“Whatever happens today with your mom, don't listen to her about the weight thing, feel me? Because this?” He trailed a finger past my belly button and out over my hips before squeezing sharply. “All that real estate? Gets me off.”
He unbuckled his own seatbelt and bent my way, pressing his mouth to the top of one thigh and then the other.
It was full daylight and the sunshine was only marginally muted by the shadows of the canopy above us, so it was hard not to try to cover some part of myself. It was one thing when we'd been in the shower. His face was level with mine, and we were smashed together most of the time. Since then, we'd be wrestling around in the sheets at his apartment. This would be the first time he had a close-up, bright shot of me in the buff, no filter, and the anxiety he was trying to diffuse ratcheted up a notch. There was no way I was going to be able to come under these conditions anyway. He'd lost his mind.
"Um, look, Cal, maybe—"
I swallowed the rest of my words on a gasp as he laid his mouth directly on my clit. My fingers clenched reflexively, and I gripped his dark hair. "Jesus," I said on a low hiss. The heat of his mouth was sublime, melting away all the negative energy and filling me with a whole different kind of tension. He nuzzled against me and curled his index finger around my underwear to tug them aside. I wanted to keep my eyes clenched shut so I didn't have to look down and see the swell of my belly or my pale skin in the harsh light of day, but when he angled his shoulders so that my one leg was wrapped around him and dipped his head to lap at that tingling bundle of nerves, I couldn't help it. My eyes popped open and I stared down at him. His expression was intense, as if there was nothing else in the world at that moment but me. His tongue flicked out again and plunged deeper to lave at my aching clit and my nipples went tight beneath my sweater.
"That feels amazing," I managed in a whisper.
He let out something akin to a groan and a purr all at once and began using his tongue to rub in slow, massaging circles. I couldn't help but bounce my hips a little in time with his motions. It just felt so fucking good. How did he do that? How did he know, already, the perfect pressure, the perfect motion, the perfect way to touch me, like his mouth was made for me.
But those thoughts along with all the others scattered like leaves in the autumn breeze because his hands joined his mouth, one finger tracing my slit.
"Oh, god," I muttered, grinding helplessly against his face now. He had barely touched me, it hadn't even been three full minutes yet, and already I could feel my inner muscles quivering with need. His index finger delved forward in a shallow thrust, bathing in my wet heat even as his tongue lashed at me. My hips bounced faster and I tugged at his hair, willing him to finish it. To fill the emptiness inside me with some part of him.
Light, fun Cal had left the building and there was no teasing retreat. His face a mask of concentration, he plunged his finger deep, appeasing one ache and creating a new one. I was going to come. My legs flexed, all my muscles going tight as he began to work in earnest now, finger moving in and out, in and out in long, deep thrusts, his tongue working over my aching clit, faster and faster. Tingles spread from between my thighs outward, making me shake from head to toe. And then he sucked one time, hard, and I came apart against his mouth on a scream. Red light exploded behind my eyelids as I squeezed them shut helplessly.
"Oh my god, Jesus, Cal!" Waves of ecstasy broke over me, and I rocked and bucked against him, my breathing coming in short bursts. As shudders racked my body, he held my hips tight with his free hand, anchoring me to him. Making me feel safe and wanted and perfect.
It felt like forever before the tremors started to subside and the blood stopped pumping in my ears so hard I could barely hear.
I slumped back against the door as the world stopped spinning and I opened my eyes to find Cal peering up at me, square, lean jaw flexed tight, a muscle ticking there wildly.
“You better?” he asked, his voice full of grit.
I nodded and smoothed my skirt down to cover me as I scooted back to sit straight. “Much,” I managed with a shaky smile.
He sat back on his seat and sucked in a long, shuddering breath. “Good. I’m glad.”
“But what about you?” I said, leaning in and raising a brow at his very evident erection pressing against his straining zipper.
"We came here to relax you. I can wait."
A warmth stole over me that had nothing to do with sex and I leaned up to cup his hard, thick length.
"I'm sure you can, and I appreciate that, but you don't have to. So what if we're a few minutes late. Fuck 'em," I said as I squeezed.
He pinched his eyes closed with a grunt. His obvious need rekindled mine like a match and I was desperate to feel his skin against mine.
"Are you sure?" he asked, the hope in his eyes enough to make me chuckle.
"So sure."
He reared up and made short work of his jeans, yanking them over his hips to his ankles. I reached between us again and closed my fingers over the silky length of him, reveling in the heat...the hardness.
"I want you in my mouth," I murmured, pressing him back against his seat and folding my body over until I was eye-level with his cock. Even that was pretty, I had to admit. Straight, and thick and proud. The head smooth and velvety. I ran the tip of my tongue over it and murmured my appreciation when a drop of liquid peeked out to greet me. Knowing that just touching me had gotten him to that point was a heady drug and I dove forward, aching to have him in my mouth.
I took him deep. Deep enough that I gagged in my relative inexperience, but even then I didn't stop. Not until the head of his cock nudged the very back of my throat. His shaft twitched and pulsed in my mouth and his thighs shook. I could hear the low mutters above me and he seemed to be praying for strength.
But right then? I didn't want him to be strong. I wanted to make him come hard and fast and without a care in the world, like he'd done to me. I slid my way back up his shaft and cupped his balls as I drove down again, sucking so hard, my cheeks caved in from the suction.
"Ah, god damn, Bee,” he bit out through gritted teeth. “That’s so good."
His words of encouragement were all I needed.
I ran my tongue up and down as I worked my mouth over him, again and again, using my hands and my lips to bring him to the brink. I could feel when he was getting close in the way his breathing hitched and his muscles tensed. When he cupped the back of my head with a shaking hand and pressed me down further, I was elated, waiting for the hot rush of liquid in my mouth.
But before I knew what happened, he was tugging my hair sharply until I released him.
“Why are you stopping me? I want to,” I protested.
His face was pure need as he tucked his hands beneath my arms and tugged me over to straddle him.
“And I want to be inside you,” he said, fumbling between us to move my panties to the side again. He peered down at his watch and then pierced me with his molten gaze. “Just give me two more minutes.”
I opened my mouth to agree and then snapped it shut, stifling a groan as he pressed deep inside me, filling me in one smooth motion.
His fingers closed around my hips as he worked me over him, driving me up and down in the most sublime of rhythms. He leaned in to pepper soft kisses on my neck, whispering my name over in time with his thrusts. I hadn’t expected to come again, but suddenly, I could feel my body tightening over him, clenching over his cock as a second orgasm hit me with the force of an oncoming train.
“Oh, Jesus, Cal!” I threw my hands up to the ceiling of the truck, using the leverage to push myself down on him even harder, to take him so deep, I saw stars.
He let out a muffled groan as his fingers flexed on my hips and then I felt him follow. His cock jerking and pulsing inside me as the aftershocks of my own climax shook me.
“So good, Bee. So fucking good.”
Words flew to my lips in response and I mashed my mouth against his to keep from saying them.
I love you.
18
Bee
In spite of my terrifying revelation that gave me a moment of panic, I had to admit, Cal’s brand of PT had done me some definite good. For the remainder of the ride, I felt so relaxed that he might as well have given me a handful of Valium. Who cared if my dad was an asshole and my mom was difficult? Cal Samskevitch had called me “his girl”. So maybe I wasn’t ready to say I love you to him yet. We’d get there. Every day, I felt a little more trusting and little more sure that Cal was everything he seemed to be and more.
But by the time we pulled up to my childhood home in beautiful suburbia, I could feel the tension creeping up the back of my neck again as the sense of well-being slowly drained away. Cal must’ve felt it too because as we walked up the driveway hand in hand he gave mine a squeeze.
“It’s all good. Will be over before you know it.”
Before we reached the door, my mother swung it open, martini glass in hand, smiling like a game show hostess.
“Hi, dear. I was wondering if maybe I’d given you the wrong time” she said, her eyes shifting to Cal. “And you must be Belinda’s friend, Cal.”
I opened my mouth to make an excuse for being five minutes late, but Cal lunged forward and shook her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell. Sorry about the delay, it was all my fault. I had forgotten my wallet at my apartment.”
Always the perfect hostess, she led us inside to the foyer and immediately asked us what we’d like to drink. The table was set with the good china, and the house smelled of a turkey she’d probably had to wake up in the pre-dawn hours to get into the oven.
“Hey, hey, hey, is that my little girl I hear?” a voice called from the depths of the man cave. My dad appeared, holding a whiskey tumbler, nearly drained. He beamed at me. “Baby.”
I forced a tight smile as he wrapped his arms around me. Cal smiled too. Of course he would. Everything appeared normal. Dad always did that; acted like the doting, loving parent at first. But he could only keep it up for so long. Ten minutes, tops, before he gave up the pretense and reverted back to treating me like I was invisible at best and a mistake at worst.
He turned to Cal. “Hey. How you doing…?”
Cal shook my dad’s outstretched hand and filled in the blank. “Cal. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Mitchell. I’m a big fan.”
My father had heard that a billion times, but it never ceased to buoy his mood and he smiled in that smug way that seemed to say, Of course you are. You should be.
“Cal plays football, too,” I interjected. “At my school.”
“Oh yeah, buddy?” my dad asked over the blare of the sportscasters announcing the starting line-up. “What position?”
“Wide receiver.”
My dad grinned wider. “Samskevitch? Yeah? I’ve been watching your progress. Shitty about the knee. How’s it doing?”
“Good. I think I’ll be cleared for the playoffs. Your daughter is my PT. That’s how we met.” He grinned at me and nudged my arm.
“Fantastic!”
Knowing my dad, my being Cal’s PT wasn’t the fantastic part. He never cared about my career choice. What my dad found fantastic was him being cleared to play. I shifted uncomfortably, ready to change the subject.
“Come on, let’s check out the game.” My dad threw an arm around him and started to guide him toward the man cave. “So, you used to watch me play, huh?”
Cal nodded, looking back at me to see if I was okay. I waved him on, because my mom was already pulling me toward the kitchen. I could tell she was just dying to press me for information about Cal. I’d never brought a guy home before, so this was a big deal.
For a second, I felt the walls closing in on me, thinking about Cal alone with my dad and the upcoming interrogation session with my mom. But then I forced myself to focus on my happy place. Me and Cal, in the car…
I took a few long, slow breaths, and forced myself to chill. I was looking for problems where there were none. Who knew? Maybe this would be the one pleasant, event-free holiday at the Mitchell house.
A Thanksgiving miracle.
My mother had soft piano music playing upstairs in the kitchen, but I could still hear the cheers from the game downstairs. She turned it up and opened the oven door, pulling a picture-perfect roasted turkey out. She turned to me as she basted it and smiled.
“So? That’s your friend or?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. We hadn’t defined things. What I did know was that I’d never felt happier. These past two weeks had flown by in a blur. I felt like Cal’s, and he felt like mine, so part of me hadn’t wanted to jinx anything by broaching the subject. The other part of me didn’t know how to do it.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re just dating, I guess.”
“Well, he’s very handsome. Are you sure you’re dating and not just friends?”
I stared at her, at a loss for words as the doubts and questions flooded my brain. Was it so hard to believe, even to my own mother who should think I was a special, beautiful snowflake, that Cal was my…whatever he was? Maybe my little Quasimodo joke hadn’t been so far off the mark after all.
My irritation bubbled over and I found myself snapping back at her. “Yeah Mom, considering I spent half the past two weeks sleeping at his apartment, I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh. Oh, my.” She pressed a hand to her cheek and then nodded, as if coming to a decision on the fly. “Well, all right, then. You’re having safe sex, right?” I started to blush as she put the baster down, her eye zeroed in on my forehead. “You’re getting a little bit of acne on your hairline. Are you using that cleanser I bought you?”
I don’t know what made me think that the first and only acknowledgment of the fact that her daughter was no longer a virgin would make her slow her roll, but I’d clearly been mistaken. I resisted the urge to rub at my forehead to check for bumps.
“Well, are you?” she asked again.
“Uh…yes?” I wasn’t sure which of those forty questions I was supposed to answer first.
“I hope so,” she said, still studying my forehead. “I’m too young to be a grandmother, Belinda. And that cleanser is expensive. You have to use it twice a day.”
The last of the warmth left inside me from my little detour with Cal faded and I felt a cold lump forming in my stomach.
I didn’t bother to reply, instead joining her at the counter to carry plate after plate heaping with food to the dining room. Once the dining table was practically groaning from the weight of it all, we called for my dad and Cal.
They came twenty minutes later, at what must’ve been halftime, after most of the food was already cold and the turkey, dry. My mom didn’t say a word about it. She just smiled and gestured for everyone to dig in while my dad rambled on about some bullshit play that shouldn’t have been called the way it was, not bothering to acknowledge her or the feast she’d prepared.
“This looks delicious,” Cal said, interrupting my father mid-sentence as he slid into the seat next to me. He brought his knee up against mine under the starched white tablecloth, and his hand sought out mine and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell.”
My father grunted. “As I was saying,” he went on, reaching over and grabbing food for his plate, “if you’re gonna make that call you need to have the balls to stand behind it, and Michaelson doesn’t have them.”
“I agree,” Cal murmured, picking up a server of mashed potatoes and holding it between us.
“Don’t you want any?” I asked, noticing he didn’t have them on his plate.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “But help yourself first.”
I blinked. My father was a pro at completing passes on the field, but not at the dinner table. All the serving platters usually ended up crowded around him and we all usually had to stand up or lean halfway across the table to get to anything. I thought for sure the room would explode or something, because it hadn’t seen male manners like the ones Cal
was displaying, well, ever.
My father somehow managed to clean his plate in record time and talk Cal’s ear off about every one of his football accomplishments. My mom tried to involve herself, peppering Cal with questions about the rest of his life that didn’t involve football, like what he was studying and where his family was from. Cal answered in his usual polite-but-animated way, but still my father rattled on, oblivious, always swerving things back to himself and football, football, football.
I tried to venture back to my happy place at least a hundred times in that half hour. Each time, it got harder and harder to find. I kept looking at Cal, desperately wanting to escape, but watching him nod politely at each of my father’s stupid remarks made me ache for him. By mid-meal, I wanted to retch.
My dad finally took a breath and then brought up something that didn’t have to do with him. “So, the Panthers are having a good season, eh?”
Cal nodded, mouth full of food.
“Those cheerleaders you guys got are something,” my dad said, whistling. “Those nice, tight asses in those little shorts? Enough to make a grown man weep.”
Cal pulled his napkin off his lap and coughed into it. My dad had finally said something to throw him off his game, and for a second I was worried something’d gone down the wrong pipe and he was choking.
My father was oblivious and continued on, waggling his thick, dark eyebrows. “It’s worth Bee’s tuition just so I can have a front seat for that. I’m sure a good-looking fellow like you has hit plenty of that, am I right?”
I swallowed hard to dislodge the lump building in my throat. Okay, so we hadn’t defined anything, but what kind of asshole asked his daughter’s date that question? Right in front of her, no less?
Even though Cal was right next to me, my happy place felt like a foreign country. Rage bubbled inside me, ready to boil over.
Score (Skin in the Game Book 1) Page 15
