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He coasted his gaze over my body and lazily stroked his monstrous cock. “So hot.”
I closed my eyes and spread my legs, keeping my feet on the bed and my knees pointed up. I waited for him to tell me to go wider or lift my legs.
He trailed his hand down my stomach.
“Tell me what you want,” he said softly.
“Two fingers.”
He gently pushed two fingers inside me.
“There you go. You’re doing good.” His strokes were slow, deep.
I sank into it, enjoying the little zings of sensation as he hit my spot.
Pleasure gathered in me like a storm. I rocked my hips to get more, my hard cock flopping comically.
“Three. Give me three,” I bit out as heat coiled low in my body.
He worked in another digit. The invasion only lit me up more as a weird sense of calm washed over me.
Fucker. He was right. This was exactly what I needed.
I fisted my cock, but Caleb was having none of it. “Nope”—he pulled my hand away—“that’s my job.”
“Then do it already.”
“I will. When you ask for it.”
“I hate you.”
“Do you really?”
His teasing question hit me like an anvil.
Did I hate him? I disliked him, and he pissed me off more than anyone ever had. But did I truly hate him?
“Come back to me, G.” He stroked his free hand over my inner thigh. “You want me to jerk you?”
“Yeah.”
His strokes were firm and steady, and exactly what I needed to keep me right on the edge but not let me tip over. This time, I didn’t fight the calm, I welcomed it.
“That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
“Fuck me,” I whispered.
“Okay. Let me get suited up.”
I had yet to open my eyes, and I focused on what I could hear. The crinkle of a condom wrapper, the soft tear of plastic, the cap of the lube bottle.
“Ready?” Caleb gently held my knees.
I nodded, unable to say anything or look at him.
“Keep your legs like this but spread them a bit more so I can get closer.”
I did as he said, appreciating that he seemed to sense how difficult this was for me.
