“You want to feel it,” he presses.“Feel me inside you after?”
“Yes,” I whisper.“Please.”
His mouth crashes into mine—hungry, claiming, like he’s finally stopped holding himself back.The kiss is deep and consuming, his tongue demanding, his teeth grazing my lip like a promise.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine again.
“You have no idea how hard that is to hear,” he murmurs.“You begging me like that.”
“I’ll beg more,” I say.“If you want.”
A low sound leaves his chest—half laugh, half groan.
“Careful,” he warns.“I might not stop once you start.”
“I don’t want you to.”
That’s all it takes.
He exhales, slow and controlled, like he’s bracing himself.Then his hands are on me again, undoing my belt, dragging the zipper down with maddening calm.
“Then let me,” he murmurs.
He pulls my slacks down my hips, takes my boxer briefs with them, stripping me bare in one smooth motion.I shiver as the air hits my skin, exposed and buzzing.His gaze drops, lingers, burns.
“Fuck,” he says softly.“You have no idea what you do to me.”
Then he kneels.
The sight of Callaway Winthrop on his knees in front of me—broad shoulders flexing, eyes dark and hungry—hits me harder than any check I’ve ever taken.My hands fist at my sides as he reaches for the lube, coats his palm without breaking eye contact.
He squeezes it onto his fingers slowly, deliberately, then wraps his hand around me.
I gasp.
“Look at you,” he says.“Already shaking.”
He strokes me once, twice, just enough to make my knees threaten to buckle.Then his mouth closes around me, hot and deep and skilled, taking me in like he knows exactly how much I can handle.His tongue drags along the underside, slow and sinful, his hand moving in perfect rhythm.
I groan, hips jerking forward before I can stop myself.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice vibrating against me.“I’ve got you.”
His mouth doesn’t stop when his other hand slides lower.
Slick fingers press against me—testing, teasing—spreading me open with patient confidence that makes me feel seen.Worshipped.Owned.
I curse, one hand grabbing the back of his head, threading into his thick hair, holding him there like I might fall apart without him tethered to me.My whole body lights up as he works me open, his tongue still working my cock like it’s a prayer and a threat.
“You’re doing so fucking good, babe,” he murmurs, his voice raspy and reverent, wet against my skin.“So open for me.Taking my fingers like this—like you want my cock to feed your hole.”
Fuck.
The words hit me like a punch behind the ribs.
He pushes in deeper, another finger stretching me wide, slow and unforgiving.I moan, breath stuttering, thighs trembling as the pressure builds in the best possible way.
“You’re already clenching,” he whispers.“Desperate for it, aren’t you?”
