Wren
"Show me,"I whisper, and the two words ignite something feral in Calvin's eyes. His control—that perfect, frightening control I've witnessed since we met—shatters like glass. His hands are suddenly everywhere, gripping my hips, lifting me as though I weigh nothing. The counter is cold against my thighs as he sets me down, his body pressing between my legs, crowding me, claiming me. This should terrify me. The strength of him, the size, the raw hunger in his expression. Instead, I'm melting from the inside out, a need I've never felt before consuming every rational thought.
"Last chance to run, little bird." His voice is a rough growl against my ear, his hands tightening on my hips. "Because once I start, I won't be able to stop."
My answer is to thread my fingers through his hair and pull his mouth to mine.
The kiss is nothing like I imagined. It's not gentle or tentative. It's devouring. Possessive. His tongue pushes past my lips without asking permission, claiming my mouth like it's already his property. And God help me, I let him. I open for him,whimpering when his teeth catch my lower lip, tugging with just enough pressure to sting.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth, and the word vibrates through me, settling low in my belly. "Say it, Wren. Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," I gasp, the words torn from somewhere deep and primal. I've never belonged to anyone before. Never wanted to. But with Calvin, it feels inevitable. Like gravity. Like breathing.
His hands slide under the oversized t-shirt I'm wearing, his palms hot against my skin. In one swift motion, he pulls it over my head, leaving me exposed in nothing but my plain cotton panties. I fight the urge to cover myself. My breasts are small, unremarkable. Nothing like the women a man like Calvin must be used to.
But the look on his face—the raw, undiluted hunger—makes me feel beautiful. Desired. Precious.
"Perfect," he murmurs, one large hand coming up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. I gasp at the sensation, arching into his touch. "So responsive. So sweet."
His mouth replaces his hand, hot and wet around my nipple, and I cry out, my head falling back. I've never felt anything like this—this coiling, tightening need. My hips move of their own accord, seeking friction, relief, something.
"Please," I whimper, though I'm not sure what I'm asking for.
Calvin seems to know. He kisses his way down my stomach, hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wider. When he drops to his knees in front of me, I freeze, suddenly understanding his intent.
"Calvin, I've never?—"
"I know, little bird." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, pulls them down my legs with agonizing slowness. "No one's ever tasted this sweet pussy before, have they?"
The crude language should shock me. Instead, it sends a flood of heat between my legs. I shake my head, unable to form words.
"Good." He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, then the other. "I'll be the first. The only."
When his mouth finally touches me there, I almost come off the counter. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, my hands fly to his shoulders to steady myself. His tongue is relentless, circling my clit, dipping lower to tease my entrance, then returning to that bundle of nerves that has me seeing stars.
"Oh God," I moan, my hips moving against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction. I should be embarrassed—spread out on his kitchen counter, his face between my thighs—but I've never felt more right, more alive.
Calvin looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, his mouth still working against me. "So wet for Daddy," he murmurs against my flesh, and the words send a shock of heat through my system. "My perfect little girl, so ready for me."
Daddy.The word should be wrong, twisted. My own father has been dead for five years. But coming from Calvin, in this context, it's different. It's protection. Possession. Care.
"Yes," I whisper, surprising myself. "Yours."
His growl of approval vibrates against my core, and suddenly his tongue is replaced by his fingers—one, then two, pushing inside me with careful pressure.
"Tight," he groans. "So fucking tight. You're going to feel incredible wrapped around my cock."
His crude words, his fingers moving inside me, his mouth back on my clit—it's too much. The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, and then I'm falling, crying out his name as my body convulses around his fingers, waves of ecstasy washing over me.
Before I can recover, he's standing, his fingers working at his belt buckle. I watch, dazed and wanting, as he frees himself from his pants. His cock is huge, intimidatingly so, the head already glistening with precum. I should be scared. I know this will hurt. But I want it—want him—with a desperation that overrides all reason.
"Look at you," Calvin says, his voice tight with restraint. "Spread out for me like a feast. So beautiful. So perfect."
He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me. One hand cups my face, forces me to meet his gaze.
"This will hurt," he says, the honesty in his voice oddly touching. "But I'll make it good for you, little bird. I promise."
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. This is happening. I'm giving myself to this man I barely know but somehow trust completely.
