* **
He flicked on the single desk lamp and closed the door behind us with a soft click.
Then he turned to me.
No orders this time. No growl. No “baby girl” edged with command.
He just looked at me as if he intended to memorize the shape of my face in the low light. Then he stepped close, cupped both hands around my cheeks, thumbs brushing the damp ends of my hair, and kissed me.
Slow.
So slow it hurt in the best way, his mouth moving over mine, like he had all night to learn every curve of my lips, every hitch in my breath. The tenderness in it caught me off guard, and something inside me trembled—confused, off balance. This wasn’t how we did this; this wasn’t the rough, claiming heat I’d come to expect.
This had care in it, an almost reverence; he broke the kiss only to rest his forehead against mine.
“Lie down,” he murmured, not an order this time, but a request. “Let me take care of you.”
I backed up until my calves hit the edge of the couch turned bed. He followed, guiding me with gentle hands until I sat, then easing me back until I lay flat against the cushions. They cooled my still-warm skin. He kneeled between my legs, just watching me, eyes dark and soft in a way that made my chest ache.
Then, without a word, he was sliding down my body with deliberate slowness. His hands skimmed my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. He settled between my thighs, broad shoulders parting them gently, and looked up at me, held my gaze, and something vulnerable flickeredbehind his eyes—there and gone, but unmistakable.
“You’re everything,” he murmured. “You know that?”
Then he lowered his head.
His breath faint at first—warm, unhurried—making my hips jerk as his hands slid under my thighs, lifting them slightly, opening me to him with patience that made my throat burn. The first touch of his tongue came feather-light, a slow stroke from my entrance to my clit that pulled a soft gasp out of me before I could catch it, too soon after the shower. But the heat burned low and fast anyway, my body responding despite the tenderness still lingering from before. He hummed against me—a low, approving sound that vibrated through my core—and did it again, slower this time, savoring.
His tongue circled my clit with exquisite patience, just building the pressure in gentle, insistent laps that made my fingers twist in the sheets beneath me.
Tears pricked at my eyes unexpectedly—from the sweetness of it. This wasn’t the rough dominance I craved normally. This had him worshiping me in every stroke, pouring something careful and deliberate into every movement of his mouth. He sucked my clit softly, rolling it with his tongue, and my back arched off the bed with a quiet moan.
He slipped a finger inside me—slowly, sliding it gently against that spot—while his mouth worked in perfect sync. The dual sensation spread through me like sweet fire, building in places I didn’t have names for, as I reached down instinctively, threading my fingers into his hair, holding on.
He glanced up again, eyes locking on mine through the haze, the connection spreading through me—raw, exposed. He watched me start to unravel, and the look on his face saidhe’d never seen anything better.
A second finger joined the first, thrusting lazily, deeply, while his tongue flicked faster, building intensity without losing tenderness, and my thighs trembled around his shoulders. My breath came in short, needy gasps.
The sweetness turned fiercer as my hips rocked against his mouth, the pressure building. He didn’t speed up—just somehow deepened everything: the suction, the pressure of his fingers, the steady gaze that pinned me in place and wouldn’t let me hide.
A sob escaped me.
“Callan… please…”
He pulled back just enough to whisper against my slick skin. “I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.”
Then his mouth returned, sucking harder, tongue stroking my clit with that perfect, devastating rhythm.
The orgasm rolled through me like a slow, powerful tide—intense and shattering but wrapped in warmth. My body clenched around his fingers, waves of pleasure cresting and falling in endless pulses. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I cried out his name, trembling, fingers tightening in his hair.
He didn’t stop until the last tremor faded. His touches turned even softer, soothing strokes easing me down with the same care he’d used to take me apart. Then he kissed his way back up my body, gathering me into his arms, his lips brushing the tears from my face.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured into my hair.
Then he came over me, bracing his weight on his forearms so he didn’t crush me. His body covered mine: warm, solid, safe in a way that had nothing to do with walls or locked doors.
He kissed me again, deeper but still unhurried, his tongue slid against mine in lazy strokes that made heat pool low in my belly. His hand drifted down my side, tracing the curve of my body, the dip of my waist, learning me by touch alone.
When he pulled back to look at me, his voice was barely above a whisper.