19. Callie Rae #2
His digits curve up over and over inside of me. Pumping at an increased pace until he’s making love to that fascinating region.
My brows knit as he snowballs the burden at my core. But something’s different. It’s deeply rooted. Erupting from a place I had no idea existed.
And then he’s drilling into me with fervor.
I toss my head back, short breaths pouring from me as he continues to toy with my pussy.
“Is it too much?” he rasps. “Are you alright?”
I shake my head at his hoarse question, but his rhythm decelerates anyway.
No.
No.
“Hey. Look at me.”
His stern command drives my attention to him.
“Is it too much?” His hazel eyes sink into mine, glittering with want. “Answer me.”
“N-no,” I pant, shaking my head. “I’m good. Keep goin—"
My words clip when he resumes his fervent pace. He presses his left palm into my lower belly just as he strokes that spongy patch. And my body practically vibrates.
“How many guys am I gonna have to paint the streets with? Huh?” His question is lined with gravel.
My hands rest on my thighs to open them wider, boldly welcoming his hot fingers.
“If I were you, I’d keep that fiancé of yours on a short leash after I’m done working with him. Otherwise, you’ll be spending the rest of your days tending to his wounds.”
My lips purse, muted cries banging behind them as he works me. Fireworks pop along my flesh, the bursts quaking my limbs as he curls his fingers with dexterity.
He strokes until I’m buckling in a lethal tug-o-war with my mind.
It’s too much.
Overstimulating and overbearing.
But it’s impossible for me to scrape up the courage to stop him. There’s this impending colossal wave of pleasure. Prepared to explode when I finally let go.
And I’m already too far out to sea.
“Yeah, Cal?” he rasps, delivering a quick suck to my clit.
“A-ah,” I sigh, attaching my doe eyes to his. My vision is glassy, blurring as I brace for impact.
An impact I know my engagement won’t survive.
He puffs out a breath as he holds my stare, his brows knitting wickedly. “Oh, she’s ready to go,” he murmurs before his thumb flicks my clit. “Are you gonna cry for me? Huh?”
I nod feverishly.
He licks his lips, a whimper leaving him. “Oh, you’re bad, Cal.”
His fingers inside me speed up, and he fastens his mouth to my clit.
I squeeze my breasts in my hand, tuning my nipples as my body submits. A few more lashes of his tongue, and I throw my head back.
Powerful swells of pressure explode from my core. I let my body win, and a ripple of fire strikes through me when a warm droplet slaps my inner thigh.
“Yes, yes, yes. Oh, fuck,” he breathily chants. “Callie, holy fu—”
His lips part, his upper body jolting as he continues to pump. I catch the way his eyes crinkle in the corners, and the thick vein in his neck pulses.
That’s when I realize…
He’s coming too.
In his goddamn jeans.
I feel warm spurts gently land on my pussy lips. We groan in unison. Every drill he delivers inflicts a shock through my entire system, and I rock myself over his fingers.
The mere sight of him losing control has me shuddering viciously.
I gasp when he bends to taste my aching clit. The deep suctions ripple over my flesh, and then his lips gather my surrounding juices.
Soft suckles and nibbles clean me up. The gesture so goddamn filthy and loving at the same time.
At last, he ejects his glistening digits. He pops my inflated clit from his mouth, delivering a few slow kisses to my pussy. Only to massage it with his fingers.
His teeth sink into his lower lip as he admires the sight. My cheeks flush pink, and he hums a whimper before straightening to connect our gazes.
He keeps his hand on my soaked pussy, lightly slapping and kneading it. I jerk at the sensation, my belly somersaulting at the filthy reminder.
Brant made me squirt.
Never in my life have I.
Ever.
Our throats roll in tandem, eyes glued to each other when he nudges my legs closed. I gently clear my throat, drifting my legs inward.
Realization dawns on the bliss.
A torturous reality that neither of us want to face.
We’re locked in a staring contest, only for Brant to turn and sit with his back against the chaise. He’s on the floor, and I’m still lying on the cushion.
We occupy the same room, but we’re worlds apart.
I tug my bra over my breasts, staring at the ceiling as our breathing mellows simultaneously. The lust-filled fog dissipates, and I gulp tightly.
Out of my periphery, his head tips back to rest on the chaise cushion. He sits with one knee bent up, his naked chest pumping deeply. Then his fingers greet his belt, undoing the buckle when he asks, “You make a pretty mess like that with all the guys you’re with? You show them that?”
At first, his question bothers me.
I think he’s guilting me for a bodily response that I have no control over. But then I realize the actual purpose of the inquiry.
He’s afraid.
Fearful that I’ve given that to someone else.
Frightened that he isn’t the first who’s seen this side of me.
I rest my fingertips on my mouth, my skin heating as I prepare to answer him. My eyes skim the ivory ceiling, tracing horizontal lines back and forth.
I feel numb and alive at the same time.
“Never,” I whisper.
He drops his hand from his unfastened belt. “That’s good, Cal,” he sighs, a breathy laugh following his comment. “Really good.”