20
GOLDLIGHT BLOOD
DOMINIC
Iwoke with Cal pinned beneath me, my cock buried deep inside him and his nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood.
Then his hand had found my hip. A touch that wasn't quite forgiveness but wasn't rejection either. And I'd responded the only way I knew how when words felt too difficult and too inadequate.
I'd rolled on top of him. Kissed him hard enough to bruise. Worked him open with fingers and spit and desperation that had nothing to do with technique and everything to do with needing him to understand what I couldn't say out loud.
All of it compressed into the way I stretched him. The way I entered him. The way I fucked him like I could somehow reach the parts of him that kept trying to retreat behind walls.
“Harder,” Cal gasped against my mouth. “Stop holding back.”
I wasn't holding back. But I gave him what he wanted anyway. Drove into him with force that made the headboard slam against the wall. Made his breath punch out in gasps. Made his cock leak between us untouched.
His legs wrapped around my waist. Heels digging into my arse. Pulling me deeper. Demanding everything I had.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “Cal—you feel?—”
“Shut up,” he interrupted. “Just—don't stop.”
So I didn't. Just fucked him with rhythm that was brutal and desperate. Chasing something that felt like absolution or maybe just oblivion. Trying to burn away the memory of Harrow's mouth on him. Of my mouth on Harrow. Of everything that had happened at Eden that neither of us knew how to process properly.
Cal's hand found my throat. Squeezed. Not enough to restrict air completely but enough to make my vision blur at the edges. His eyes were open. Fixed on mine. Those mismatched colours intense and demanding.
“You're mine,” he said. Voice rough. “Say it.”
“Yours.” The word came out strangled. “Always yours.”
“Even after last night?”
“Especially after last night.” I thrust harder. Deeper. “Nothing changes that. Nothing.”
His grip on my throat tightened. Then released. His hand moved to my face instead. Cupped my jaw. Gentle despite everything else.
Cal's hand slid between us. Wrapped around his own cock. Started stroking in time with my thrusts.
“Come with me,” he demanded. “Want to feel you—need you to?—”
“Yes.” I changed angle. Found the spot that made his back arch. Drove into it repeatedly. “Come for me, Cal. Let me feel it.”
His orgasm hit first. Body going rigid. Hole clenching around my cock with force that dragged my own climax out of me. I came buried deep. Filling him. Marking him in ways that were primitive and probably unhealthy but felt necessary anyway.
We collapsed together. Breathing hard. Bodies still connected. Sweat cooling on skin.
The quiet that followed was heavier than the sex.
I pulled out carefully. Cal made a sound—not quite pain but not comfort either. I grabbed tissues from the bedside. Cleaned us both with hands that were steadier than they should be.
Cal lay there watching me. Expression unreadable behind the mask he was already rebuilding.
“That didn't fix anything,” he said finally.
“No.” I settled beside him. Pulled him against my chest despite his initial resistance. “But it proved we still want each other. That counts for something.”
“Does it? Or did we just use sex to avoid having an actual conversation?”
