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“I thought—”
“You thought what? That I was done?” He looks off to one side as if his eyes can’t handle the ridiculous thought. A brief, amused chuckle fills the quiet room.
Oh God. I already feel like a limp noodle from the last orgasm. I’m not sure if I can handle another one like that.
He doesn’t give me much time to think about it, though, because his hands are at my hips pulling at my pink cotton panties. “You won’t be needing these.”
He kneels between my thighs and begins stroking his cock, slow and steady. My mouth waters at witnessing the act.
He stares into my eyes, unashamed and confident. “Is this what you want?”
If I say yes, will he stop? I don’t want him to stop. But if I say no, will he be offended? Please don’t stop.
I stay here in silence and awe, just watching him stroke himself.
He angles his head, pointing his ear in my direction, waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” I moan. My chest is heaving with my breath, and I want so badly just to touch him, to replace his hand with my own. To lick him, to taste him again. I need him.
His strokes are getting faster now, as if my answer sparked something inside of him.
“Touch yourself.”
Touch myself? Is he serious? I’ve done that in private. I’ve even done it over the phone, with Reid. But I’ve never had anyone watch me. The thought provokes a sudden spark of anxiety.
He stops moving his hand but continues holding himself and peers down at me. With his other hand, he takes mine and brings my middle finger to his mouth. “Not that you need it,” he says with a smirk as he draws my finger inside and wets it with his tongue.
Then he places it right where I want it. Right where I am throbbing, pulsing, and ready. I pull my back off the bed, pressing my hips into the mattress as waves of pleasure rush through me. My mouth falls open and before I know it, my fingers are buried inside my pussy, and Cal is watching like I’m performing magic tricks. His fist pumps start back slow, then faster. Harder. His breath comes hard and heavy, just like mine. Then he is on me, rocking back and forth, rubbing his thick erection between my slick folds, but not ever entering. I raise my hips, trying to get more of him, all of him, but he is guiding himself, making sure he has perfect control. Watching. Teasing. I move my hand and feel him—just him.
“Jesus, Makenna. You are so fucking beautiful like this.”
“Please, Callisto.”
He stops moving against me and leans forward so that his face hovers right above mine. When he licks his lips, his tongue grazes my mouth, forcing my lips apart, asking for more.
“Tell me what you want.”
I rock my hips underneath him and let out a moan. One more minute without him inside of me, and I think I will explode. He reaches between our bodies and places the head of his cock against my throbbing clit. His hand guides it in glorious little circles across the sensitive nub.
“Oh God, please,” I beg, the words barely a whisper.
He places the crown at my entrance then moves his mouth to my neck, holding himself in place, filling me but not yet filling me. I move to take more of him, and he pulls back.
“Tell. Me… What you want.” His words are quiet, yet firm against my throat.
I drop my butt in defeat and relax. He smiles against my skin as if he’s enjoying this torture. Then he flicks his tongue against my neck as his hands slide up my arms until they find my own, locking his fingers with mine, as he slips a little deeper into me.
“You. I want you. Fuck me. Please, God, fuck me.” As much as I try to remain calm, my voice ends up desperate and hungry. Just like my body.
He closes his eyes and breathes in slowly, like he’s just caught a hint of his favorite scent. When he opens them again, he squeezes my hand in his, scrapes his teeth against my neck, and eases himself inside me.
“Yesssss,” I hiss when he enters, his movements slow and calculated at first, careful not to hurt me, then deep and forceful, like he can’t get enough. I wrap my legs around his waist, my heels digging into the backs of his thighs as I meet his every thrust, urging him to keep going deeper. Deeper, harder, faster. His mouth devours my neck, then my shoulder, biting, then kissing, as if he can’t decide between pleasure and pain, and I am drunk on the feeling. He breathes in a long hiss through gritted teeth followed by a roaring groan.
One look at him like this, primal and sated, and I am there with him. Right where he wants me. Moaning, screaming, crying out. He collapses in a heap onto my chest, his weight heavy but I don’t care. He finally allows me to freely run my fingers through his messy hair as our bodies calm down, and our heart rates return to normal.
The next morning, I wake up to find hi watching me sleep. I can’t explain it, but I feel like I’m in a bulletproof bubble when I’m with him, like nothing in the world could touch me because there’s no way he would ever let it. I place a soft kiss on his full lips then ease out of bed, my body filled with a delicious soreness reminding me of a night well spent. He joins me in the shower and reminds me why I really don’t mind being sore.
Callisto was right. He has utterly and completely ruined me—ruined me for any other man. I spend the next three days hypnotized by him. Then on Friday he tells me he has to go out of town on business and will be gone a whole week. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, but I tell myself he has a life outside my bedroom. He did promise to be back by the following Saturday for my party, so I kiss him goodbye and selfishly wish he didn’t have to go.
