I shook my head, but I slid my arms into the sleeves. It was big on me; Cal had broader shoulders, and it smelled like him. Detergent, stale airplane air, and that faint, spicy cologne he wore. I zipped it up, the warmth settling over me instantly.
I walked back out onto the balcony, leaning over the rail to look at the traffic far below.
I didn’t hear him follow me.
One second I was alone, and the next, strong hands grabbed my waist. Cal spun me around, pressing me back against the glass railing. He didn’t say a word; he just crashed his mouth onto mine.
I kissed him back instinctively, melting into the heat of him, but the exposure hit me.
I pulled away, breathless.
“What was that for?”
His eyes were dark, scanning me from the hood of the jacket down.
“I think I like my merch on you,” he murmured.
I let out a laugh, rolling my eyes, though my pulse was hammering against my throat. “Seriously?”
Cal examined me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Is this how guys feel when chicks wear their jerseys when they fuck?”
I glared at him. “Did you just call me a girl?”
“No,” Cal said, stepping closer, his hips pressing into mine. “I equated my wrestling merch to a jersey.”
Ownership.That’s what he meant. He liked seeing his name on me.
I nudged him backward. He let me. I walked him back toward the sliding glass door until his back hit the glass. I pressed my body against his, kissing his jaw, his neck, the sensitive spot right behind his ear.
My hand slid down his chest, over the buckle of his belt, and rested on the fly of his jeans.
Cal let out a low groan, his hips bucking slightly into my hand.
I dropped to my knees.
Cal’s eyes blew wide. He looked around frantically. “We’re outside.”
“Nobody can see onto the balcony,” I said, looking up at him. “I checked. We’re literally on a high enough floor we’re in the clouds. Nobody is seeing shit.”
I was being bold. Bolder than I ever was. Usually, Cal led. Cal set the pace. But right now, surrounded by the smog and the sky, I wanted this. I wanted to make him feel good.
“Si, you don’t need to—” Cal started, his voice strained.
“I want to,” I interrupted. My voice dropped, the words falling from my lips like a plea. “If you want to.”
Cal looked down at me. He saw the need in my eyes. He saw that this wasn’t just about getting off; it was about submission. It was about trust.
“Fuck, yes,” Cal breathed. “I want to.”
I nodded. I lifted his T shirt, and he took the hint, pulling it up and over his head, discarding it on the concrete. Muscles rippled under his tattooed skin as he shivered in the cool air.
I trailed open-mouthed kisses across his waistband, tasting the salt on his skin. My hands worked his belt, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet air. I undid the button, the zipper rasping down.
I pulled his jeans and boxer briefs down to his thighs, letting them pool around his ankles.
He sprang free, and I paused, just for a second.
He was beautiful. Thick, heavy, and twitching with anticipation. I wrapped my hand around his cock, giving him a slow, firm stroke.
