Chapter 35 #2
My fingers tighten against her waist. "That night was the first time I saw you. Watching some douchebag say words that made you look sad. And I knew—" I drag my nose along her jaw, inhaling her scent, letting myself feel her softness against me. "I knew you'd be mine."
“You knew back then?”
I nod. "Didn't know you yet. Just knew that I would."
She stares at me, realization dawning in her expression.
She takes my hands in hers, lifting them, guiding them.
Then, slowly she presses them down, right over her sweatpants.
My thumbs hook into her panties, and then she's pushing my hands lower, and I'm pulling the material off her body, peeling it down her thighs, down her legs, down until she's completely bare beneath me.
I pull back, just enough to see her.
She’s a goddamn vision. All soft skin and curves begging to be marked, heat rolling off her in a way that dares me to take. She was made for this—for me.
But she doesn't see it.
Not yet.
Instead of owning the moment, owning her beauty, owning the way my eyes can't stop drinking her in, she hesitates. Her body tenses, shoulders curling inward, thighs pressing slightly together, like she's waiting.
For judgment.
For rejection.
Like she doesn't realize that I would get on my knees and worship every inch of her if she let me.
My chest tightens, possessiveness curling inside me.
She should know.
She should fucking know.
I part my lips, ready to tell her exactly that, ready to tell her she's the sexiest fucking woman I've ever laid eyes on, that she has no idea how much I want her, how much I want to devour her.
But then she makes a sound. A tiny, soft little whimper, and my restraint snaps.
I move without thinking. I slide my hands down her thighs, gripping them firmly, feeling the heat of her skin beneath my fingers. I spread her apart, watching her reaction—the gasp, the quiver of her lower lip, the tremor that runs through her body.
She’s gorgeous like this.
Spread out.
Exposed.
Mine.
She looks up at me. Her pupils are wide, chest rising and falling rapidly, hands gripping the couch cushions. I exhale slowly, my fingers tightening against her thighs, keeping her still. "Lie back for me, pretty girl."
Her breath shudders, but she listens. She lets me move her, lets me guide her, lets me position her exactly how I want her.
I dive in. The first swipe of my tongue against her slick heat has her hips jerking up, thighs trembling in my grip.
Her breath stutters and I feel the tremor of it all the way through her.
I growl against her skin, my hands tightening around her soft, curvy thighs.
She's writhing beneath me, and I’m going to give her exactly what she wants.
She's mine to devour.
And fuck, she tastes like heaven.
I lap at her like I'm starved for it, because I am.
Her clit pulses against my tongue, hot and swollen, and I wrap my lips around it, sucking just enough to feel her jolt beneath me. She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair, tugging, anchoring herself, pulling me in closer with her needy, desperate sounds.
I groan, lapping up every drop, drinking in every sound, every little gasp and whimper that spills from her lips.
She's so sensitive, so fucking reactive.
Every flick of my tongue, every slow, deliberate movement, has her tensing, tightening, breaking apart little by little.
I drag my tongue through her folds, slowly, teasing, savoring her.
Because this?
This is what I've been waiting for.
Her taste, her sounds, the way she writhes beneath me, desperate, helpless, completely undone—
It's everything I've fantasized about.
I grip her hips with one hand to keep her still as I push two fingers inside her, curling them deep.
She's so tight.
So fucking perfect.
She clenches around my fingers, and I can feel the way her body reacts to me, like it knows exactly who it belongs to. Her thighs twitch against my shoulders, her entire body shuddering.
"Cal—"
She gasps it, her voice breaking apart like she can't hold herself together anymore.
Hearing her say my name like that, it does something to me. Her fingers tighten against my scalp, tugging hard, like she needs something solid—someone—to keep her from unraveling. Her head tilts back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut, body shaking beneath me.
And I feel it—the intense, possessive need curling in my gut, the raw, aching hunger to hear her say my name like that over and over again.
I want to pull it from her lips in every way possible.
Make my name the only name she ever thinks about when she comes.
I groan against her, lapping her up, fucking her with my fingers, dragging her higher, watching her unravel just for me.
Because that's what she is now.
Mine.
She's so close.
I flick my tongue over her again and again, dragging her closer, pulling her to the edge, making her feel nothing but this.
Her moans turn breathy, higher-pitched, frantic.
Her legs start to shake.
Her hips buck, her breath catches, and I don't stop.
I don't let up.
"Come for me, Izzy."
Her entire body locks up and then she shatters.
Her back arches, her breath erratic, and she falls apart beneath me, gasping my name like it's the only word she remembers.
I groan into her, licking her through it, prolonging it, making sure she feels every last second of her release.
She trembles, twitching, her thighs jerking against me as aftershocks ripple through her.
I don't stop until she's whimpering, too sensitive, too overwhelmed.
Only then do I pull back, pressing a slow, reverent kiss against the inside of her thigh.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her skin flushed down to her perfect, bare breasts, her body loose and spent.
I watch her, my hands still gripping her thighs, keeping her exactly where she is.
Then, low and rough, I murmur—"That's my good girl."
Her eyes flutter open, dazed, unfocused, still floating somewhere in the high I just gave her.
And then she looks at me.
Not just looks.
Locks onto me.
Like I'm the only person in the room. The only one who matters in her world.
"Please, Cal, I need—"
I already fucking know.
She wants my cock.
Wants me to bury myself inside her, stretch her open, fuck her so deep and hard that she forgets everything but my name.
I want that too.
More than I can put into words.
But not yet.
I press one last kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath me. "Not tonight."
She whines, frustrated, needy. "Why not?"
I crawl back up her body, settling beside her, pressing my lips against hers, swallowing the whimper she lets out when she feels me still hard against her.
"Because I want to savor this, Izzy." I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb along her flushed jaw, tilting her chin up just enough to make her look at me. "I want to stretch this out, keep you on the edge, make you desperate for it."
Her lips part on a shallow breath, eyes darkening with want.
"We have time, pretty girl." I lean in, dragging my teeth along her bottom lip, feeling her shiver. "And when I finally take you, it's going to ruin us both."
She whimpers.
Soft, needy, already unraveling. She licks her lips, eyes lowering with a kind of hesitant hunger—
and then she surprises me.
"Then can I at least take care of you?"
Fuck.
I grunt, my hands fisting in the couch cushions, trying to stay in control.
"Izzy—"
She doesn't give me a chance to protest. She reaches for me, wrapping her fingers around the thick outline of my cock through my pants, and I curse, hips jerking into her touch.
She's so fucking eager.
So willing.
Like she wants to make up for all the times she was denied this.
Like she wants to worship me the way I just worshiped her.
I groan, my head tipping back, but she doesn't let up.
She tightens her grip, stroking me through the fabric, watching me like she's memorizing every reaction, every little twitch of my body.
"Please?" she whispers, voice breathy, teasing and wicked.
Fuck.
I nod, because there's no way in hell I can say no to her right now.
"Yeah. But I'm close. A few strokes, and I'm done."
Her eyes glint.
And she surprises me again.
"I want to taste you."
I suck in a breath.
Jesus Christ, she's going to kill me.
I grab her wrist, stopping her from reaching for my waistband.
"Soon." My voice is rough, strained, barely hanging on. "But not this time. Not when I can't properly enjoy it."
She pouts, but I love that look on her.
So fucking much.
"Come here."
She shifts, settling on her knees in front of me.
I barely have time to brace myself before she releases my cock and takes me in her hand, slow, teasing, too fucking perfect. I hiss through my teeth, watching her, watching her beautiful, delicate fingers wrap around me.
It's too much.
Her skin is still flushed from my mouth on her.
The taste of her release still lingers on my tongue, hot and sweet and addictive.
And now, she’s on her knees, bare and breathtaking, eyes dark with heat, her mouth soft and waiting, my cock in her hand, stroking me slow.
How the fuck am I supposed to last through that?
It's two strokes.
Maybe three.
And I'm done.
I groan, head tipping back, my fingers tightening in her hair, my entire body locking up as pleasure crashes through me.
She doesn't stop.
Her fingers keep stroking, like she's memorizing the way I feel in her palm. My cock jerks in her grip, spilling over her perfect fucking tits, painting her skin in thick, hot ropes of my release.
I thought that would be enough.
I thought that would be the thing to finally wreck me, to leave me breathless and spent and unable to think straight.
I was wrong.
Because then—
She does it.
She drags her fingers through it.
Slow. Unbothered.
Like it's natural.
Like she was meant to be covered in me.
She lifts them to her lips, and tastes me. My jaw locks, my chest tightening, my entire body going so fucking tense I might snap in half. The room narrows, time slows, my vision focused solely on her.
Naked.
Kneeling before me.
Mine.
Her lips part slightly, tongue flicking out, swiping over the tip of her finger. Her eyes are big, her breathing unsteady, her mouth pink and swollen from kissing me, her tits still slick with my release.
She smirks.
Fucking smirks.
A tiny, self-satisfied, wicked little thing, her eyes glinting up at me, fully aware of the effect she has on me.
She knows how possessive I feel in this moment.
She understands the primal claim she's staked by accepting my mark on her skin.
She recognizes that my restraint is hanging by a thread—that if I wasn't committed to taking this slowly, I'd have her spread out beneath me again, licking my own come off her skin, kissing it back into her mouth, and making her take me deep and desperate.
I exhale, gritting my teeth, dragging my gaze over her, forcing my cock to stop twitching at the sight.
I don't blink.
I don't look away.
I just stare her down.
I’m completely wrecked when I say, "Fuck, Izzy."
I swallow hard, my body still pulsing, my muscles still tight, my restraint hanging by a fucking thread. She tilts her head, her fingers still teasing her lips.
Like she's waiting for me to break.
I almost do.
Instead, I narrow my eyes, watching her. And then, voice gravel-rough, utterly fucking ruined, I ask—
"What are you trying to do to me?"