Blake
Usually, I like to think things through. To plan and prepare for both the best, and the worse, case scenario.
But there’s something about Calla that has me throwing all caution to the wind, doing whatever the fuck I feel like without a second thought or hesitation.
Stealing the wedge of lime from her lips, I suck at the fruit, swallowing down the juice as it chases away the bitter edge of the tequila and salt. The alcohol fizzes through my veins as it enters my bloodstream, leaving me with a pleasant buzz which makes everything seem a bit more amusing. I’m by no meansdrunk,I’m still sober enough to know what I’m doing, but the tequila has helped take off my jagged edges, yanking at my walls until Calla is able to peer over the top, to seeme.
Spitting the lime back into my palm, I tighten my grip on Calla’s long blonde hair, enjoying the hiss of pain that breaks free from her mouth before her lashes flutter shut and she sinks her top teeth into her plush bottom lip.
She likes my hand in her hair; I can tell.
Only when she peels open her eyes again, pupils blown wide, do I press lips, sticky with lime juice, to hers. Calla responds just as quickly as I expect, wrapping her hands around the nape of my neck and parting her lips, allowing me to tangle my tongue with hers. She tastes sweet – a mixture of lime and something I can’t quite place – but either way the taste,the feel, of her is addictive, addling my brain until I can focus on nothing but the way she’s moving against me.
“Calla,” I groan. I swear I can feel precum smearing over the placket of my boxers, leaving me in a sticky mess.
“I know,” she mumbles against my jaw, moving until she can gently, or perhaps not so gently, nibble at the thin patch of skin beneath my ear. “Take me back to yours, Blake.”
I don’t need to be to be told twice. I’m desperate to get her back home, naked and on her back. I have been all night, since I first spotted her.
Lacing my fingers with Calla’s, my much larger palm engulfing hers, I keep her body packed close to mine as I navigate my way through the crowded bodies roaming the bar floor.
We spill out into the street beyond, the spring air delightfully balmy on my overheated skin. Calla’s heels click against the uneven pavement as we walk a little bit away from the bar, bypassing the smoker’s corner and the synthetic scent of fruit flavoured disguised nicotine, until I can reach the curb. Sticking my hand out, I hail us a black taxi in record time, ushering Calla into the backseat and then sliding in beside her.
The rest of the journey back to my apartment is a blur.
I know I must give my address to the driver, pulling away from the curb with a bump and a jolt, before merging into the oncoming lanes of traffic. But everything else fades away in the background, unimportant, when Calla attaches her lipsback to mine, sweeping her tongue inside my mouth. She whimpers so sweetly when I bite down on her exposed collarbone, swiping the pad of my thumb over her tight nipple, the round bud pressing insistently against the thin material of her costume.
My mouth waters at the sight.
“Blake.”
I hum into her neck, noticing the red rash I’m leaving behind from my rough stubble. I don’t even bother to hide my delighted grin. I want Calla marked. I want her to feel me for days after tonight.
Resting my other hand on her bare thigh, I push up the scratchy tulle of her skirt with the backs of my fingertips until more of her creamy flesh is exposed.
Still, it’s not enough.
It won’t be enough until she’s naked and writhing beneath me. Or on top of me. Or beside me.
Really, I’m not feeling particularly picky this evening.
“Tell me you want this,” I utter into Calla’s mouth, capturing her lips as mine once more. I can’t stand to not be tasting her for a second longer.
“I want this,” she consents with an urgent bob of her head. “I wantyou, Blake.”
My cock kicks at her words, lengthening against my inner thigh, balls aching already.
I pull away to catch my breath, a little lightheaded from the lack of fresh oxygen and the amount of blood pooling in my cock. As if she can hear my thoughts, and not one to be outdone, Calla seizes her moment of opportunity to wrap her own, much smaller hand, upon my jean clad leg. We both watch her fingers dance against the golden seam, embroidered into my inner thigh, while I hold my breath, waiting forthe zap of pleasure to burst along my spine when Calla touches me.
But it never comes.
Instead, Calla slides her cold hand beneath the material of my button down, grazing against my lower abs and the dark line of my happy trail. I’m not as lean as my brother Grey, or as muscled as my youngest brother, Hudson, but I like to think I’m still in pretty good shape. Calla must think so, too, for I watch her lips curl up at the corners.
“As a sports coach, I expect nothing less,” she says, lightly scratching her nails along the ridges of my stomach.
My cock kicks again, painfully pressing against the metal teeth of my zipper.
I can’t hold back my grimace.
