Chapter 30
Calla
The door to Haiyden’s apartment flies open, slamming against the wall—a violent contrast to the stillness inside. Light and shadow slice across the room, the outside world spilling in but never fully reaching us. The air is charged, thrumming with something inevitable.
His hands are on me before the door even shuts. One grips my waist, the other fists the back of my dress, pulling me in like the world might take me from him. Heat and hardness press into me through layers of fabric, an urgency I can’t outrun—and don’t want to.
The door slams shut behind us with a hard kick of his foot.
“Say yes, Calla.” His voice is low. Raw. Threaded with restraint. His fingers flex against my waist, his swallow tight. “Please say yes.”
The desperation in his voice wrecks me. He needs this. Needs me.
I nod—maybe too eagerly, but I don’t care. A breathless smile just barely curves my lips before he devours me.
His mouth crashes down on mine, drinking in my gasp, stealing every coherent thought from my head. The kiss is messy, frantic, starved. No hesitation now. No teasing. Just raw, unfiltered need .
His fingers curl into my dress, twisting it in both fists like it’s in his way.
The world tilts as he lifts me, like he’s been dying to.
A startled gasp escapes me, but my body moves on instinct. My legs wrap around his waist, my hands tangle in his hair. The groan that rumbles from his chest vibrates against my lips.
He moves fast, like he can’t get me close enough. Like waiting any longer might kill him. We crash into the couch, my knees framing his hips, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
His eyes burn into mine, searching. His fingers trace the hem of my dress in a slow, absent motion, savoring, like he’s committing the feel of me to memory. He swallows hard. A crack in the armor.
Heat floods his gaze, darker now. Consuming.
He grips the bottom of my dress and yanks it over my head. The fabric whispers against my skin before it’s gone.
His eyes drop. They darken.
Bare.
His fingers flex at my waist, his gaze dragging over soft curves, hardened peaks.
His jaw tightens. His throat works.
“No bra either?” he murmurs, clicking his tongue. His voice is low, teasing. “So fucking naughty. Did you think you were getting fucked tonight?”
Heat flares through me.
I swallow hard. “I—”
His fingers skim up my ribs, just barely there. My nipples tighten beneath his gaze, my thighs pressing together against the ache.
He hums, like he’s pleased. Like he already knows the answer.
His voice drops even lower, curling around me like sin. “Did you touch yourself, Calla?”
I stop breathing.
He tilts his head, watching me squirm beneath his stare. His fingers drag a slow line down the center of my chest—purposely avoiding where I need him most.
“Wondering what it would be like?”
I don’t answer. I can’t admit it.
Because I did. I have.
Haiyden exhales a low, knowing breath.
“Or did you want to sit in it?” His lips curve slightly, almost cruel. “Feel the wetness drip down your thighs in front of me? Feel your pretty little nipples harden while you sit across the bar…”
His hands skim lower, teasing the curve of my hip.
“So you could go home and fuck yourself in the dark, thinking of me anyway?”
A strangled sound catches in my throat.
And fuck, he knows.
A faint smirk ghosts across his lips, but his eyes are hungry.
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” he murmurs, leaning in, breath hot against my lips. “You think about me when you come.”
I don’t answer.
He hums a dark, knowing sound as his fingers trail down my sides. My stomach clenches under his touch.
And in one swift motion, he grips my waist with one hand and yanks his shirt over his head with the other.
Bare, Haiyden is devastating—sharp angles, lean muscle, tension carved into every line. A body built for destruction .
My hands move before I can stop them. Fingers skate over hard ridges, smooth planes, taut lines. He shudders, muscles flexing under my touch.
But when I look up, he’s not watching my hands.
He’s watching me.
When he finally speaks, his voice is wrecked, thick with command.
“Show me.”
My stomach flips.
“Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me, Calla.”
My pulse slams against my ribs. I should feel embarrassed—but I don’t. Because the way he says it, the way he watches me… it makes me brave.
But I hesitate. And he sees it.
“Open your legs.” His voice drops an octave. “Now.”
A shaky exhale leaves me. My thighs part. My fingers skim lower, my eyelids fluttering closed as I drag over my clit.
Haiyden watches like he’s starving. A muscle ticks in his jaw. His hands fist at his sides, fighting the urge to take over.
And it makes me bolder.
I press harder, working myself open, his eyes burning over every movement. My body reacts instantly—too sensitive, too desperate.
His voice is gravelly. “Good girl.”
The praise sends heat straight to my core, winding me tighter.
He brings his fingers to my lips.
“Suck.”
The command shatters something inside me.
My lips part, pulling his fingers into my mouth—salty, warm, thick. I hollow my cheeks, sucking slow, letting my tongue swirl around them before releasing with a soft, wet pop.
He twitches beneath me, and I know he’s done waiting.
His hand shoots between my thighs, replacing mine, pushing past the places I’d touched without warning.
I jolt. My back arches. My moan escapes high and helpless.
“You’ve teased yourself enough,” he mutters, voice thick with possession and need.
His fingers work me open—so slow, too slow. Torturously fucking slow. A wicked, satisfied chuckle rumbles from his chest.
“Did that get you off, baby?” His tone is taunting. “Letting me watch you touch yourself?”
I nod, desperate, my nails digging into his shoulders. My head tips back. My mouth parts on a silent scream.
He leans in, pressing his lips to my throat, his voice rasping against my pulse. “You like putting on a show for me, don’t you?”
I shudder. But just when I think he’s going to let me break—he stops.
I gasp, my body jerking, frustration curling tight in my stomach.
No. No, no, no.
“Haiyden,” I whimper, my thighs clenching around his hand, chasing the friction he just stole from me.
He doesn’t move. Instead, he laughs. Sweet in a way that makes me want to slap him.
His fingers stay inside me, still. His lips brush my ear, voice smug. “Do you want to come for me, Calla?”
I nod, desperate. “Yes,” I breathe. “Please, Haiyden.”
The moment I beg, he rewards me .
His fingers start to move again. Too slow. Just enough to tease, to make me squirm.
My nails drag over his skin in warning, and he groans, like he likes that I’m losing control for him.
And finally, he gives in.
His fingers pump inside me—relentless, precise—like my body already belongs to him. He watches every shift, every reaction, reading me like a language only he speaks.
It used to bother me, how easily he could read me. How quickly he could undo me with nothing but a touch.
But right now, I don’t care.
Right now, I want him to destroy me.
His mouth finds my chest, lips closing around a tight peak. His tongue flicks, then his teeth sink in. The pain sharpens into pleasure, a shock that tears straight through me.
And I break.
My body convulses, helpless against the high, wrecked and wrung out, ruined beyond reason. The orgasm crashes over me in waves, like he’s still pulling it from me, still dragging me under.
I slump forward, forehead pressed to his shoulder, my nails dragging across his skin as tremors roll through me.
He presses his lips to my temple, his hand still between my thighs, holding me open, feeling every last pulse.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he whispers, voice low and promising.
I barely have time to catch my breath before he lifts me again.
The rough denim of his jeans presses against my throbbing clit, sending a sharp, agonizing wave of pleasure straight through me. I cry out, gripping his shoulders, half begging, half overwhelmed .
I need him.
All of him.
He carries me into his bedroom and lowers me onto the mattress, his body hovering over mine.
He steps back.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts his face in warm, fractured light, slipping over the ridges of his muscles as he unbuttons his jeans. His lust-drunk eyes stay locked on mine, shadows stretching long behind him.
The sound of the zipper rakes down my spine.
He shoves his jeans down and kicks them off, leaving only the tight stretch of his briefs. The outline is thick and straining, feeding the deep, unbearable ache between my thighs.
With one quick motion, his fingers hook into the waistband and drag it down.
His cock springs free—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip.
A sound catches in my throat. My thighs clench together instinctively. My fingers fist the sheets.
Haiyden sees it.
And groans.
He climbs over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. For a moment, everything else falls away—the outside world, the questions, the uncertainty.
It’s just us. Just this.
His lips find mine, slower now, deeper. His hands trace the length of my body, memorizing, mapping. There’s tenderness in the way he touches me—but it’s edged with something rougher. Possessive. A silent claim .
He slides himself through my slick folds, dragging, teasing, pressing just enough to make me gasp.
“Okay?”
I swallow, breathless. “Okay.”
The word barely leaves my lips before he thrusts forward, stretching me open, filling me completely. A gasp catches in my throat. My spine bows, helpless against the stretch.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
His moan breaks against my lips. For a moment, he doesn’t move—just holds himself there, buried in me.
When he finally moves, each thrust is deep, deliberate, teasing out every inch, every stretch, coaxing gasps from my lips.
I cling to him, nails digging into his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath my palms.
And he snaps.
He drives into me harder, faster, deeper—every thrust raw, hungry, desperate.
“Fuck—look at you.” His forehead drops to mine, breath hot and uneven. “Taking me so fucking well.”
The room fills with us—skin against skin, broken moans, harsh breaths.
I wind tighter and tighter, a pressure so all-consuming it’s almost painful. I whimper, shaking beneath him.
“Haiyden, I can’t again—”
His hand moves between us, fingers finding my clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles.
“Yes, you can,” he says, voice desperate. “Come for me. Let me feel it. ”
The coil inside me snaps.
It detonates through me, blinding. My body clenches around him, and he follows, lost with me in the wreckage.
He moans, ruined. “Fuck, Calla.”
His rhythm stumbles and falters, then turns frantic. Desperate. Primal. His breath falls heavy against my ear as his hips snap forward, each thrust erratic and fevered, drawing out every last pulse.
He kisses me. Hard.
His body tenses. A sharp inhale, a strangled moan. He drives deep, spilling into me, filling me completely.
The thought crashes into me: Mine.
Haiyden collapses against me, arms locking around me, holding me like he’s afraid to let me go.
For a long moment, we just breathe. Tangled together, damp skin, pulses syncing.
Nothing else exists. Only this.
Eventually, he shifts, rolling onto his side, taking me with him like it’s instinct. One arm stays wrapped around me, fingers sprawled across my lower back, the other buried in my hair.
I let myself curl into him. The steady rise and fall of his chest grounds me, and I adjust my breathing to match. His fingers move in slow, soothing circles, like touch is the only language he trusts.
He whispers against my forehead. “You did so good, baby.”
A shiver rakes through me. I don’t know if it’s from his voice, his lips brushing my hairline, or the way he said the words like he meant them.
His fingers move to tuck my hair behind my ear, thumb dragging gently along my cheek before slipping lower to trace the curve of my jaw.
His gaze burns into me, like he’s committing this moment to something deeper than memory.
I don’t know what it means.
But in his arms, like this, I’m certain of one thing: I love him.
And for the first time, I don’t need to overthink it. I don’t need to question it.
I just feel it.
And that’s enough.