Chapter 4
Blake
Usually, I like to think things through. To plan and prepare for both the best, and the worse, case scenario.
But there’s something about Calla that has me throwing all caution to the wind, doing whatever the fuck I feel like without a second thought or hesitation.
Stealing the wedge of lime from her lips, I suck at the fruit, swallowing down the juice as it chases away the bitter edge of the tequila and salt.
The alcohol fizzes through my veins as it enters my bloodstream, leaving me with a pleasant buzz which makes everything seem a bit more amusing.
I’m by no means drunk, I’m still sober enough to know what I’m doing, but the tequila has helped take off my jagged edges, yanking at my walls until Calla is able to peer over the top, to see me.
Spitting the lime back into my palm, I tighten my grip on Calla’s long blonde hair, enjoying the hiss of pain that breaks free from her mouth before her lashes flutter shut and she sinks her top teeth into her plush bottom lip.
She likes my hand in her hair; I can tell.
Only when she peels open her eyes again, pupils blown wide, do I press lips, sticky with lime juice, to hers.
Calla responds just as quickly as I expect, wrapping her hands around the nape of my neck and parting her lips, allowing me to tangle my tongue with hers.
She tastes sweet – a mixture of lime and something I can’t quite place – but either way the taste, the feel, of her is addictive, addling my brain until I can focus on nothing but the way she’s moving against me.
“Calla,” I groan. I swear I can feel precum smearing over the placket of my boxers, leaving me in a sticky mess.
“I know,” she mumbles against my jaw, moving until she can gently, or perhaps not so gently, nibble at the thin patch of skin beneath my ear. “Take me back to yours, Blake.”
I don’t need to be to be told twice. I’m desperate to get her back home, naked and on her back. I have been all night, since I first spotted her.
Lacing my fingers with Calla’s, my much larger palm engulfing hers, I keep her body packed close to mine as I navigate my way through the crowded bodies roaming the bar floor.
We spill out into the street beyond, the spring air delightfully balmy on my overheated skin.
Calla’s heels click against the uneven pavement as we walk a little bit away from the bar, bypassing the smoker’s corner and the synthetic scent of fruit flavoured disguised nicotine, until I can reach the curb.
Sticking my hand out, I hail us a black taxi in record time, ushering Calla into the backseat and then sliding in beside her.
The rest of the journey back to my apartment is a blur.
I know I must give my address to the driver, pulling away from the curb with a bump and a jolt, before merging into the oncoming lanes of traffic.
But everything else fades away in the background, unimportant, when Calla attaches her lips back to mine, sweeping her tongue inside my mouth.
She whimpers so sweetly when I bite down on her exposed collarbone, swiping the pad of my thumb over her tight nipple, the round bud pressing insistently against the thin material of her costume.
My mouth waters at the sight.
“Blake.”
I hum into her neck, noticing the red rash I’m leaving behind from my rough stubble. I don’t even bother to hide my delighted grin. I want Calla marked. I want her to feel me for days after tonight.
Resting my other hand on her bare thigh, I push up the scratchy tulle of her skirt with the backs of my fingertips until more of her creamy flesh is exposed.
Still, it’s not enough.
It won’t be enough until she’s naked and writhing beneath me. Or on top of me. Or beside me.
Really, I’m not feeling particularly picky this evening.
“Tell me you want this,” I utter into Calla’s mouth, capturing her lips as mine once more. I can’t stand to not be tasting her for a second longer.
“I want this,” she consents with an urgent bob of her head. “I want you, Blake.”
My cock kicks at her words, lengthening against my inner thigh, balls aching already.
I pull away to catch my breath, a little lightheaded from the lack of fresh oxygen and the amount of blood pooling in my cock.
As if she can hear my thoughts, and not one to be outdone, Calla seizes her moment of opportunity to wrap her own, much smaller hand, upon my jean clad leg.
We both watch her fingers dance against the golden seam, embroidered into my inner thigh, while I hold my breath, waiting for the zap of pleasure to burst along my spine when Calla touches me.
But it never comes.
Instead, Calla slides her cold hand beneath the material of my button down, grazing against my lower abs and the dark line of my happy trail.
I’m not as lean as my brother Grey, or as muscled as my youngest brother, Hudson, but I like to think I’m still in pretty good shape.
Calla must think so, too, for I watch her lips curl up at the corners.
“As a sports coach, I expect nothing less,” she says, lightly scratching her nails along the ridges of my stomach.
My cock kicks again, painfully pressing against the metal teeth of my zipper.
I can’t hold back my grimace.
“Something wrong?” Calla tuts, tone dripping with faux sympathy.
Tipping my head into the back of the leather headrest, I loll to one side, narrowing my eyes at her.
“It’s your fault.”
“My fault?” Calla presses a palm to her chest. “Nuh-uh, mister.”
A laugh escapes me then, quickly followed by a stuttered groan I’m certain the taxi driver hears.
“Here?” Calla grazes her fingers along the bulge of my hard cock, squeezing slightly. My hips raise of their own accord, chasing the pain pleasure she’s eliciting. “Is this where it hurts?”
I drag my gaze back up to her pretty eyes, noting the mischievous sparkle in them.
“Maybe I should check it out?” She hums, all spun sugar sweet, like butter wouldn’t melt. “Make sure everything’s okay, you know?”
Reaching outward, I sink my thick fingers into Calla’s soft hair, gripping the whole surface of her skull in my palm. I bring her closer to me, until she’s practically on top of me; the only thing keeping us apart is the stretch of Calla’s seatbelt.
Nudging my nose with hers, I find my voice. “You want to be put on your knees, Calla?”
Her eyes bounce over my face before she licks her lips and nods.
In the front, through the glass partition, I hear the driver cough loudly, as if to remind us we’re not alone.
Yet.
Right now, in this very moment, I can’t find it within myself to be fucking bothered by his presence. It’s Calla who moves first, laying her lips on mine with a wild fervour I’m coming to associate with her.
I don’t think Calla does anything by halves.
I like it that way.
She’s unlike anybody I’ve ever met before, not afraid to standalone, to be different, and quite frankly, I can’t get enough of it.
Of her.
When Calla moves her lips to trail a path down my neck, deft fingertips slipping my topmost button through its slit, revealing more of my chest, and pressing her wet mouth there, I make the mistake of glancing out of the taxi window.
I notice it’s smeared with handprints, the sprawl of London town passing us by, people and bars and shops and—
I sit upright abruptly. Grabbing Calla’s waist with one hand to keep her steady, I form a fist with my other hand, rapping once on the partition separating the taxi driver and his passengers.
“Yeah, mate?”
“You wouldn’t mind just pulling up the curb, would you? I need to grab something. Could you keep the meter running?”
The cabbie flicks his eyes up to my total fee. He sucks on his teeth. “If you’re quick.”
“Five minutes. Tops.”
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I drag Calla out of the car with me, lacing our hands together again as our feet hit the pavement. Everything sways for a second before the world rightens itself once more.
I blame that bloody shot of tequila.
“Blake,” Calla protests. “What—”
“I don’t have any condoms at home,” I say, swerving to avoid a group of rowdy teenagers gathering outside a famous fast-food restaurant and then taking a hard left into a familiar drugstore.
“Oh.”
“Mhm,” I hum, navigating my way along the aisles, past shelves full of hygiene products, toothbrushes and—
I make a blind grab at the first box of condoms I see, hardly taking notice of the size or how many the box contains. I don’t care. I just want to get out of here and get Calla home.
But of course, Calla has other ideas.
Grabbing my arm to stop me in my tracks, she steals the box from my hands.
“These aren’t latex free.”
I furrow my brow. “And?”
“What happens if I’m allergic to latex?”
“Are you?”
“No.”
I peer down at Calla. “You’re strange.”
She shrugs. “I know. Are you sure these will fit?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “I’ll make it fit.”
“Don’t you think—”
“I’m not going to whip out my cock and start measuring, Calla.”
She chokes out a laugh. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I grit out. I’m as hard as fucking rock and this conversation isn’t helping. “I’ve never been asked so many questions about condoms before.”
“It’s good to ask questions,” Calla replies, shoving the condom I’d picked out back onto the shelf haphazardly, before plucking up a different branded box. “Come on.”
She all but hops, skips and jumps, down the aisle towards the self-serve checkouts, leaving me to lumber behind her.
“I’ll pay,” I say once we reach the machines. For once, strangely, there isn’t a queue of people.
Calla blinks up at me. A look that would be sweet as pie… if it wasn’t for the shit eating smirk playing about her kiss stung lips. I just get a glimpse of the sprawling description across the plastic box – ribbed for her pleasure – before a voice calls out.
“I’m sorry, but we’re having a technical fault with our self-serve machines. Would you mind moving over to the cashier and she’ll get you all rung up.”
As if I’m moving in slow motion, I glance over my broad shoulder to find an assistant, his hands clasped together nervously, tipping his head toward the till right at the end of the row. A lone woman sits behind the desk, waving Calla and I over with the tips of her fingers.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
This can’t be fucking happening while I’m trying to buy a box of condoms.
Christ.
My cheeks flame hot, but I manage to bob my head to show I’ve heard him before I stalk over to the single cashier. I make the mistake of looking over at Calla, catching her grin and then the way she presses her lips together to try to quell her laugher.
“Don’t say a word.”
“I would never.”
Dumping the condoms onto the surface, I see the way the cashier’s eyes widen. I’m not quite sure why, she shouldn’t be all that surprised. Surely, I’m not the first man to be caught buying condoms.
“Did you find everything you were looking for this evening?”
Beep goes my goods.
“Yep,” I say, deciding to keep it short and simple in order to get out of her as fast as fucking possible.
But Calla wraps her hands around my left arm, leaning her head on my shoulder until I can smell the scent of her shampoo. “We sure did.”
The cashier huffs out a giggle, which only serves to make my chest begin to itch with the beginnings of a nervous rash. I tap my contactless card to the machine before she’s even rolled off the total amount, grabbing our box of condoms, and beginning to walk away.
“Do you want your receipt?”
I shake my head ‘no’ wordlessly.
“Have a good night you two!” she calls.
“Oh, we will,” I hear Calla reply with a cackle.
Thankfully, the taxi driver has kept his word; his car still sitting, engine idling, where I left him. I rip open the door to the backseat, watching as Calla peers up at me, the pad of the thumb coming up to brush along the crimson red staining the apples of my cheeks.
“Cute,” she remarks before bending at the waist and disappearing inside the taxi.
I clench my jaw when I see the skirt of her princess costume ride up, the rounded bottom-most curve of her arse visible for a heartbeat.
The sudden urge to bite her flesh runs through me, poker hot.
I flex my fingers against the cool metal of the car door to remind myself where the fuck I am, exhaling raggedly, and then joining Calla in the backseat. Her resulting giggle upon seeing me, has me narrowing my eyes at her.
She’s a fucking handful.
But that’s fine. Its why God gave me two hands, after all.