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His fingers curl inside me, and I gasp, my hips lifting off the bed. He does it again, that slow twist that hits something deep, and my nails dig into his shoulders.

Then he shifts his hips.

The head of his cock drags against me—not inside but along me. The blunt ridge of it slides through the wetness his fingers have left, and the sensation is so different from anything else that a sound tears out of me that I don’t recognize.

“Don’t stop,” I demand. This is so fucking hot. He’s using his cock to tease my clit and my god I never want this to end.

His mouth finds mine, swallowing whatever else I was going to say, and his hips roll, the thick, veined length of him dragging across my clit with every slow thrust. The pressure is maddening.

He reaches his hand between us and his thumb joins the rhythm, pressing down in small, firm circles while his cock slides back and forth, and the combination of it builds so fast that I can’t track where one sensation ends and the next begins.

“Look at me.”

I force my eyes open. His face is above mine, flushed, his jaw tight, his hair falling forward. He’s watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach drop.

“Don’t stop,” I beg.

He grins, and then he shifts his angle, and the next drag of him across my clit hits something so directly that my whole body jerks. His fingers press inside me, curling against that spot inside me, and the pressure builds so fast that I can’t breathe.

“Fuck—Cal⁠—”

“Right there?”

“Yes—”

His hips keep moving, slow and steady, and his fingers don’t stop, and the wet sound of it fills the room alongside my breathing and the creak of the bed and the low, wrecked sounds he’s making against my neck. The heavy weight of his cock drags across me—and then something breaks. A tightening that I feel everywhere at once.

My back arches off the bed and my hands scrabble at his shoulders as I shatter. The orgasm hits, and I’m shaking, shaking, shaking against him, his fingers still moving inside me, his cock still dragging across my clit in slow, relentless strokes that keep the wave from breaking until I think it might actually kill me.

“Fuck Bea, you feel so fucking good I⁠—”

“Fuck—fuck⁠—”

“Keep going, sweetheart, keep going. I know you can come again⁠—”

I can’t. I can’t keep going. My whole body is electric, every nerve ending firing at once, and I’m gasping and shaking and his name is the only thing in my head, just Cal, Cal, Cal—I come again. Stars dancing in my vision as pleasure courses through me.

Then his fingers still.

His hips stop.

The pressure eases, and I collapse back against the mattress, breathing like I’ve run a mile, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth.

Cal is above me, one arm braced beside my head, his chest heaving.

He doesn’t move for a second. Just looks down at me, breathing hard, his fingers still inside me but not moving, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Then his eyes drop to where his cock is standing to attention and his hand leaves my hip. He wraps his fist around himself and starts pumping.

His head drops forward, hair falling across his forehead, and his mouth opens as he reaches his own peak. His hips jerk once, twice, his hand moving fast and tight, and I can see the tendons in his forearm standing out.

I reach up and put my hand on his wrist just to feel the tension in his arm and the way his pulse hammers under my fingertips.

His whole body shudders as his hand still moves and I feel the first hot stripe hit my stomach, then another, his hips jerking against his fist while his other hand grips the mattress beside my head hard enough that his knuckles go white.

He keeps stroking himself through it, slower now, his breathing ragged. His hand slows, then stop.

Then he grins. “Fuck. I thought I’d at least get inside you.”