliberate. Claiming. He’s clenching around me, tight and desperate, dragging me closer with every movement, like his body knows what’s coming and wants it now.
“Fuck,” I groan. “You’re pulling me in. Like you don’t want me to leave.”
“Don’t,” he gasps. “Stay—stay inside me.”
I lean over him, chest pressed to his back, my mouth at his ear. “You’re taking me so fucking well,” I tell him. “Holding me like this. Like you were made to keep me.”
He moans, broken and beautiful, and his body tightens around me again, sealing the promise. “Please,” he begs. “Cally—please—”
I’m close.
So fucking close.
Monty’s hole is gripping me like it knows, like his body’s learned the shape of me and doesn’t want to give it up. Every thrust pushes me deeper, his back arching, moans ragged, thighs trembling under my hands.
He’s perfect.
Open. Slick. Mine.
“You want it,” I whisper against his neck, my voice gone rough and cracked. “You want me to finish inside you.”
“Yes,” he pants. “Please. Fill me. I want to carry it.”
Fuck.
That’s it.
That’s what sends me over.
I bury myself deep—so deep I swear I feel his breath catch—and come hard, my release flooding into him in hot, pulsing waves. His body clenches around me as I give it to him, the rhythm of my hips breaking as the orgasm rips through me, raw and consuming.
I keep him tight against me, still buried to the hilt as I grind one last time, forcing every last drop inside.
“Take it,” I growl. “That’s it. All of it. My cum in your hole. You’re fucking perfect.”
He shudders under me—and then I feel it.
He comes.
Untouched.
Cock pressed to the sheets, back bowed like he’s offering himself completely. A moan tears out of him, thick and desperate, as his body milks mine for everything I have.
I don’t pull out.
Not right away.
Instead, I lean over him, wrapping one arm around his chest, the other planted beside his head. I press soft, open-mouthed kisses to the nape of his neck as our bodies tremble in sync.
“You okay?” I whisper.
He hums, the sound low and blissed out. “Better than okay.”
For a long moment, there’s nothing but heat and breath and the quiet aftermath of something sacred and filthy and real. And I know—without question—I want this.
Him.
Her.
All of it.
Both of them.
I can’t wait to be home with our woman. Summer can’t get here soon enough so we can care for her while she’s growing our baby. Maybe the whole “you’re not enough” decision from Colorado was the best thing that could happen to me because now, now I have them both. And soon we’ll have our family.
I let us breathe for a while. Let the sweat cool between our skin. My cock softens slowly, still inside him, still surrounded by warmth.
I don’t want to move.
Eventually, when our breathing evens out, I ease back carefully. I slip out of him with a slow, wet drag, and Monty lets out the softest sound—half whine, half sigh.
I look down at him.
My cum drips out of him in slow, thick lines. Down the backs of his thighs. Onto the sheets. It’s obscene. Beautiful. A picture I want to hold onto. “You’re dripping for me, babe. You like that?”
I leave it there for a second longer—watching it, letting it sear into memory—before I move.
I grab a warm towel from the bathroom. Return quietly. Kneel behind him.
Monty stays exactly where he is, knees still spread, back relaxed, trusting me with what’s most exposed.
The towel brushes him gently, careful, unhurried. I clean him slowly, wiping away what’s spilled without rushing to erase the proof of what we just did.
He exhales.
A sound that’s half relief, half satisfaction.
“This felt . . . different,” he murmurs.
I pause, glance up at him. “Different how?”
“When I’m with Vesper,” he says quietly, voice still thick, eyes half-lidded as I clean him with slow, tender strokes, “I love knowing I’m giving her something. That I’m filling her. That she keeps it, accepts it—accepts me.”
He swallows. Breath hitches a little.
“Letting me brand her.”
The word lands like heat between us—heavy and true.
“It’s not just sex,” he goes on. “It’s not about power. It’s about being chosen. Trusted. There’s something about finishing in her that makes me feel . . . grounded. Like I’m taking care of her in a way that’s physical and emotional at the same time.”
He exhales slowly, then glances over his shoulder at me. “And this—with you—it’s not different. It’s the same kind of deeper.”
I press a kiss to his spine. My hand stills on his skin, my throat tightening around the intimacy of it. Not shame. Awe.
“You let me do that to you,” I murmur. “You let me mark you from the inside.”
Monty nods. “Because I trust you. Because I wanted you there. Not just your cock. You.”
My voice cracks a little when I whisper, “You branded me too, you know.”
His eyes widen, startled.
“Not with your cum”—I say, voice soft—“not yet. But with your want.”
My hand stills for a beat.
His shoulders relax even more. He lets his head drop forward onto his arms.
“This for me feels like being seen from the inside,” he says. “Like letting myself need it too. Letting someone else give me that same thing. The fullness. The closeness. Knowing you wanted to stay there. That you didn’t rush away from it.”
I resume, gentler now, wiping him clean while still leaving the warmth of it with him. Letting some of it stay, just like he asked.
“You were brave,” I tell him quietly. “For asking. For trusting me with it.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Didn’t feel brave in the moment.”
“Still was,” I say. “You knew what you needed and you said it. That’s not easy.”
I press the towel aside and use my thumb to trace a slow, reassuring line over his hip. Over skin still warm, still sensitive.
“You’re beautiful like this,” I continue. “Open. Honest. Not pretending you don’t want what you want.”
He turns his head just enough to look at me over his shoulder, eyes soft, hazy.
“You didn’t make it feel dirty,” he says. “You didn’t make me feel weird for wanting it.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing weird about wanting to feel connected. About wanting to feel full. About wanting someone to stay.”
He closes his eyes at that.
I lean forward and kiss the center of his back—slow, grounding, intentional.
“You trusted me with your body,” I say. “With your kink. With something vulnerable.” My voice lowers. “That’s hot as hell. And it’s an honor.”
His breath catches—not sharp, not frantic. Just full.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For letting me have that.”
I smile against his skin.
“Anytime,” I say. “You’re allowed to ask.”
Then I help him ease onto his side, gather him into my chest, and hold him there—no rush, no agenda, just warmth and quiet and the kind of closeness that lingers long after the heat fades.
And when he finally relaxes completely, body heavy with satisfaction and trust, I stay exactly where I am.
I settle behind him, drawing the covers up over both of us, our bodies still warm and slick with what we just made.
My chest pressed to his back, one arm tucked under his neck, the other slung low around his waist, hand resting just beneath his navel—right where he still twitches when I breathe against his neck.
Monty’s quiet, his body soft in my arms, but not asleep. Not yet.
I press a kiss to his shoulder. Then another to the nape of his neck. “Still with me?”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Still here.”
We lay in it. In the quiet. In the scent of sex and sweat and skin. I feel my release still inside him—still inside him—and my cock stirs again, even soft, just thinking about what he let me give him.
About what he said.
About what he wants to give back.
My hand moves gently over his stomach, slow circles meant to soothe. But my voice is nowhere near calm when I say, “I keep thinking about what you said earlier.”
He hums sleepily. “What part?”
“You want to do it to me too.”
I feel the shift in his body. Just a flicker of awareness. “Yeah.”
“I want it,” I say quietly. “I want you to do it to me.”
He stills.
“You do?”
I nod against the curve of his neck. “It’ll make you happy, but it also makes me hard just thinking about it.”
“Cally—”
“No, listen,” I murmur, kissing behind his ear. “I want to know what it feels like to be taken like that. To be filled by you. To know you’re in me, staying in me.”
He turns in my arms at that—slowly, carefully—eyes wide, blown, vulnerable, and surprised.
“You’re so open with your sexuality,” he says quietly. “And you’ve never let anyone—?”
“Not like that,” I interrupt gently. “I never let anyone inside me. I’ve topped—but I’ve only ever bottomed for you. That time.”
His breath catches.
Then he kisses me—hard. No hesitation, no doubt. Just mouth to mouth, heat to heat, sealing the truth between us.
I brush my thumb along his cheek when we part, still close enough to feel him breathe.
“But this?” I whisper. “With you? Fuck, Monty—it’s all I can think about. The way you begged. The way you opened up for me. I want to give that to you too. I want you inside me. Deep. Full.”
His hand finds my chest, fingers curling over my heart like he’s steadying himself. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I want to take your cum. I want to feel what you felt. I want to know what it’s like to be filled by someone I love.”
He blinks at that.
Then leans in.
This time th kiss is slow. Deep. Sealing.
He pulls back only enough to whisper, “Next time, Cally.”
My hips twitch against him. I’m getting hard again. Of course I am.
“Yeah,” I rasp. “Next time, you take me.”
We stay like that, breathing the same air, the promise lingering between us.
And God, do I mean it.