“You’re going to come for me,” I said quietly, “right here, on my fingers, and I’m going to watch every fucking second of it.”
She whimpered, her walls clenched hard around my fingers.
I sped up, slightly harder, deeper.
Her thighs like a vise around my hand, trapping my fingers deep inside her spasming cunt. Her back arched violently off the couch—tits thrust up, wet nipples glistening—mouth falling open in silent, desperate shock. Every muscle rigid.
Then it broke.
A raw scream ripped out of her as she came hard. Pussy convulsing around my fingers, milking them in rhythmic, greedy pulses while hot cum flooded my palm. Her walls squeezed in endless waves, soaking everything, nails raking bloody lines down my arms. Her whole body shook—hips jerking, cunt gushing—riding the brutal orgasm like she was being fucked apart. Broken moans spilling from her throat as if she’d never stop.
I worked her through it—slowing my fingers to lazy, deep strokes, gentling the pressure on her swollen clit so she could ride the long, rolling aftershocks. Her cunt kept squeezing around me in sweet, lingering pulses until the tension finally melted from her body. She collapsed boneless beneath me. Chest heaving, her skin flushed dark. Eyes glassy and half-lidded with satisfaction.
I eased my fingers out of her pussy slowly. Deliberately. Allowing her to feel every inch release from her still-quivering walls.
I brought them to my mouth, and held her heavy-lidded gaze as I sucked them clean—slow, filthy laps of my tongue, savoring the thick sweet-salt taste of her cum. The raw feminine flavor that was purely hers. Her eyes darkened with fresh hunger as she watched, lips parted.
I leaned down and kissed her. Soft and slow at first, deeper, sliding my tongue into her mouth so she could taste herself on me, rich and obscene. Her breath hitched, and her body melted even further into mine.
“You’re safe,” I whispered against her lips. “I’ve got you.”
She shuddered once, her arms came around me, wrapping tight around me, and she pressed her face into my chest andheld on like I was the last solid thing in the world.
I pulled her close. Tucked her against me. Pressed my lips to the top of her head.
Fourteen
Sloane
Iwoke in a haze.
First, I noticed the warmth. For it was everywhere, surrounding me. For a few seconds, I didn’t question it. Didn’t think about it, just existed inside it.
Then I noticed the rise and fall beneath my cheek. Slow. Rhythmic.
Breathing.
Not mine.
My mind lagged behind my body, still caught in that oppressive, disoriented space between sleep and waking. My head throbbed—the dull, swollen ache that comes from crying until there’s nothing left, and my limbs seemed loose.
Then it hit me.
Callan.
My eyes flew open, and heat came rushing up my neck and flooding my face as everything crashed back in sharp, vividdetail. The way he’d held me, the way I’d let him; the way I’d pressed into him like he was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
The rest of it—his hands, I groaned, his mouth. His fingers inside me. The way I’d said his name. The sounds I’d made, oh God, the way I’d come apart, with his eyes locked on mine the entire time.
My stomach dropped. What the hell had I done?
This was Callan. The same man who’d corrected my work in front of colleagues, who’d made me feel like I had to earn every inch of ground I stood on in this building.
And last night he’d held me like I mattered, as if I were worth being careful with.
It made little sense.
I knew he was already awake.