He goes in. His facehitsme more than grazes me, bangs into me with force just shy of painful, and I nearly jump off the bed. But then I feel the brush of his jaw dropping open between my thighs, his tongue sliding out and?—
Oh. Oh my God.
The sensation ripples over me, hot, firm, and fluttering all at once. It's too much, and thenimmediatelynot enough, and whatever sound comes out of my throat
Cold air hits me. I look down to see Cal pull back, his glasses askew and his lips slick. “What?”
“Did Isaystop?” I pant. “Just--"
Without waiting for me to finish, Cal plunges back down, this time with a fat, wet sweep of tongue that makes me positively whimper. I reach down, blind and frantic, weaving my fingers into the waves of his hair.
"Cal," I gasp, arching my hips into him. "Cal.Don't," I snap, tugging tighter at his hair as I feel him start to pull back again. "Don't stop. Don't--"
He doesn't. Just holds firm, drags his tongue over me again and again and again until I'm delirious, shivering, stars in my vision and thunder in my veins, until it's finally,finallyenough and I feel my body clenching sweet and hard and rhythmic against the warm pressure of him.
He looks dazed, incredulous.
"Did you--" he gasps.
"Mhm." I nod a few times, breathless, and reach down to cup his cheek. "You did so well." Too late, I realize I have done…nothing for him, really. “Do you need?—”
Cal gives his head an earnest shake. "I don't need anything, Gwenna," he murmurs.
"Don't contradict me." I'm half-joking, going for flirty more than bossy, but I swear I can see his pupils dilate.
"I'm not contradicting you," he says, his voice hoarse. "I just meant—I don't need anything else. I liked making you—" He breaks off, flexing his fingers in their silk bindings. “Um. Anyway. I already?—"
I soften. Sit up and reach for his wrists, working loose the knot—he could have slipped free at any moment, but he didn't, not once—and let the twilly fall away. Faint pink marks stripe his skin where the silk pulled taut.
"You can move now."
He does. Immediately. His hands come down to cup my face, and he kisses me—sweet and lingering and almost reverent.
When we finally break apart, I take the blue twilly and drape it over my headboard, a little trophy. A reminder.
"That was..." Cal starts, then stops. Tries again. "I've never..."
“Yeah.” I curl onto my side. “Neither have I. Not like that."
He's quiet a moment. Then: "The scarf thing. Are those…”
“What?” I laugh. “No. That was…improvisational. I don’t know. No, Morgan gave them to me. For my handbag."
Cal considers this. "You don't have a handbag."
"I know."
A pause. Then, softly: "I think I liked it.”
I smile against his shoulder. "I know that too."
We lie on my bed, silent except for breathing. Pleasant. I could almost fall asleep that way, but then Cal speaks up.
“I thought the ending was okay.”
“What?” I crane my neck at him, genuinely confused. Seeing me, Cal, too, looks bewildered, which is a darling look on him, I have to say. “What are you talking about?”
“The book,” he says. “You told me to tell you what I thought of the last chapter.”
