“Not a problem.” She smiled—a wicked, knowing expression that looked entirely too good on her sweet face. “A challenge.”
She stroked him again, twisting her wrist at the top, her thumb swiping through the moisture beading there. Cal’s hands fisted in the sheets as she explored him—learning his length, his girth, what made his breath catch, and what made him groan.
A moment later, she pressed a condom into his hand.
Cal rolled it on with hands that weren’t entirely steady, then pulled her down to straddle his hips. The position put her in control—something he suspected she rarely experienced. Everyone looked to Dahlia for answers, for comfort, for care. Here, now, she got to take what she wanted.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, hands bracketing her hips but not guiding. “Set the pace. Take what you need.”
She rose onto her knees, positioned him at her entrance—and sank down in one slow, devastating slide.
They both went still.
Cal had been with women before. Not many—he’d been too focused on building his empire to invest in relationships—but enough to know what sex felt like. This was different. This was overwhelming. The tight, wet heat of her wrapped around him, squeezing him, the look of raw pleasure on her face as she adjusted to his size.
Ours, the animal insisted.Finally. Ours.
“Okay?” His voice came out strained, his control hanging by a thread.
“More than okay.” She braced her hands on his torso and moved. “You feel...” A roll of her hips made stars burst behind his eyes. “Like you were made to fit inside me.”
Cal let her set the rhythm—slow at first, exploratory, finding the angle that worked best. His hands roamed her body: the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the place where they were joined. She was exquisite above him—hair tumbling around her shoulders, skin flushed and glowing, expression caught between concentration and bliss.
“You’re beautiful.” The words slipped out, rough and honest. “Watching you like this—watching you take your pleasure—I could do this forever.”
She smiled, rolling her hips in a way that made both of them gasp. “Forever might be ambitious. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
Her pace quickened. She rose until the tip of him remained inside, then sank back down in a devastating slide that made her moan. Each stroke took him deeper, her inner walls gripping him like she never wanted to let go.
When his thumb found her clit, she cried out and her rhythm faltered. She braced harder on his torso, her nails digging in, and the small pain sharpened the pleasure coursing through him.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, circling her clit with firm, steady pressure. “Keep moving. Let me feel you come on my cock.”
The words made her clench around him. She obeyed, riding him harder now, chasing her pleasure while he worked her with his hand. Her movements grew more urgent, more desperate. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, her head thrown back, her lips parted on gasping breaths.
“Close,” she panted. “I’m so close?—”
He sat up without warning, changing the angle, driving deeper. His arms wrapped around her, one hand splayed across her back while the other continued its relentless pressure between them. The new position had him grinding against her clit with every thrust, and her nails raked down his back hard enough to leave welts.
“Look at me.” He needed to see her. Needed to watch her fall apart. “Dahlia. Look at me when you come.”
Her eyes opened—hazy, unfocused, beautiful.
“Come for me,” he commanded, thrusting up into her. “Right now. Let go.”
She came undone.
Her body clenched around him in rhythmic waves, milking his cock, and the sensation dragged Cal over the edge with her. His release hit like a thunderclap—blinding, consuming, erasing every thought excepther, her, her. He buried himself to the hilt and came with a groan that sounded like her name.
His teeth grazed her shoulder, instinct screaming at him to bite, to mark, to claim. He held back by the thinnest margin. Not yet. Not tonight.
But soon. Soon, he would make her his in every way that mattered.
They collapsed onto the bed, tangled and sweating and breathing hard. Cal rolled them so he wouldn’t crush her, keeping her tucked against his side as the aftershocks faded. Her skin was damp against his, her heart pounding where she pressed against his ribs.
The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Moonlight painted patterns across the rumpled sheets. In the apartment, Marzipan meowed in complaint—probably annoyed that her human had been making noise.
Cal laughed, the sound surprising him. “Your cat has opinions.”
