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My thumb brushed against the spot between her eyes which was currently smooth but often creased with anxiety, with a frown. I didn’t consider myself a mind reader or anything like that, but it was impossible not to see that Calliope was carrying something heavy, something dark. That she was running from something or someone.
Aside from that crease, she didn’t reveal much. And I only got glimpses of that anxiety. Regardless, I was sure of another thing.
Calliope Derrick was scared. The strongest woman I’d ever come across. And that fucking terrified me. Because if it was enough to frighten her, it had to be pretty fucking bad.
Though I didn’t know how yet, I promised myself that I’d figure out a way to protect her from whatever chased her. That I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
I held her tighter and let myself drift off into the best fucking sleep I’d have in my life.
CALLIOPE
I woke to lips on my neck, hazy with sleep. I’d fallen into a deeper slumber than I could recall ever experiencing.
My body ached. That was something I noted within moments of waking. It felt as if I’d done three Barry’s Bootcamps back-to-back. My hips were sore from being spread so wide for so long, my calf muscles were strained, and my pussy felt swollen. But none of it was unpleasant.
And the lips at my neck, the coarse hands running across my pebbled nipples were definitely not unpleasant either. I gasped as he tweaked the sensitive peaks, lust and pain shooting through my nerve endings that I’d thought surely couldn’t handle another bout of pleasure.
But that wasn’t my choice.
It was Elliot’s. He decided how much I could handle. Even fuzzy with sleep, that thought settled inside of me, unfurling muscles that would’ve been tight, loosening a jaw that was perpetually clenched.
He didn’t say anything. No rumbled good mornings in a voice gravelly from sleep. Elliot merely stared at me while he toyed with my nipples, a witness to my submission, his hand ghosting down my stomach, trailing over my navel and to the apex of my thighs. He parted my folds, fingers expertly finding the spot that was throbbing and starving at the same time. The urge for my eyes to roll to the back of my head in ecstasy was uncontrollable, yet I found myself unable to wrench my gaze from his.
He was gradually bringing me to what I already knew would be an earth-shattering climax, and he was just … watching me. There was something infinitely intimate about that. He wasn’tgazing at my naked body. No, he was watching the contours of my face change as he languidly stroked me.
He was playing me like an instrument only he knew how to play.
It was vulnerable, being so exposed. I was at my weakest, after all, unraveled by nothing but his hands. No makeup, no armor, nothing but me. Stripped down, figuratively and literally.
I might’ve freaked out, sought escape if it hadn’t been first thing in the morning. But he’d grabbed hold of me like a snake handler might, in the right place to ensure it wouldn’t escape or strike him.
All coherent thoughts quickly left me as he tipped me past the edge of being inside of my head, forcing my focus to my insides and only my insides. His fingers worked me to the precipice, bringing me one inhale away from it, and then he stopped.
My exhale was sharp, pained by the loss of the friction. I wanted to writhe underneath him. Wanted to curse, shout, use my own very capable fingers to finish the job. But I was glued in place.
Not just because of the dynamics of our sexual relationship. Actually, those bonds had nothing to do with it.
He had me frozen by just his expression, the heavy weight of his eyes on mine. There was reverence. There was fucking wonder.
No man had looked at me in wonder before. Just fear. Desire. Anger. All of the things I was used to. They’d all viewed me as a tool, an enemy or a sexual plaything. Nothing else.
Elliot lifted the hand that had been toying my nipple, brushing it alongside my face. Just a finger, trailing the edges of my profile in a gentle touch.
I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.
My heart was galloping in my throat, and my body was tense, desperate for release, for movement.
Elliot took his time, as if he was committing every part of me to memory. Still, he hadn’t said anything.
I needed to break the silence, sever the moment to ensure it didn’t create any more of a profound effect over me. Yet even I wasn’t brave enough to spoil something so precious.
I feared he’d make it last longer, that I’d be stuck in this suspended state for the rest of my life. But finally, with devastating slowness, he resumed his ministrations, rubbing circles on my clit at a speed that meant I’d get the urgent release I was craving. Building me up yet again.
I gave myself permission to throw my head back, squeeze my eyes shut. I wouldn’t survive otherwise.
“No.” The command was soft, almost a whisper. Yet the two letters wrapped around my head and snapped it back to where it was, my eyes locking with his.
“You don’t stop looking at me,” he ordered, gray eyes blazing.