Page 53

He doesn’t leave me. Not even for a breath. In seconds, he has me pushed back against the pillows. He’s over me, around me. He settles his weight, bracing his arms on either side of my shoulders, like I’m something he just won—but can’t let go of yet.

His lips brush my cheek, the corner of my mouth, my jaw.

“You okay, baby?”

I nod. Still panting. Barely able to speak.

He kisses the tip of my nose.

Then my eyelids.

Then the soft line of my throat.

“You took that so fucking well,” he murmurs. “Daddy’s so proud of you.”

My chest tightens at the praise. I melt into it, letting myself feel the weight of it.

One hand strokes gently up my side, thumb brushing the curve of my breast.

“I meant it,” he says softly. “I’ll never stop taking care of you. You never have to hold anything back. Not with me.”

And then—

I reach for him.

My hand trails down, past his abdomen, and finds him still hard. Thick and straining against the front of his jeans.

That’s all it takes.

Cal snaps.

He groans low, grabs my wrist—not to stop me, but to anchor himself—and then he’s moving. Fast. Urgent.

“Hands above your head,” he commands, voice torn and dark. “Now.”

I obey, trembling.

“Keep them there.”

He rises onto his knees, stripping fast—shirt already gone, belt undone in a single yank, pants shoved down. He doesn’t look away from me once. Not when he wraps his fist around his cock, not when he strokes once, twice, like he’s trying not to lose it too soon.

“You don’t get to touch right now,” he says it so quietly, I whimper.

“You’re going to lie there and let me take what’s mine. Every inch of it.”

He settles back between my thighs, hands braced wide on either side of my head.

“Eyes on me,” he orders.

Then he thrusts into me in one unrelenting stroke—deep, thick, devastating—and I cry out, the sound torn from my throat like it’s been waiting there, caged.

My back arches off the bed, body trembling with the shock and stretch of him, the way he fills me all at once, claiming every inch.

My vision whites out for a second, breath leaving my lungs, and Cal just lets out a ragged, feral sound—half-groan, half-growl, like it’s taking everything in him to hold back.

“That’s it,” he rumbles, voice wrecked and dark. “That’s what I fucking wanted.”

He doesn’t move at first—just stays there, buried to the hilt, letting me feel every inch of him. Letting me know who I belong to.

“Do you feel that, baby?” he breathes, voice thick with restraint. “How deep I am?”

“Yes—”

He grinds his hips.

“You’re going to feel it for days.”

Then he pulls back—slow, brutal, measured—and slams into me again.

The bed jolts. I cry out.

He locks his arms around me, one forearm braced beside my head, the other hand sliding under my ass to lift me into each thrust.

“You’re mine.”

Another thrust, harder.

“You’re gonna take every inch.”

Another. Deeper.

I sob out something broken—half plea, half yes—and he moans like it fuels him.

His pace is relentless. No teasing. No mercy. Just deep, dragging thrusts that punch the breath from my lungs and leave me boneless beneath him.

“Say it,” he pants. “Tell Daddy who you belong to.”

“You—Cal—Daddy—I’m yours—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

His mouth devours mine, tongue pushing deep, devouring every word, every sound. His hips never stop. Never even slow.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he murmurs against my lips. “You hear me?”

I shake my head, helpless.

His hand slips between us, finds my clit—slick and swollen and already pulsing—and rubs in tight, devastating circles.

“Right now, baby. Eyes on me. You come with me inside you.”

And I do. My eyes lidded, but meeting the heat of his gaze with the need of my own. My body locks around him, muscles spasming, mouth open in a silent scream as my orgasm tears through me. Cal grits out a curse, his rhythm faltering for the first time.

“Fuck—that’s it—so fucking tight—”

He slams into me once, twice—then groans, loud and broken, and comes.

I feel it. Every pulse. Every twitch. Hot and thick inside me.

He keeps moving through it. Rides it out. Like he’s trying to brand it into me.

And when he finally stills—when his weight sinks onto me, forehead to mine, both of us wrecked—his voice is raw.

“You’re mine,” he breathes. “Every fucking part of you.”

And I believe him.

Because there’s not a single inch of me that doesn’t feel it.

His forehead rests against mine, breath ragged, arms caged around my body like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.

Cal’s still inside me—thick and hot and pulsing—and I feel it all.

His release, thick and warm, seeping deeper with every beat of our bodies pressed together.

His voice, low and hoarse, breaks the silence.

“You okay, baby?”

I nod slowly, blinking back the haze. “Yeah.”

His hand slides up my spine, thumb brushing behind my ear, grounding me in the aftermath.

“You sure?” he murmurs. “I was rough. Didn’t mean to lose it like that. Just—fuck, Em. You touch me and I forget how to be gentle.”

My body shifts slightly around him, and I suck in a breath—sharp and unexpected.

His brow furrows immediately. “What is it?”

I bite my lip, cheeks flushed. “I’m sore.”

His gaze sharpens.

But before he can apologize, I whisper, “In a good way.”

And that’s it.

That’s his undoing.

He growls—low and guttural—and rolls us, shifting smoothly until I’m on top of him, straddling his hips. He never slips out. He won’t. Not unless I make him.

“Look at you,” he says, hands splayed over my hips. “Full of me. So fucking pretty when you’re stretched and dripping, baby.”

I gasp as I feel it—his cum, thick and wet, beginning to slide from where we’re still joined.

It slides down, slow and obscene, over his cock, down my thighs.

Cal watches it happen. Watches me watch it.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You see that? That’s mine. All of that’s mine.”

Then he thrusts up.

Hard.

My hands slam into his chest with a gasped moan, and he grins like a wolf under me. Feral, and totally gone.

“I want to watch you ride it,” he grits. “But I’m not letting you do the work.”

He grabs my hips, plants his feet, and fucks up into me.

Deep. Sharp. Relentless.

I fall forward, hands braced on either side of his head as he pounds up from beneath me, his cock driving deeper now, swollen and already hard again.

“Still so tight,” he pants. “Still so fucking sweet. You gonna come for me again, little one?”

I whimper, nodding.

“You always do. You always give it to Daddy.”

His hands lift me—slam me back down.

And again.

His cum slickens everything, makes each stroke messier, wetter, hotter.

And when he feels my walls start to flutter again, when I gasp and clench and cry out his name—

He grits his teeth and keeps going.

“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Don’t stop, Cal—please—”

“I won’t,” he vows, voice shaking. “Not until you come again. Not until I feel it all over me.”

He doesn’t stop.

My body trembles above him, legs shaking, hands braced on his chest—but Cal keeps driving up into me with brutal, focused rhythm.

“Good girl,” he grits. “Taking it so fucking well. Look at you—wrecked and dripping and still giving me everything.”

His hands slide up my sides, rough and reverent, until one comes to rest gently at the base of my throat.

He doesn’t squeeze.

Doesn’t push.

He just holds it.

A touch of ownership.

A warning.

A promise.

His thumb brushes the hollow where my pulse hammers.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, gaze locked on mine. “That’s what I do to you.”

I moan—soft, shaky—as the pressure from his cock and the weight of his palm fuse into something molten. Something I can’t hold back.

“I’m close,” I breathe. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

He thrusts up, hard. Once. Twice.

“Come on my cock, little one. Just like that. Let Daddy feel it.”

My orgasm takes me in one hard pull—tight and shuddering. My mouth falls open in a soundless cry, hips stuttering, thighs trembling around his waist as I clamp down around him.

And Cal loses it.

“Fuck—fuck, yes—”

His jaw goes tight, every muscle in his body coiled as he drives up once, twice more—then a rumbling, raw sound builds up from his chest, and he comes.

Deep.

Hot.

Hard.

I feel every pulse. Every twitch. Every jet of heat spilling inside me, thick and endless.

His hand tightens—not squeezing, just grounding—as he grinds up into me, emptying everything he has.

“You feel that?” he pants, barely able to speak. “That’s me. All of me. Right where it belongs.”

I’m shaking.

So is he.

And he doesn’t pull out.

He stays inside.

His arms come around me, wrapping me down against his chest, lips brushing my hair.

“Mine,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You’re mine. Inside. Out. Always.”

And I believe him.

Because I can feel it.

We don’t speak.

Our bodies are still pressed together, his cock softening inside me, his breath heavy against my hair. I don’t want to move. Can’t. Everything in me feels slow, raw, sated.

But Cal shifts.

Carefully. Gently.

He kisses my temple, then the tip of my nose, and whispers, “Stay right there, little one. I’ll take care of you.”

His voice is soft but edged with that same deep grit. Still Daddy. Still his.

I hum, eyes fluttering closed as I feel him slip out of me. Warmth and slickness drip between my thighs. I whimper at the emptiness, and he hushes me instantly.

“I know, baby. I know. You’re so full of me I can still see it,” he murmurs. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

I hear him move—bare feet on hardwood, the creak of the bathroom door, the low rush of water. Everything in him still has purpose, still wired tight to the need to do. To care.

He returns moments later, warm washcloth in hand.

His eyes fall on me—flushed, trembling, spent—and something tightens in his expression. Not lust. Not hunger.

Devotion.

“Flip over for me, sweet girl.”

His voice is soft, but there’s no mistaking the command in it. I obey with a whimper, every muscle languid.

Cal kneels behind me on the bed and parts my thighs with gentle hands. His breath catches when he sees the mess between them—his release still spilling from me.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “That’s mine. All of that. You did so good for me.”

The cloth is warm. Soft. He wipes me slowly, reverently, his free hand stroking over the small of my back.

“Gotta take care of what’s mine,” he says. “Make sure she’s clean. Soothed. Worshipped like she deserves.”

A soft sound leaves me—something like a choked sob. Something like peace.

He leans down, presses a kiss just below my navel.

“Still with me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He smiles against my skin.

“That’s my girl.”

He sets the cloth aside, but his hands linger.

They move slowly—one gliding up the curve of my waist, over my ribs, fingertips tracing the faint press of each one like he’s memorizing them. Like they belong to him. Like he’s grounding himself in the shape of what’s his.

Then, with that same quiet certainty he always moves with, slips in beside me.

His arm curls under my shoulders, the other beneath my knees, and he lays me flat against the mattress, head nestled into pillows, as if I’m something fragile. Precious.

But it’s what he does next that makes my breath stop.

He comes over me.

All of him.

Not just hovering. Not bracing.

Covering.

The full weight of his body presses against mine—chest to chest, stomach to stomach, his legs settling on either side of my hips, his skin blazing hot against every inch of me.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t ask permission.

He just lowers himself like I’m the ground he was made to rest on.

His mouth finds my temple.

Then my hairline.

Then the corner of my jaw, where his breath hitches.

His arms wrap around me like iron, one hand splayed between my shoulder blades, the other possessively cupping my hip.

And I melt.

Not under pressure.

Under devotion.

I can’t move. Don’t want to. My limbs go boneless beneath him, my body parting instinctively, welcoming every inch of his weight like it was made for this.

For him.

My breath stutters out of me.

“I like this,” I whisper.

His whole body goes still.

He lifts his head—not far, just enough to see me—and his gaze locks on mine. There’s something raw behind it. Something feral trying to stay quiet.

“What?” he asks. Rough. Low. Needy.

I slide my arms up around his back, curling into him, pressing my mouth to the hollow of his throat.

“This. You. On me. Around me.” I swallow, my voice softer now. “Holding me like I’m yours.”

His eyes darken. His jaw tightens.

“You like being covered by me.”

I nod.

“I like being kept.”

He makes a sound then—a groan so low it vibrates through his chest and into mine. One of his hands cradles the back of my head, and the other flattens over my lower back, holding me tighter.

“I’ll never let you go,” he murmurs. “You think I’d ever let go of what’s mine? Never happening, baby.”

I press my face into his throat and breathe him in, his scent, his warmth, the way he surrounds me.

He said he'd never let go of what's his.

I believe him.

Because there's nothing safer than this. Nothing warmer. Nothing more mine.

And as his breath slows against my skin, his heart a steady, possessive drum beneath my ear, I let myself fall.

Right into the arms of the man who never asked if he could have me.

He just took me.

And made sure I never wanted to leave.