Chapter 11 #2
When his teeth graze my nipple, a moan escapes my lips, the sensation shooting straight through me. My back arches off the bed, pressing into his touch, wanting more. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud before he sucks it into his mouth, and I see stars.
My fingers tangle in his hair as he lavishes attention on my breasts. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle scrape of teeth, sends another wave of pleasure crashing over me. I’m breathless, panting, and completely lost in the feeling of him worshipping my body.
When he pulls away to stand beside the bed, the absence of his touch is immediate. But his eyes never leave mine.
His slow smile does nothing to calm the heat between us. “You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he says, his voice gravelly, like a whisper of promise and desire. I hear the weight of his words, feel it settle into my bones.
That’s when the panic rises. Not from the way he looks at me.
God, no. It’s everything else. The intensity in his gaze, the rawness in his voice that makes my pulse spike and my breath shallow.
I want him. I want this. And yet, there’s a chasm between wanting him and being ready for this.
My skin hums under his touch, but my mind can’t keep up.
I shift on the bed, fingers fumbling with the edge of the blanket as I try to distract myself from the way my body reacts to him.
His touch. His words. Everything about him is like a magnet pulling me closer, but my hands, my nerves—they’re reaching for anything that can keep me from falling too fast.
Callan doesn’t move quickly. Doesn’t rush. Instead, he kneels beside the bed, his hands gentle as they find mine. His thumb strokes across my knuckles, and when he looks up at me again, the heat is still in his eyes, but there’s also patience.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a gentle rumble. “No rush. Not with me.”
My skin tingles under his touch. He’s giving me every chance to stop him and trusting me to choose whether or not I do.
Callan watches me for a moment, his eyes tracing every little shift in my expression. Then, slowly, he stands. “I want to make you feel good,” he says gently, like he’s considering his words carefully. “That’s all I want. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, but…”
His eyes meet mine, searching with the same intensity, but more tender now. “I have an idea, if you’re open to it.”
I give a small nod. “Okay.”
His mouth curves into the smallest, encouraging smile. Like he knows I’m trying, and that alone matters to him.
“Touch yourself,” he says quietly. “Do whatever feels good. I won’t do anything unless you ask me to.”
Oh.
I didn’t expect that.
The way he says it isn’t dirty or performative. It’s more like a gift. Like he’s handing the reins over to me and saying, Here. You set the pace. You’re in control.
I reach down slowly and slip my fingers beneath the lace of my panties. He watches me with a fierce intensity, his gaze darkening as my fingers graze my most sensitive spot. I’m already wet, my body responding eagerly to Callan’s commanding presence.
“That’s it, lass. Let me see you,” he murmurs.
I let out a soft moan, my hips lifting slightly off the bed as I circle my clit with featherlight touches. It’s almost too much, the combination of his stare and my own fingers pushing me toward the edge embarrassingly fast.
He’s watching me like he’s starving, and I’m the only thing that can satisfy him. Like he wants to devour me whole.
My fingers move faster, circling and stroking, teasing myself higher.
The pressure builds with each passing second, and I watch as he palms his cock through his kilt, his jaw tightening with each circle of my fingers.
The sight of him touching himself, the raw need etched across his face, the barely restrained hunger in his eyes almost sends me over the edge.
“Christ, you’re perfect,” he breathes, his voice strained as his hand presses rhythmically over his kilt. The muscles in his forearm flex with each stroke, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the hypnotic movement. “Keep going, just like that.”
My back arches involuntarily as pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each pass of my fingers. I’m not performing for him. This is too raw, too real for that. Being watched by him this way is intoxicating.
“Callan,” I gasp, my free hand clutching at the sheets. “I’m close…”
His palm stills. “Let go, Sunshine. I want to see you come undone for me.”
His voice is a velvet command that unravels me completely. I fall apart under his gaze, wave after wave of pleasure washing over me as my body trembles. I can’t hold back the cry that escapes my lips, my hips bucking against my hand as the orgasm crashes through me.
As I slowly come back to myself, I become acutely aware of Callan’s presence. He moves toward me then, lowering himself to the bed and pulling me into his arms. His lips brush gently against my forehead, my cheeks, and then, finally, my lips.
“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he murmurs, his accent thicker than I’ve heard it before.
“Wait, what about—”
My hand reaches for him, but he catches it, bringing my fingers to his lips instead. “Don’t worry about me,” he interrupts. “That was for you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Very chivalrous of you.”
His grin is wicked. “I am Scottish. We invented chivalry, didn’t we?”
“Pretty sure that was the French,” I mutter.
He gives an exaggerated gasp. “Lies. Slander. You’re lucky I like you.”
“Like me?” I tease, nudging him with my foot. “After all that? Just like?”
That deep, rumbling laugh escapes him, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “Fine. I’m utterly ruined for anyone else.”
“Better,” I whisper, right before his mouth finds mine again, soft and unhurried, like he’s not trying to spark a fire but steady the one that’s already burning between us.
When I finally press into his chest, flushed and breathless, he wraps me up without hesitation, tucking me under his chin like I’m his favorite thing he’s ever held.