His hands found my shirt, tugging me closer, fingers slipping clumsily at first, then gaining confidence. He unbuttoned me slowly, one button at a time, like he wanted to make me feel every second of it, every slip of skin revealed, every hitch in my breathing. The brush of his knuckles against my stomach, my chest, left a trail of fire in their wake.
“Sinful,” I teased, and he smirked, that old dangerous spark in his eyes.
“Payback,” he murmured. “For every time you made me beg.”
He slid my shirt off my shoulders, palms splaying across my chest, thumbs circling my nipples until I hissed at the jolt of sensation. I could feel him cataloguing every reaction, every muscle twitch and shiver, the way my own bruises—fainter, older—mapped my history as clearly as his.
Our kisses grew frantic, messy, hands tangling in hair, on skin, pressing and clutching as if we could crawl inside each other and erase the memory of everything that had almost kept us apart. His teeth scraped along my jaw, and I let my head fall back, giving him access, relishing the sensation of being wanted, of beingneeded.
I slid my hands down his back, fingers splaying across the curve of his waist, his hips, not rushing, just claiming. His hands pushed my shirt farther, then his mouth found my shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. I groaned, not caring if the whole building heard.
He broke the kiss, chest heaving, eyes wild and blown with desire. “Bed,” he said, voice rough, and pushed me down, not hard but with all the force of a man desperate to reclaim control.
I went willingly, letting him guide me further onto the mattress, the two of us already tangled in the sheets. He straddled my hips, bracing himself with one hand on my chest,the other tracing lazy patterns across my abs. I let him look at me, let him see what he did to me—the flush in my cheeks, the ragged edge of my breathing, the erection straining beneath my trousers.
He leaned down, capturing my mouth again, this time kissing me with all the heat and frantic hunger that had been building between us. Our tongues tangled, teeth clashing, hands everywhere, clutching and stroking, worship and demand interwoven.
His fingers found their way to my belt but paused, teasing, not yet unbuckling, just letting his knuckles graze me through the fabric, making me arch up into his touch. I caught his wrist, not to stop him but to anchor us both.
“Not yet,” I whispered against his mouth, “I want this to last.”
Cal’s lips curved into a wicked, knowing smile. The rules shifted, gravity tilting. This time, I let him take the lead. My submission wasn’t helpless; it was chosen, deliberate, an offering I’d never given anyone else.
He sat back, straddling my thighs, taking me in as if he’d never seen me bare before. There was a hunger in his gaze. His hands started at my wrists, gently pinning them above my head, his grip strong but not harsh. For a heartbeat, he just held me there, our eyes locked. My heart hammered in my chest.
Then, slowly, methodically, he traced his hands down my arms, mapping every vein, every muscle, until he reached my shoulders. He leaned in, burying his face in the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply, lips pressed to the warm skin just below my ear. He breathed me in, not just the scent of sweat and sex but the raw, unguarded truth of me. My hands twitched, desperate to touch, but I held still, surrendering to his exploration.
“You smell like home,” Cal murmured, voice rough, almost awed. “Like safety and sin, all tangled together.”
His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt on my skin. He pressed a line of kisses along my jaw, down to my throat, biting softly at the place where my pulse raced. Then he pushed my arms wider, exposing my chest completely, his mouth moving lower, nipping and licking at my collarbone, his teeth catching gently on the skin.
He paused at my left armpit, eyes searching mine for permission. I nodded, barely breathing. His hands held me open, and he dipped his head, nuzzling into the soft, dark hair, breathing deep, letting my scent fill him. The intimacy of it was dizzying. When his tongue stroked the sensitive skin, I gasped, hips jolting off the bed. He licked and sucked, worshipping the place most men ignored, moaning softly at the taste of me.
“Fuck, Cal,” I whispered, heat burning through me, “what are you doing to me…”
He just grinned, shifting to my other side, repeating the ritual—sniffing, licking, biting, his tongue hot and wet and thorough. I writhed beneath him, shivering at the unfamiliar pleasure, the sensation so raw and new it threatened to undo me. He left marks—small, blooming reminders that I belonged to him in this moment.
Satisfied, he licked a line down my chest, pausing to flick his tongue over my nipples, biting and sucking until I was panting, desperate. His hands were everywhere, palms splayed wide, fingers sinking into muscle, kneading my flesh as if trying to memorise every inch.
He pressed his face into my belly, breathing deep, tongue tracing the line of hair that disappeared beneath my waistband. He nuzzled there, mouthing at the skin just above my cock, letting his breath ghost hot and damp, his nose buried in the place where my scent was strongest. I shuddered, unable to keep still, my cock straining, leaking, desperate for more.
Cal looked up, his eyes wild with want and something softer—adoration, worship, awe. “You drive me fucking mad,” he whispered, voice ragged. “The way you taste, the way you smell, the way you give yourself to me. I want to ruin you and worship you in the same breath.”
He bent, licking the length of my cock through my trousers, mouthing at the swollen head, his tongue tracing the outline, soaking the fabric with spit. I moaned, my hips rising off the bed, every nerve ending alight. He slid his hands under my ass, squeezing, kneading, his touch rough and demanding.
His mouth returned to my abs, biting, sucking, marking me as his. He worked his way up my body again leaving a trail of heat and possession. When he reached my mouth, he kissed me, hard and deep, letting me taste myself on his lips.
I broke first, gasping for air, trembling, undone. For once, I didn’t care how desperate I sounded. I wanted more. I wanted everything.
“Please,” I whispered, “don’t stop.”
Cal’s eyes darkened, the moment tipping into something new. Something even more uncharted. He slid down the bed, hands firm but gentle as he lifted my leg, untying the laces of my shoe. He tugged off one shoe, then the other, never breaking eye contact, his fingers brushing the arch of my foot, making me twitch with oversensitive nerves. His touch was both careful and commanding—a reminder that, for tonight, I’d given him everything.
He pressed a kiss to the inside of my ankle, then another, working his way down to the ball of my foot. He ran his tongue along my instep, slow and deliberate, lips finding the sensitive spot beneath my big toe. I shivered, muscles tightening, not from discomfort but from the raw vulnerability of being worshipped in places usually hidden, ignored, or left unexplored. His mouth was hot and wet, and every gentle scrapeof teeth, every flick of his tongue, sent shocks of arousal straight up my spine.
Cal lingered, laving my sole, sucking on each toe in turn, humming with appreciation as if the taste of my skin was an aphrodisiac. He massaged my feet, thumbs digging into pressure points, drawing out tension until my entire body seemed to pulse for him. My cock throbbed, aching against the fabric of my briefs, the intensity of it almost unbearable.
He moved up, deft fingers working the button and zip of my trousers, tugging them down with agonising slowness. The air hit my skin, cool compared to the fever of his hands and mouth. He peeled the trousers down my legs, kissing the inside of my knees, the curve of my thigh, before tossing the fabric aside.
