13. Caleb
THIRTEEN
Caleb
Novak’s hands were already on me, fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise, and I should’ve shoved him off.
I should have. But the way his tongue forced its way past my lips, hot and demanding, sent a jolt down my spine that locked my muscles in place.
I wanted this—I’d been edging myself since the first day I saw him, and now he was here, and I could have him.
My ass hit the counter, and he caged me there, forearms braced on either side of my thighs.
I turned my head, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe. “What the fuck are you doing, Novak?”
His dark eyes didn’t waver. “What I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”
A laugh scraped out of me, bitter and disbelieving. “You don’t think . You just—” I gestured vaguely at him, at the way he loomed over me, and his thumb traced the inside of my knee. “You just do .”
“No.” His voice was rough, lower than usual.
“I think about you. All the time.” His fingers tightened, nails biting into my skin through the fabric of my combats.
“I think about how you look when you’re pissed off.
How your mouth gets tight. How your eyes go dark.
” His other hand slid up my chest, palm flattening over my heart.
“I think about marking you with my come, I think about making you come.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I barked out another laugh, but it came out strained.
“Christ, Novak. You sound like a bad porn script.” Then I realized what I’d said.
“Not that there’s such a thing as a bad porn script.
” I exhaled sharply as his thumb pressed harder, right over my cock, which twitched, traitorous and eager, and I hated how obvious it was.
Hated even more how much I didn’t care. “But you’re terrible at dirty talk. ”
His fingers stilled. For the first time, something flickered in his expression—uncertainty, maybe. As if my mocking had thrown him off balance. Fuck, that was interesting . I didn’t mean to upset him because I thought he could take it.
“How should I talk instead?” he asked, concerned.
I grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him closer. “If you’re gonna say anything, at least mean it.” His breath hitched, and I felt the shift in his body, the way his weight settled forward, pressing me into the counter. “Or shut up and do something.”
“Okay,” his hand dropped to his belt. “Suck me.”
I should’ve told him to go to hell. Should’ve knelt to drive a fist into his balls. But the way his voice roughened, the way his dark eyes burned into mine—fuck, I wanted to. My pulse hammered in my throat as he shoved his combat pants down enough to free his cock, thick and heavy.
I licked my lips. I could imagine my mouth on him, and he was so fucking big, and sexy…
His nostrils flared, and he tilted his head.
I could back out now, step away, laugh this off—as much as I could laugh off anything with a psychopath, but no, I dropped to my knees in front of him.
I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock, feeling the weight of him, the way his breath stuttered as I leaned in.
His scent hit me first—salt and leather and something darker, something him —before I dragged my tongue up the underside of his shaft.
His muscles locked, thighs tensing, but he didn’t move.
Not so much as a twitch as I stared up at him, watching me with that unnerving stillness.
I took him into my mouth, slow at first, savoring the way his breath quickened, the way his fingers flexed against his thighs as he fought the urge to grab me.
Would he grip my hair, hold me in place, and make me take it?
Was he scared to do that? Did he want to choke me?
Or praise me, or be so fucking gentle he broke me?
His cock thickened on my tongue. I hollowed my cheeks, taking him deeper.
His groan was low, guttural, and he braced against the counter, knuckles white.
“Caleb—” His voice broke. “Your mouth?—”
I smirked. “You like that?”
His jaw clenched. “Again.”
“Hands in my hair, Novak,” I ordered and went back to sucking.
This time, I didn’t hold back. I took him to the back of my throat, swallowing around the head, and his entire body jerked. His free hand tangled in my hair, not pulling, just holding . I worked him harder, faster, my own cock aching in my combats, but I ignored it. This wasn’t about me. Not yet.
His hips moved in shallow thrusts that turned rougher as his breathing fractured. “Gonna—” His grip tightened. “Gonna come.”
His cock swelled, pulse racing against my tongue, and then he was coming down my throat with a groan that sounded as if it had been ripped out of him.
I swallowed the first, eased my sucking for the rest, and he marked my face, my own body trembling with the effort of not touching myself.
When I finally released him, his cock was still half-hard, glistening with spit, and his chest heaved as if he’d run a mile.
For a second, we were frozen. Then his fingers slid from my hair, tracing down my cheek, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone, smearing his come into my skin, and the possessive satisfaction in his gaze made my stomach twist. “I marked you,” he whispered. “Mine.”
Well, fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing I’d ever heard after giving a blowjob. I should’ve wiped his come off my face and told him to get the hell out. But the way he looked at me—like I was his —sent a thrill through me I couldn’t ignore.
He stepped back. “Take your cock out, Caleb,” he ordered.
My default with Novak was to argue, but his order short-circuited every rational thought. He took another step back, giving himself room to work, and I fumbled with my fly. My dick sprang free, already leaking. I stroked myself once, twice, but his voice stopped me.
“Don’t touch.” His command was rough.
I bit back a groan. “Fuck you, Novak.”
“Leon,” he said, his voice rough. “My name is Leon .”
“Yeah. I know.”
“You can call me that.”
I didn’t have time to answer before he sank to his knees and pulled out my cock, his breath ghosting over the head before he wrapped his fingers around the base and gave a firm stroke.
“Novak,” I bit out, hips jerking forward without permission.
“Leon,” he corrected, then leaned in, lips parting as he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of my thigh. My fingers twisted in his short hair before I could stop myself.
“No-Leon?—”
His name turned into a groan as he took the head of my cock between his lips, tongue swirling over the slit.
The wet heat was almost too much, my hips rolling forward instinctively, seeking more.
He let me, hands sliding up to grip my ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he sucked me deeper into his mouth.
His lips stretched obscenely around me, and he hollowed his cheeks, taking me to the back of his throat with a low, rough sound.
My fingers twisted in his hair, my other hand slamming back against the counter for balance as he pulled off with a wet pop , then dove back down, throat working around the head.
“Shit— fuck —” My voice cracked, hips stuttering as he took me deeper, and my vision whited out for a second, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.
Lips slick and swollen, his gaze locked onto mine with raw, hungry focus on the way my chest heaved and my cock pulsed in his grip.
Then he swallowed me harder, his free hand sliding between my legs to roll my balls in his palm.
The pressure built fast, my orgasm coiling at the base of my spine.
I tried to warn him, tried to ease back, but his grip was iron on my hips, holding me in place as he worked me over with his mouth, his tongue, the rough scrape of his teeth.
“Gonna— fuck —” My warning turned into a broken cry as I came, my cock kicking against his tongue as I spilled down his throat. He took it all, swallowing around me, throat working until I was wrung dry, my legs shaking so bad I wasn’t sure I could stand.
He pulled off slowly, lips dragging across my oversensitive skin, and I shuddered, my grip on his hair loosening as he sat back on his heels. His mouth was wet, his chin glistening, and when he licked his lips, I nearly came again from the sight.
“Was that okay?” he asked, and it threw me. He was never uncertain about anything, but in this, he hesitated. Why?
I stared at him in silence, my chest rising and falling too fast, my cock still twitching between us.
Novak stood, slow and unhurried, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes never left mine as he tucked me back in. Then he leaned in, his body pressing against mine, fingers against my pulse, and his breath hot against my ear.
“Was that okay?” he repeated the question.
“Yeah, yeah,” I managed, “five stars, would recommend.”
He nodded then, as if he were filing away what had happened and taking notes on his performance. “Next time will be better.”
And just like that, he headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedrooms. My pulse still raced, my skin too hot, and my thoughts spun with the weight of what had happened—and the terrifying realization that I wanted there to be a next time.
He’d marked me, and I should have pushed back, but instead I wanted to see how far it would go.
He promised more.
Leon did that.