Page 68 of Her Game Plan

Callan pulls back abruptly and scans my face. He reaches out and gently tugs my lip out from between my teeth. “I told you, I want every thought. Your mouth has been free for the last thirty seconds at least, and you haven’t said a word, Princess. Talk to me.”

“Are you sure?” I know he was okay with it when we were in the shower last night, but… I don’t want to get to be too much. To annoy him.

He rubs the tip of his nose against mine. “Positive.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “Pick me up. I’m too short, and you’re too tall for us to do more than kiss like this. Plus, I’m dying to feel your cock in me.”

He slides his hands under my ass and lifts me as if I weigh nothing.

“God, you’re so fucking strong.” I run my hands over the large expanses of his biceps. “Are you sure you can hold me like this after your game today?”

“Yes, Princess,” he growls into my ear as he presses the weight of his hips against my core.

I let out a deep moan. “Fuck, yes. That. That is what I want.”

He catches my mouth, slipping his tongue in to flick against mine. I run my hands through his hair, tugging gently. His cock jumps at the contact, and I rock against him, my clit eager to join the party.

Callan sets me down lightly before lifting my hands over my head. He slowly pulls my shirt off, his gaze intense, like somehow my body will give him the answers to all of life’s questions. He drops my shirt to the floor before muttering, “Fuck me, no bra,” and then sliding off my yoga pants and underwear in one go.

Callan stares at my naked body, his gaze glued to my breasts. The ones I’ve always been sure were too small to garner this level of dedicated attention. “I’m sorry in advance for this. It’s not going to be sweet and gentle.”

“I like it a little rough,” I promise. Not something I would’ve said two days ago, but after having Callan press me against the wall in the shower, working so hard to make sure his arm—the one worth millions of dollars—was taking the brunt of his force, I’ve changed my mind. With Callan, I like a little rough.

He steps toward me, reaching out to grab my hips before pulling me toward him. He bites the top of my ear, and instead of a shriek, a moan slips from my lips.

“That’s right, baby. Moan my name.”

Shit. I hadn’t even realized it was his name that slipped out. God, I—

He presses a hard kiss to my mouth, devouring me. Just when I think he’s decided to keep this as a hot and heavy make-out session, he pulls away and turns me toward the wall. “Hands on the mirror. You’re going to watch as I fuck you from behind, Princess.”

Jesus H. Christ. Adrenaline-fueled Callan is going to make me spontaneously combust on the spot. And I am here for it.

I do as he says, bending over and placing my hands on the mirror, my eyes tracking Callan’s reflection the entire time. He’s staring at my ass, running his palms along each globe. Finally, his gaze meets mine, and a smirk pulls at the corner of his lips before he spanks me. My pussy clenches. Callan smooths his hand over the smarting spot, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Ready?” His hand makes contact with my right ass cheek again before I have a chance to reply.

“Yesss,” I moan, thankful my reaction accurately answered his question as well. “I’m so ready. I need you inside me, Callan. I want to watch as you slowly push into me. As you pull out and drive in again. I want to watch you pound into me. To climax. I want to watch your face as you come inside me.”

Callan quickly pulls off his clothes, throwing them by the door before lining himself up with my entrance and pushing in to the hilt in one stroke. “Fuck,” I hiss as he bottoms out, hitting a spot deep inside me.

“You good?” His gaze meets mine in the mirror again, concern lacing his features.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Oh shit.” He starts to pull out, but I reach between my legs, grabbing his balls to keep him in place. “I’m not good because you’re not fucking me, Callan.” I squeeze gently as he shakes his head.

His hand tightens on my waist, the other wrapping around to reach my clit. “Remember you asked for this when you can’t walk tomorrow.”

My entire body clenches as he drives into me, and I have to drop my hold on him to keep myself propped against the glass. I’m mesmerized by the view of him thrusting behind me, and I can’t help but trace the lines of him as he moves against me. The divot between the globe of his shoulder and his perfectly defined bicep. The flat planes of his pecs. The way his obliques taper perfectly into that V that points to the cock currently rearranging my insides.

Both physically and metaphorically.

Because, fuck, I’m not sure how I can ever go back to pre-Callan sex after knowing this is an option.

“I will fuck you for as long as you want. Rearrange you as many times as you need, baby.”

Shit. Those were supposed to be inside thoughts. But I can’t care. Callan looks like a Greek god, and I’m fully willing to worship at his altar if he’s going to keep making me feel like that.