Page 42

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, like the praise is a prayer and a possession all at once.

Another thrust. Deeper. Measured and claiming, thick and relentless.

I cry out—muffled but there.

It’s not pain.

It’s too much in the best way. A fullness so perfect it scrapes against the edge of pleasure and surrender.

And he hears it.

Feels it.

His whole body tightens like my voice called something feral to the surface—something that wants to take, but only because it worships.

His hand slides down to my thigh, spreading me wider.

“Breathe, baby.”

I try.

But it comes out shaky.

“You’re taking me so well,” he says, voice thick with reverence and want.

His gaze burns into mine, dark and molten, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself back for me.

One hand braces at the small of my back, the other steadying my hip—every inch of him focused, contained, devoted. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”

I don’t even realize I’ve been trying to be quiet until he says it.

But I nod.

I open.

And when he thrusts again—just a little harder, just a little deeper—I moan his name.

“Cal—”

His pace stays steady, dragging every inch of pleasure out of me like it’s his right.

“That’s my girl,” he growls. His voice is rough velvet, thick with pride and possessiveness, and the sound rolls through me like a vow. My whole body goes soft at the sound. “Let me guide you. Let me show you how good this can feel.”

I nod again.

Desperate now.

Hungry for more.

And he gives it.

Every thrust is deliberate. Like he’s reading me. Tuning himself to the rhythm of my breath, the arch of my spine, the way I whisper please without even realizing it.

“You’re doing perfect,” he murmurs. “So goddamn sweet wrapped around me.”

I don’t know how long he’s been moving like this.

Deep, measured, sure.

But my body is trembling, the tension building low in my belly is relentless—like a wave rising and rising and refusing to crest.

And he knows. Feels it in the way my walls flutter around him.

In the way my hands can’t stop grasping at his arms, his back, his shoulders—anything I can reach to ground myself.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice rough against my neck. “You’re right there.”

I whimper, nodding. But it’s too much, too deep, too good.

“I can’t—” I gasp. “Cal, I—”

His hips slow.

But the depth doesn’t stop. He thrusts again—long and firm.

And then he says it.

Low.

Gravel-deep.

Right in my ear.

“I need you to come apart for me, little one. Need it more than air.”

His voice roughens as he says it—low and frayed, like it’s been scraped up from someplace sacred. There’s something desperate in it, too. Something that wraps around my spine and settles in my chest. I feel it everywhere. The need. The command. The care.

My breath breaks.

My heart stutters.

His next thrust is just a little harder, just enough to push me past the edge.

And everything inside me shatters.

I cry out—sharp and helpless and his. My legs jerk around his waist, my back arching. My walls clench around him so tight he groans—loud, for the first time.

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s my girl.”

He doesn’t stop moving.

Just keeps that rhythm steady. Guiding me through it, holding me through it. His mouth brushes my jaw, my temple, my cheek.

“Good girl. That’s it. Let go. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

My first climax leaves me trembling. Wrecked. But Cal doesn’t let up, doesn’t pull back.

His hips keep moving—slow and deep—drawing out every ripple, every breathless shiver until I’m barely holding on.

I can feel my body fluttering around him.

Still pulsing.

Still so full.

“Cal—” I whisper, voice raw and wrecked.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs against my jaw. But god, he doesn’t stop. His hand slides between us, finds the sensitive spot just above where we’re joined.

His fingers move slow, circling, teasing.

I jolt—hips twitching from the overstimulation.

But he just holds me tighter.

“You’ve got more in you, little one.”

His grip tightens just slightly, one hand anchoring my hip, the other pressing low on my belly, holding me in place.

His breath is ragged against my cheek, heavy with both control and need.

Like he’s using every ounce of restraint not to give in completely.

But this—this is him giving. Taking care of me the way only he can.

I shake my head, breathless, not sure I can take more.

But then he kisses me, and everything inside me softens.

His voice is low. Steady. That deep Daddy timbre that makes me want to be good for him. “I want you to come for me again.”

My breath catches.

“Please…”

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers. “All the way. Don’t hold back now.”

His fingers press more firmly.

And the pleasure sparks immediately—hot and overwhelming and sharp-edged in the best way. My thighs tremble around his waist, his cock still buried deep, thumb working soft circles that grow more insistent.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Just let it happen. Let it break you.”

I cry out again—so close, too close—his next thrust hits deeper. His strokes harder. And it’s too much. It’s everything.

And I fall. A second time.

Harder.

Faster.

A helpless sob leaves my throat as I come apart again, body arching, voice catching on his name.

“Cal—!”

And this time, his groan is so deep it’s feral. His body tenses above mine. And I know—he’s close.

I’m trembling, my limbs still shaking from the second release he coaxed from me like it was his right. And he’s still inside me. Still rock hard. Still holding on.

And I realize he hasn’t come.

My hands slide to his shoulders.

“Cal,” I whisper.

His eyes meet mine. Dark, dilated, wrecked.

But steady.

“No,” he breathes. “Not yet.”

I blink, lips parted, still gasping.

“I want you,” I say. “I want you to—”

His hand slides up my ribs. Over my chest. To my jaw.

He cups my face gently.

But his voice?

His voice is command.

“Look at me.”

His tone doesn’t rise, doesn’t need to. It’s steady and low, that unyielding Daddy timbre that roots me to the earth. My eyes lift. His eyes burn into mine—pupils blown, not demanding but anchoring, like the whole world hinges on this one moment of connection.

“You’re gonna come one more time, little one.”

My body jolts.

“I can’t—” I whisper, breath ragged. “Cal, I—”

“Yes,” he says, low. “You can. You’re gonna give it to me. One more. You’re gonna feel me when I come inside you. You’re gonna look me in the eyes and fall with me.”

My heart stutters, my breath suspended somewhere between my chest and my throat.

He thrusts again, deep. Hard.

Not fast. Not frantic. Just perfect.

“Cal…”

“You’re mine,” he growls. “Say it.”

“I’m—” My voice breaks when one of his thrusts catches even deeper. “I’m yours.”

He kisses me. Hard.

Then pulls back, just enough to press his forehead to mine.

His thumb finds my clit again.

“Come with me, Emmy. Give it to me. Give me all of you.”

Something in me unravels at the sound of it—at the way his voice shakes, barely holding together.

It breaks something open inside my chest, soft and wild all at once.

My breath catches. My heart stumbles. And I feel it—the surrender, the letting go.

Like his words reached down into the deepest part of me and gave me permission to be undone.

The heat coils sharp and sudden, as if my body’s been waiting for this.

Waiting for him.

The tension builds fast, this time.

His thrusts go deeper. Rougher.

But never losing that grounding, unshakable love in every inch of him.

“Eyes on me,” he pants. “Don’t look away. Not when you come. Not when I do.”

His face is flushed, jaw tight, sweat glistening along his temples. The muscles in his arms flex where they cage me in—strong and trembling, like every ounce of him is locked in this moment. His eyes hold mine, like watching me fall apart is the only thing that could ever undo him.

I nod, barely able to breathe.

My hands dig into his back.

He growls again, low and guttural, the sound torn from deep in his chest, like instinct and reverence tangled into one. His body surges forward, every muscle taut, skin hot against mine. His eyes stay locked on mine, wild and wrecked and full of need.

“Now.”

And I shatter.

Right there.

Right underneath him.

My body locks tight around him as the third wave hits, hot and overwhelming and so deep I feel it in my soul. I sob his name, half-whimper, half-prayer, as my body pulses around him, clings to him.

And that—that’s what pulls him over the edge. He breaks with a sound I’ve never heard from him before. Something between another growl and a shout, like it’s been trapped in his chest for years.

Like I’ve torn something open in him that can finally be free. His whole body shudders above mine, muscles rippling with release, breath catching on another broken groan that sounds like worship and surrender all at once.

His hips drive into me once, twice—deep—and then he’s coming.

Hard.

Hot.

Endless.

I feel him pulse inside me, filling me, marking me with every breathless thrust. He buries his face against my neck, his whole body trembling above mine—shoulders tight, breath ragged, voice cracked as he groans my name against my skin.

“Emmy—”

He doesn’t let go, doesn’t pull out. Just holds himself there inside me. His arms around me, hand cradling the back of my head.

My legs still locked around his waist. Our eyes still never straying. The room is silent but for the sounds of us—our breathing, our heartbeats, the soft whimper that escapes me when he whispers, broken and reverent, “That’s it, baby. That’s it. I’ve got you.”

And I realize so much of me is still trembling, but it isn’t fear anymore.

It’s the weight of being wanted like that.

Of being kept.

Of being his.

We don’t move. Not an inch. His chest is still pressed to mine, breath coming in low, unsteady gusts.

I can feel him inside me still. Not soft yet, not retreating.

Like his body hasn’t quite accepted that it’s over.