Callum’s eyes followed my hand as it trailed down my chest. I clasped my dick. A wiggle to the side, and I crooked my fingers around his too.
It was unclear which of us moaned the loudest, but the sounds were swallowed up as Callum’s mouth found mineand our tongues met. We moved in an increasingly frantic rhythm as my hand tightened, both groaning in the spaces between gasped breaths.
I winced as my fingers cramped, and Callum stopped moving his hips.
‘No, don’t stop,’ I whined, even as I extracted my hand and shook out the pain. ‘I’m not used to doing this for two dicks. One dick, very practised. A master you might say. But two…’
I trailed off, unable to monologue when faced with Callum licking long stripes up his palm. I let out a strangled gasp when he reached down and took us both in hand.
‘Your hand was made for this,’ I babbled, as Callum created a perfect tunnel for us to thrust into. ‘You’ve got bigger hands, so it makes sense that you would be superior?—’
Callum cut off my nonsense by pressing his lips into mine. He held himself up with one arm, keeping his weight from crushing me. Instead of jacking up and down, he held his hand still and humped into it.
I tried to help, to press up on my heels and make hip movements of my own, but quickly admitted defeat. I was lost. Lost in the tight hold around my dick, pressing it into Callum’s with every one of his rolling thrusts. Lost to his tongue on mine, his breath across my face, his beard pressing into my skin. Lost to his sounds and the smell of his fresh sweat and the roaring of an incoming orgasm.
‘I’m close, Cal,’ I gasped, in one of the rare moments his mouth parted from mine.
The words spurred him on. His hips jerked faster.
Then his movements stuttered. The deep moan I was already addicted to rumbled through Callum’s chest as his dick jumped next to mine and painted my stomach.
He’d stopped moving, but it was all too much. His eyes scrunched tight, his panting breath on my lips, the warm wetness coating me. I punched my hips up into the tight heat of his hand and came.
Cool people didn’t black out after an orgasm. I prefer to think I took a well-timed nap.
I couldn’t have been out for too long. I opened my eyes to Callum still above me. He’d released our dicks—they nestled next to each other like the sexy-time friends they were—and brought his hand close to his face. He sniffed at the creamy liquid coating his knuckles, then darted out his tongue.
‘No,’ I moaned. My spent dick twitched. ‘You can’t do that. It’s far too sexy and I cannot get another erection right now.’
Callum chuckled as he lowered his hand. I had to close my eyes otherwise the way his neck bobbed as he swallowed would be my literally undoing. He reached to the bedside table for the box of tissues nestled beside the lamp.
I wanted to tell Callum I hadn’t used them when I slept here alone, as he cleaned his hand. I wanted to tell him the only orgasms I’d had in this bed were with him, as he grabbed more tissues to wipe his impressive dick. I wanted to tell him he was the best sexy-times person ever, as he gently mopped my stomach.
But I didn’t say any of that. Callum was reduced to wordlessness while we engaged in humpy times, and apparently my words stayed lodged in my head after a mind- and body- and soul-blowing orgasm.
Dad often wondered aloud if anything could turn off the narration that spilled from my mouth from the moment I woke up to the moment I fell asleep. I didn’t think he’d want to hear about this method of shutting me up.
‘Night, Aster.’ Callum left me starfished in the middle of the bed while he snuggled into my side, his head on my shoulder and arm thrown over my stomach.
Even though words had abandoned me, I managed to lift an arm to thread my fingers through Callum’s sex-mussed hair.
Sharing the bed was my best idea ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CALLUM
Bonnie might have had a point about the full moon. Not that I would tell her. Ever.
A few days had passed since Aster and I kissed—then quickly did other things—and I was having difficulty keeping my hands off him. I wanted to touch him always, to press my nose and mouth into his skin, to pull him against me and revel in his heartbeat speeding up.
But I controlled myself. Aster continued to make it clear he wanted me, so I felt a certain amount of free rein to touch him, but each night as he drifted off to sleep I refrained from licking his skin or rubbing on him when my painfully short refractory period made itself known.
I’d thought orgasming once a day in the shower meant my libido was fully switched on. Touching Aster proved that theory wrong.
We came together each morning, Aster’s skin warm with sleep and my fingers curled around our erections. When we met out in the mountains we limited our affection to lingering hugs and kisses, but once we got back to the cabinwe couldn’t stop ourselves. Most evenings, we didn’t manage to get our clothes off before moaning out our release. And then we came again in our shared bed each night.
It was a lot of sex. I knew that. But as the morning of the full moon dawned, an itchy yearning coursed through me. Normally, after our morning shared orgasms, I ushered us out of bed. Today, I wanted to stay in this soft cocoon and see how many times I could make Aster gasp.
