Page 50 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

His fingers linger more at my entrance, pushing two in slightly before coming out and circling my clit in a couple of lazy circles.

“ Oh my god. ” I’m a panting mess.

He continues to trail his fingers back to my entrance and then push those same two fingers deeper. “Do you think about my cock sliding into you, like this?” he breathes near my ear, lightly teasing my neck with his teeth again.

“ Yes. ”

“Do you think about sitting on my lap, bouncing on my cock, finding your release? Because that’s what I think about.” His breath is more erratic.

“Yes, God yes.”

“You’re soaking my fingers, pretty girl. I love how wet you get for me.” His chest rises and falls in time with my frantic breath. I can feel how hard he is below me as his fingers leave my entrance and go back to circling my clit, this time in quicker, firmer circles.

“Do I make you this wet when you’re alone, thinking of me?”

“Every time.” Jesus Christ, I am so close.

“I can feel you fluttering, are you going to come?”

“Oh God, yes, I want to come so bad.”

He tsks in my ear, and I can hear his smile. “But you told me to edge you? You’re going to have to be a good girl and hold on just a little bit longer.” He punctuates his statement with the push of his fingers, curling them in a menacing way that has my head thrown back in a gasp.

I can barely stand it, I’m writhing in his lap, my nails digging into his thighs, and I have finally succumbed to begging for him to make me come.

“ Please, please, please .”

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you beg for me.”

“Okay, I change my mind…n-no edging. I-I’m done.

P-please, make me c-comeee.” I can’t be certain, but I think I growled at him.

Whatever sound leaves my mouth he seems to find amusing, though, because he’s chuckling in my ear.

But the sex gods must be smiling down at me because Caleb gives in, thrusting his fingers faster, his other hand joining him in circling my clit at the same time.

I’m a wet and limp mess in his hands, and he’s playing me like an instrument. It is pure magic.

Spots appear in the corner of my vision. Feeling my orgasm build from the base of my spine, the numb tingles in my toes traveling up my legs, I begin to shake.

“Holy fuck, Rosie. I don’t know If I can…

shit. If you come like this, I think I might too.

” I can feel his heart thumping rapidly where his chest meets my back, his breathing as labored as mine as his fingers slow their work.

“So fucking hot,” he whispers against my neck, and I feel his hips jut forward. I didn’t need any more encouragement.

“Where are your condoms?” I lose the sensation of one of his hands and then hear foil. “It was never just a cuddle, was it?” I ask between pants.

“It was.” He kisses my shoulder, using a hand to turn me to face him.

“But I kept one close because I knew you naked was going to get me hard. I wanted to be prepared.” I chuckle at the tortured expression on his face and then spin around.

My knees land on either side of his thighs as he rolls on the condom with speed.

Without wasting a second, I grip his base, angle him perfectly, and slide all the way down on one breath.

“Fuuuuuuck. ” We both moan the curse at the same time, stilling for only a moment as we adjust, panting more than we should without the movement, but it’s there again, when it shouldn’t be.

The intensity, the intimacy. We’re just sitting there, naked, our bodies joined, his hands gripping my waist as our eyes remain locked, it’s…

Why does this keep happening?

I shove it all right back down, placing my hands on his shoulders, rising up and down slowly, my head thrown back.

Whether from the efforts of avoiding the look in his deep blue eyes or just from the overwhelming pleasure of having him inside me, I don’t know, but he doesn’t say anything, either, he just releases quiet grunts, his hands guiding me up and down his cock, painfully, achingly slow.

It only takes a few strokes before his grip tightens and he’s slamming me down as he thrusts up, the pace quickening to match his loss of control.

The tingles are back down my spine. Feeling my walls grip him tighter, a strangled moan works its way up my throat.

The sound of splashing water, slapping skin, and his low curses fill the room.

“So responsive.” He grunts before leaning forward and taking a nipple between his teeth, lightly pulling before he repeats the motion on the other side, eliciting sounds I had no idea I could make.

“Yes, that. Do it again.” I comb my fingers through his hair and pull. He groans, and this time he latches on to my tits like a man starved, licking the sensitive peaks, biting, pulling, and kissing them, and it’s exactly what I need to push me over the edge.

My rhythm is completely lost, but my thrusts match his, frantic and desperate, as my eyes squeeze shut from the sheer force of my orgasm tearing through me.

“Fuck, just like that, Rosebud. Grip me, squeeze me, drench me. I love watching you come like this.” He releases a hand and spanks my ass, and I crash down hard, my legs quaking as I scream his name.

No longer able to hold my legs, I fall forward. Caleb holds my hips as he pistons into me, a few punishing and quick thrusts. “ Fuck, fuck, fuck. ” I feel him come undone, buried inside me, his hot breath hitting my chest as his forehead lands on my collarbone.

“What the fuck was that,” he whispers, or pants, but it isn’t really a question. “You have ruined me.”

“Ha.” I ignore the pride rising in my chest, thankful that I can’t form words.

I lie limp on top of him, mindlessly combing my fingers through his hair as our breaths even out.

His fingers trail a lazy path up my spine and then back down, his cock still inside me, and I hate how much I enjoy it.

Still being joined like this, still feeling his skin on mine.

Too much.

Too close.

“Okay, I need to actually shower,” I say quietly before rising up slowly. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, though his eyebrows are drawn in tight, almost like confusion or frustration? I’m not sure, but I don’t allow myself to care. It’s just sex anyway.

Just. Sex.

He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly discards the condom, climbing out of the bath as I make my way to the shower.

The stall isn’t like mine, where I can hide in here until he leaves, so I give him a meaningful look and he just frowns a bit, before wrapping a towel around his waist and heading for the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him.

I let myself stand under the warm water for a stupid amount of time, hoping like crazy that he’s dressed and in his living room, ready to say goodbye and end the night here by the time I get out.

As much as round two sounds like fun, that time really took it out of me—not even just physically; I feel too raw and I’m far too exhausted to begin analyzing what the hell happened for a bit there.

After what I think is an acceptable amount of time for Caleb to get dressed—even rehydrate in the kitchen and make himself busy—I turn off the shower, drying myself.

I look in the mirror at my curls, cursing myself.

I really need to do my routine when I get home, but I just don’t have the energy for it.

I throw in a few haphazard braids and make a mental note to tie in my bandanna before I pass out.

I lazily pull on his Beyoncé shirt and boxers again, mindlessly moving around the bathroom, emptying the bath, ensuring no bubble residue remains, blowing out the candles, and securing their lids.

Feeling my brain tick over the night’s events like a Rolodex, each card file a different moment, and each one featuring Caleb and his eyes.

Caleb and his smile. Caleb and his lips, his caressing touches, his arms holding me.

Shove it down. Shove, shove…shoveeeee.

I straighten out the towels, mop up the splashed water, and I continue tidying the room as I ignore the ache in my chest, between my legs, behind my eyes.

Happy with the state of the room and that my ability to bury my thoughts is still as strong as ever, I head for the door, only stopping abruptly when I see Caleb.

Still in his room.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, a forlorn expression across his face as he leans back on his hands, staring at the ceiling.

“Ahh…” I’m speechless and stuck in place.

“You shower for ages.” He looks up at me, and something that is almost a smile crosses his face. “You look beautiful like this, though.”

“Like what?” My hands land on my hips and I try to show just how frustrated I am to find that he is in here, calling me beautiful while only wearing his towel, and not downstairs, bidding me adieu while he kicks me to the curb.

I also hate that I’m not in my own room where I can crawl into a ball and pass out.

“Sleepy, dressed down.” He tilts his head to the side, his soft smile growing. “Comfortable.”

Okay then. I feel my lips purse, not really sure how to take any of that, and comb through my list of excuses that I usually give guys that have them running for the hills so I don’t have to be the one to kick myself out. Make it their decision.

“Want me to sleep over and get breakfast tomorrow?” I bat my eyelashes at him and his head perks up. I begin the countdown.

Here it comes, the male ego shutting down the possibility of attachment, although…is he smiling? No, he’s about to start the usual freak-out and yeet me from his apartment.

Three—

Two—

“Well duh.” He chuckles, turning to untuck the sheet and climbing into the bed.

Huh?

“Wait…what?”