Chapter 43 #2
One moment he's sitting beneath me, controlled despite his obvious desire, and the next—before I even process what's happening—he flips me onto the couch, pressing me into the cushions, caging me beneath him.
His body is hot and hard above mine, his arms braced on either side of my head, his eyes burning into mine.
I gasp, my hands flying to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt, the heat of him sinking into me even through the fabric. My pulse races, my breathing shallow, my body arching instinctively toward his.
Cal reaches beside us, grabbing the glass of wine he poured for me earlier, bringing it to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip without breaking eye contact. The red liquid stains his lips momentarily before his tongue darts out to lick them clean.
"Tilt your head back."
My pulse jumps at the command. There's something about his tone, about the dark promise in his eyes, that makes me shiver with anticipation.
But I do as he says.
I tilt my head back, exposing the vulnerable column of my throat to him, my pulse hammering visibly there, my breathing shallow and quick.
"Good girl."
I feel his weight shift above me, feel his breath against my throat. He tips the glass, letting the wine slide past my lips in a cool, tart rush.
I swallow obediently, warmth spreading through me as the alcohol hits my system, mingling with the heat of arousal already coursing through my veins. Some of it spills, escaping the corner of my mouth, dripping down my chin, sliding in a cool, crimson trail between my breasts.
I gasp softly at the sensation, my eyes fluttering open to meet his. Cal tsks, shaking his head, though his eyes glitter with wicked enjoyment.
"Oops," he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble that I feel as much as hear. "Made a mess. Guess I'll have to clean that up."
His mouth moves lower, abandoning my lips to trace a heated path down my neck. His lips skim my collarbone, feather-light at first, then firmer, more insistent. They drag down the valley between my breasts, his breath ghosting over my wine-slicked skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
I shiver beneath him, nerves firing sharp and low as he drags his body down mine. My fingers clutch his shoulders, feeling the strength he’s barely holding back.
His tongue flicks out, tracing the path of the wine that dripped between my breasts, lapping at the liquid. His hands press my ribs down into the couch, holding me in place, controlling my movements, my breathing, my pleasure.
He takes his time, savoring me like I'm something rare and precious. Each lick, each kiss is designed to drive me to the edge of sanity.
And I'm going insane.
My body aches for more—more pressure, more friction, more of him.
The teasing, the slow pace, the gentle torture of his mouth is simultaneously too much and not enough.
I arch my back without conscious thought, pressing my chest up toward his mouth, silently begging for what I need.
He hums against my skin, a dark, pleased sound vibrating through me before he finally, finally sucks one nipple into his mouth.
A gasp catches in my throat, turns into a breathless moan that I barely recognize as my own.
His tongue is hot and wet against the sensitive peak, swirling around it, teasing it to an almost painful hardness before he moves to the other side.
He lavishes the neglected breast with slow, teasing licks that make my toes curl, and make heat pool between my legs.
His fingers trail lower, skimming over my stomach, tracing the curve of my hip bone, teasing along my inner thigh. The anticipation is almost unbearable, my body trembling with need, with desperate want for his touch where I need it most.
When he finally slides his fingers through my slick heat, he groans against my breast, the sound vibrating through me. He seems genuinely affected by how wet I am for him, by how ready my body is, how responsive to his every touch.
His calloused fingertips glide over my clit in a teasing circle before pressing two fingers inside me with deliberate slowness. I suck in a breath at the intrusion, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his shirt.
"Fuck, Izzy," he murmurs, voice rough, filled with pure hunger as he watches my face. His fingers curl inside me, pressing against that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes. "Always so fucking perfect for me."
I whimper, the sound needy and desperate to my own ears.
My hips move of their own accord, rocking against his hand, chasing the friction, the fullness, the pleasure building with each deliberate stroke of his fingers.
He grins against my skin, the expression I can feel rather than see, pressing a soft kiss to the swell of my breast as his fingers continue their skilled assault on my senses.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a soothing command, encouraging and demanding at once. "Let me see you come."
His words tear through me, tightening everything low and deep, pulling me right to the brink, but—
I don't want it like this.
Not tonight.
I shove at his shoulders, pushing against solid muscle, trying to create space. His head lifts immediately, eyes burning into mine, questioning, and concerned. Despite his obvious desire, there's an alertness there, a readiness to stop if that's what I want.
"Cal," I pant, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "Please—I want to feel you."
"You are feeling me." His voice is strained, tight with desire, with the effort of restraint.
I shake my head, my hand wrapping around his wrist, stilling his movements. His fingers twitch inside me at the restriction, making me gasp, making my inner walls clench around him.
"No," I breathe, the word almost a plea. "I want your cock."
A visible shudder runs through him, his breath catching audibly in his throat. His fingers twitch inside me again, pressing deeper, making me whimper.
"Not yet," he rasps, his free hand moving to drag his thumb over my clit in tight, precise circles that make my back arch, that send pleasure spiraling through me. "Let me see you come first."
I shake my head again, more insistent this time, digging my nails into his skin, leaving marks that I hope will still be there tomorrow.
"No," I argue, breathless but determined. "I want your cock."
He groans, the sound raw and desperate. His eyes trail down to where his fingers are buried inside me, watching the way my body clenches around him, the way his movements make me shiver and gasp.
His hand shoots up suddenly, gripping my chin, tilting my face toward him so I have no choice but to look at him.
"Fuck, Izzy," he growls, his voice rough with need, with barely contained desire. "You know I can't say no to you."
He kisses me again, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath, that makes my head spin.
He groans as he reluctantly withdraws his fingers, the loss making me whimper against his lips.
I scramble forward the moment he releases me, my hands finding his waistband, tugging at it with desperate, clumsy fingers, determined to taste him.
He's so fucking hard.
So big.
When I finally get his pants open, when I wrap my hand around him, I'm almost startled by the thick, velvety weight of him pulsing against my palm.
I shiver, my thighs clenching together involuntarily as I take in the size of him, the heat, the way he throbs with need in my hand.
His head tips back, exposing the strong column of his throat, a low groan rumbling from his chest.
"Fucking hell."
I bite my lip, shifting onto my knees, my mouth watering as I lean forward. There's something about seeing him like this—strong, powerful Cal undone by desire, by want for me—that makes me bold, that makes me want to push him further, and see how far I can take him before he breaks completely.
"Let me taste you," I whisper, the words a barely audible plea.
He swears, the sound harsh and guttural, and then he's moving, ripping his shirt off over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside without care for where it lands. His hands find my hair, fingers threading through it, fisting at the base of my skull, controlling without hurting.
My lips part in anticipation, in silent invitation, and I take him into my mouth.
A deep, guttural groan punches from his chest at the first contact, his thighs tensing beneath my hands as I hollow my cheeks, sucking him deep.
The taste of him is intoxicating—salt and musk.
It’s so purely Cal that makes my head spin, that makes heat pool between my legs.
Fuck.
He's so thick, stretching my lips wide, his skin hot and smooth against my tongue. I can't take all of him—he's too big, too much—but I try, relaxing my throat, taking him as deep as I can.
I glance up, curious to see his reaction, and the sight nearly undoes me.
His abs flex with each breath, every muscle in his body tight with tension and restraint. His jaw is locked, his throat working as he swallows repeatedly.
"Good girl," he breathes, the praise washing over me. "Just like that."
His hands tighten in my hair, guiding me, controlling me, setting a rhythm that I follow eagerly. His hips roll subtly into my mouth, not forceful, not rough, just enough to deepen the sensation, to show his pleasure, his need.
I moan around him, the vibration traveling up his length, making him curse, making his grip tighten in my hair.
"Fuck, pretty girl," he grits out, his voice strained, barely human. "You're gonna kill me."
I dig my nails into his thighs, feeling the powerful muscles jump beneath my touch. I take him deeper, swallowing around him, letting my throat constrict around the head of his cock.
His breath shudders out in a ragged exhale.
He pulls me off him with a grip that's firm but careful, always mindful of his strength. A startled sound escapes me as the connection breaks, my lips swollen and wet, my mind cloudy with lust and confusion.
"Cal?"
He doesn't answer. His eyes are wild, his breathing harsh, his control clearly hanging by a thread.
He grabs me, his grip strong but never cruel, hauling me up against him, dragging me toward the bedroom with purposeful strides.
I gasp, clutching onto his shoulders for balance as he practically throws me onto the bed.
I bounce slightly on impact, my hair fanning out around me, my skin flushed with need. I barely get a second to orient myself, before he grabs my thighs, spreading me open with strong, sure hands.
His hand grips his cock, the movement deliberate, almost taunting.
He drags it over my parted lips, teasing, claiming.
My core aches for him, empty and needy, but he's clearly got other intentions.
He walks around the bed, leaning over me so that the head of his cock starts to press against my mouth, seeking entrance, demanding submission, and I don't even think before I part my lips, letting him slide inside again.
This time, the position is different.
He's the one standing, towering over me.
He's in control.
His cock pushes deeper, thicker, harder, and all I can do is moan around him, relaxing my throat to take him, staring up at his tight abs flexing above me, at the veins in his arms bulging as he grips the headboard for leverage.
And then his mouth descends on my pussy.
Oh, fuck.
The sudden contact sends a shockwave through me, my whole body twitching from the overload. I claw at his thighs, moaning around his cock, helpless against the way he eats me like he’s been waiting his whole fucking life to taste.
Licking, sucking, fucking wrecking me with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. He's relentless, merciless, as he drives me toward the edge.
His hips roll in a steady rhythm, fucking my mouth with controlled, deliberate thrusts as his tongue flicks over my clit with expert precision. His groan vibrates against my core as he feels the way I tighten around him, the way my body trembles on the edge of release.
I scream, the sound muffled by his cock, my whole body trembling, so fucking close I can taste it—
"Come for me, pretty girl," he groans, his voice demanding against my sensitive flesh.
And I do.
I break.
It hits hard and fast, pleasure tearing through me in deep, uncontrollable surges. My mouth’s still stretched around his cock, a moan vibrating in my throat as my entire body jerks beneath him. My thighs snap tight around his head, and he doesn't stop—doesn’t even slow down.
My back arches, muscles seizing as I come with a cry I can’t swallow down. He keeps working me through it, tongue dragging every aftershock out of me. My hands claw at the sheets, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. I'm soaked, shaking, and my body feels ruined in the best possible way.
And he’s still between my legs, eating me like he’s not done yet. Like I’m not done yet.
He curses, his body tensing above me, his grip tight on my thighs as he thrusts deep, spilling into my mouth in hot, pulsing waves. The taste of him floods my tongue—bitter, salty, uniquely Cal—and I swallow instinctively, dazed, ruined, completely wrecked by the carnality of the act.
And as my body melts into the mattress, as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through me, as I feel his weight lift off, his lips pressing against my temple in an oddly tender gesture after such raw passion—
I realize something.
This man still hasn't fucked me.