Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Foil tears. I roll it on, eyes on her the whole time. “I’ll stop the second you say. And you will—if you need me to stop.”
“I know and I promise.” Her hand slides into my hair, softly, like I’m something that could break, and God, she might break me. “I promise all the things, Cal.”
I line us up, stroking myself once because fuck, she’s too good. And I pause, her slick entrance pressing against the head of my cock. One palm spread at her hip, the other meets her ribcage where her heartbeat pulses against my thumb.
“Breathe with me.”
And she does—one, two, three—and I ease in, slow, slower, watching her face after each breath. I’m struggling to control the slow pace the deeper I go, pulling out slightly before I push in a little more each time, and I can feel her walls clenching around me.
“Fuck,” I groan, leaning my forehead on her shoulder for half a beat, then looking back into her eyes.
Her mouth parts; her hand tightens around my bicep, her nails digging underneath my arm, rocketing the pleasure.
A moan leaves her lips like a secret, like something she can barely get out. I lift my hand, taking her small wrist and pinning it above her head. Heat and the soft satin of the pillows and her stretching around me makes the room tilt.
“Okay?” I manage, every muscle held, because I need to know she is—not just now, but forever.
She nods, then finds my mouth with her swollen lips and answers against it. “More.”
Any sense of control I thought I had in this moment crumbles.
I push the last of the way, bottom out, and stay there, chest to chest, forehead to hers while our bodies learn each other. The world narrows to the give of her around me and the tremor in my arms I don’t bother hiding. To her hand, gripping mine above us, her other still clenching my arm.
She has all of the control, and I’ll give her anything.
Forever.
I’ll follow her to hell and back.
I’ll give up everything.
“Cal,” she breathes, and the way she says my name ruins me. She shifts—just the smallest roll of her hips—and I swear I see stars. Or God. Or maybe God in the stars.
“Your pace,” I say. “You’re the boss.”
She tests a slow slide and I meet it, careful, controlled. Her nails skate along my skin, up my shoulder, behind my neck and down my back, landing at my waist, guiding me in and out.
And I follow, because that’s what I do with her—follow, worship, build.
She takes me deeper the next time. A soft sound catches in her throat, and I swallow it with a kiss, my tongue meeting hers in rhythm with her hips. The room becomes heartbeats and heat and the soft thud of the headboard as we find our cadence.
Every time I pull back, the sight of her—flushed, eyes bright, her hair tangled in my hands as I hold myself above her—hits me harder than the first. I angle just so and reach between us, finding the spot I know will shatter her.
I pump into her shallower, faster, and follow the pace with my thumb on her clit, small circles, then bigger ones.
Slower, then faster, following the way her hips buck into me.
I push all the way in and her breath shatters; I do it again, wanting her to forget every other time before this one.
“Right there,” she says, voice breaking.
“Right there,” I answer, keeping her there. My other hand slips under the lush curve of her, lifting, fitting us closer, one hand still between us. And she moves over me as we switch places.
The room is darker, but my eyes are fixed on the look of her when she rides me.
And fucking hell—Botticelli never had a chance.
I feel her start to shake, riding me and grinding her perfect pussy into my pelvic bone. I fix my hands on either side of her hips, running them appreciatively up and down the tops of her thighs.
“Use me.” I clench my muscles, arching up to meet her, feeling that familiar heat rise at the base of my spine. “Use me and take everything.”
Her moans climb, and I don’t change a thing.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her, deep and steady, holding her up at her hips while she rocks faster. “Fuck. Max. Yes.”
She gasps, throws her head back with both hands on mine holding her hips as she moans at full volume.
I feel her clenching around me as I break with her.
I completely lose it; I bury myself inside her to the hilt, pull her down on my cock harder and let it take me, the kind of finish that feels like relief and wreckage and another promise.
She leans forward, those blue eyes drowning me as my muscles relax and my arms tangle with hers.
Clutching me, my dick still pulsing inside of her, her eyes stay on mine, searching for something, deciding something.
I hold on to her, hand grasping at her nape, thumb at her jaw, staying right with her until the quake of her body turns to a melt.
“Cal—” My name again, softer.
Breath sawed, forehead resting against hers now, the world is quiet. My mind is quiet. For the first time in a long time, nothing matters.
Not the past, not the future, not tomorrow, not what anyone needs from me.
Every nerve ending, every breath and drop of blood in my body is for her and only her.
“You okay?” I ask, thumb tracing her cheekbone.
Her smile hits like sunshine and a rainbow after a three-day storm. “I’m wonderful.”
I pull her towards me, kiss her—slow, grateful. Pouring every ounce of me into the kiss.
“Another door we walked through together,” I murmur, brushing hair from her face.
“And another door you have to build me.” She glances to the other side of the room at the broken door.
“Yeah.” I tuck her closer, already planning ice water, a warm cloth, the stupid broken door I’ll fix before she’s awake tomorrow morning. I look at her and it’s easy to make promises. “Whatever you dream up next, Sims,” I tell her. “I’ll build it. We’ll build it together.”
“Question.”
“Anything,” I whisper.
“If I sleep in here, will I still get my nightly pillow mint? I’ve really gotten attached to those.”
A bright smile breaks across my face. “I’ll give you anything, even two chocolates, to sleep in my bed with me.”