“Caleb, please, more,” I say on an exhale, my hips rocking.
He chuckles lightly, and I inhale sharply, causing him to pause, like he’s waiting for me to say no.
Instead, I sink into him, into the familiar-unfamiliar rhythm of it, into the way my name sounds when he murmurs it under his breath like it means something. Like it always has.
“Still just testing?” I manage, a little breathless now.
“Mmm. Very thorough testing.”
I huff out a quiet laugh that turns into something softer when he presses a line of kisses along my jaw, my neck, the place just under my ear that makes my fingers tighten reflexively in his shirt.
“Oh,” I say, because apparently I’ve lost the ability to form full sentences.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
There’s nothing rushed about it. Nothing careless. Every movement feels deliberate, like he’s paying attention to me in a way that makes it impossible to pretend this is casual or temporary or anything less than what it is.
I tip my head back against the couch, eyes closing as his hand steadies at my waist, grounding, anchoring. My breathing stutters, then steadies again as I reach for him, threading my fingers through his hair this time, holding him there.
“Still for science?” I whisper, breath hitching as he drives me closer, to the edge.
He huffs a quiet laugh against me, warm and a little unsteady. “At this point? Probably not.”
I smile, slow and helpless, my hand softening where it rests against his hair.
“Good,” I say, and it comes out high, needy.
Because this doesn’t feel like practice. It feels like coming back to something that was never really gone.
Before long, I’m crying out his name as his tongue and fingers makes fervent, worshipful circles, and I’m left panting and worn out.
“Was it a successful experiment?” He sounds infinitely pleased with himself.
“Your methods are highly questionable,” I answer, still breathless.
“I don’t know, I think results seem promising.”
“You could say that,” I say, completely dazed, trying to collect my thoughts, trying to collect any semblance of composure whatsoever. Hell, trying to even remember my name after that. Guess that’s what two orgasms from a very competent partner will do to a girl.
“What do you think? Enough data to work from?” he asks, grinning up at me smugly from between my legs.
He kisses the inside of my thigh again, and I shiver as he pulls my skirt down then stands up. I still can’t get over how much muscle he’s packed on, and how good he looks with silver hair. And I just gawk at him for a long moment, trying to recover my brain, which has temporarily vacated the premises. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s permanently vacated the premises, but we’re going to hope for temporary for now.
My stomach growls.
“Oh no, the experiment is hungry,” he says.
I laugh at that, swatting at him and his super smug expression.
“I’ve worked up an appetite, I think. I didn’t eat dinner last night after Nonna stuffed us at lunch.”
“You didn’t eat dinner last night and you didn’t tell me?” he says.
“Dude, I was stuffed. Besides, you gave me hot cocoa and then we had whiskey and then I fell asleep again.”
My stomach growls again.
“That will not do,” he says. “But first we better get your teeth brushed so you don’t manage to make anybody throw up.”
