by S. M. Soto
“What?”
His lips curl. “I asked if your hot little cunt was soaked.”
I open and close my mouth, but no words come. It feels like there’s lava bubbling in my gut.
“You nervous?” he croons arrogantly.
“N-no. I’m not nervous.”
“Your pulse tells a different story.” He traces my throat with the pad of his finger. A shiver races down my spine, and my core throbs painfully.
“Must be the whiskey.”
My heart hammers in my chest, and I will it to slow down. I’m positive he can hear it. He has to.
“You didn’t drink whiskey.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” I whisper. What I meant to say was, maybe it was the whiskey he was drinking. Maybe it was the way he tangled his tongue with mine, and I could taste the alcohol.
“Did you like it when I kissed you, Daisy?”
Why does he say my name like that? As though it’s dirty talk. Like we’re in the bedroom, and he’s whispering in my ear, “Take your panties off.”
I shiver, imagining just that.
“I’m going to assume that is a yes.”
“Okay,” I breathe out incoherently, not making sense.
“Hmm.” He drags his finger down the center of my chest. The tips of his fingers slide over the side of my exposed breast, making me squirm.
He leans in. His eyes move from my eyes to my lips. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Can I kiss you again?”
I nod so hard the back of my head hits the glass. I don’t even feel it.
“Say it.”
I swallow past the thickness in my throat. “Kiss me again, please.”
“I need you to be a little more specific. Where do you want it?”
I pause, my brows tugging together, confusion washing over my face. “Where do I want…you to kiss me?”
He chuckles. The sound is warm like lava pouring through my veins, setting my body ablaze. Callan leans in, his plump lips lightly tracing the shell of my ear. “These aren’t the only lips I want to kiss,” he whispers huskily.
A rush of breath escapes my lungs. My heart stalls, and my core twinges with an ache. A need to be filled.
“Anywhere.” I swallow.
He laughs again as though he finds me amusing. I really like it when his laughter rumbles against my chest. And when he dips his head to plant a kiss to the side of my throat, I like that, too—much more than I have any right to.
“Would you like to know what you taste like, Daisy?” His mouth moves down my neck, and he kisses a trail across my shoulder.
“O-okay.”
“Like the sweetest kind of sin.” He kisses his way back to my neck. “Like sexy innocence.” He nibbles my earlobe. Licks the shell of my ear. Then growls, “Like my goddamn kryptonite.”
I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but being someone’s kryptonite isn’t one of them. It ignites something inside me.
“You drive me crazy, you know that? You live inside my head fucking rent-free, and I can’t stand it.” Dropping to his knees before me, Callan lifts my dress up my thighs. With deft hands, he tugs my panties to the side, baring my sex, and he spreads me open with his fingers, toying with my drenched pussy lips.
He growls his approval, his rough cheek brushing against my thigh. “You’re so fucking wet already.”
My channel pulses at his words. I moan in anticipation, my spine crawling with need as tingles race across my flesh. Callan pinches my swollen lips together, rubbing them back and forth around my clit.
“Please,” I beg, and those must be the magic words because he hikes my thigh over his shoulder and dives between my legs. His tongue flutters across my clit, swirling and sucking, and I choke on a breath, the pleasure shooting through me like a rocket. My hands slide into his hair, and I grip onto the soft strands, tugging as my hips ride his mouth.
Callan eats me like a man starved. It’s like my body memorized his touch from my office. It’s as though he’s been studying how to work my body for years. What string to tweak, how to perfectly play it until I’m singing the highest tune.
“Turn around.”
My body trembles at his rough words and the commanding tone. I must take too long to oblige because he grabs my waist and spins me around. My hands slap at the cool glass before me. My stomach dips as I stare down at the darkened city sprawled out before me. All it would take is this glass shattering for me to go plummeting to my death. Maybe that’s the thrill of this. The thrill of being fucked against the cool glass of a penthouse suite. The thrill of anyone outside being able to see.
Callan paws at my hips and pulls me back. My spine arches, and I let out a whoosh of air. I turn ever so slightly and spot him squatting down behind me, taking my panties off. His large hands grab at the cheeks of my ass. He pulls. Spreading. Parting them.
I can feel his gaze there. Every hole exposed for his viewing. Heat climbs into my cheeks, and my heart threatens to rip out of my chest.
“So fucking perfect,” he praises, digging his nose into me. He runs his nose up and down, taking in my musky scent, and he groans his approval. A sharp cry falls from my lips when he licks me. He licks my pussy, and I slam my eyes shut through the pleasure, parting my lips so I can pull in a breath. But I can’t. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but feel him.
Digging his fingers into my ass and keeping my cheeks spread, he goes in for another lick. This one covers the lips of my pussy, all the way back to my ass. He repeats it over and over until I’m a panting, squirming mess. He keeps giving me licks all over, on both my holes, and I feel myself dripping for him, my channel gaping for him.
Heat coils deep in my core, and then I’m coming on his tongue. My orgasm slams into me with the force of a freight train. My palms bang against the windows, and my body convulses in his arms as his tongue continues lashing at my sex, lapping up my orgasm. He drinks everything. He takes everything. Laving at my sex, he works his mouth over my pussy until I’m boneless and can’t think or see.
“Did you come for him the way you do for me, Daisy?” he taunts, devouring my flesh. My heart caves, pain ricocheting through my chest. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. I shouldn’t answer him. I can’t answer him.
“Tell me,” he demands.
A tear leaks out of the corner of my eye as another orgasm slams into me, stealing the breath from my lungs. “No.”
The word tumbles from my lips, and I feel it shatter around us. My body wracks with aftershocks. I can’t tell if it’s from the admission, the orgasm, or both.
Gently, Callan turns me around, forcing my gaze up to his. He keeps his hands pinned to my hips, keeping me upright. “Take the dress off. Now.”
We don’t talk about the bomb he just forced out of me, but I see the effects of it there in his eyes. The possessive way he watches me. Like I’m his.
I work to undo the tie at the back of my neck and let the satin pool at my feet. Callan’s eyes heat impossibly so as he takes in my nude body. His gaze is riveted on my breasts. I have a sudden urge to cover myself. The first time we were together, he was behind me most of the time, which didn’t exactly give either of us a chance to explore the other’s bodies. I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious of mine. What if I don’t measure up to the other women he’s been with? What if I don’t compare?
He must sense my train of thought because his eyes shoot up, and he shakes his head ever so slightly.
“Don’t. I want to see you.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my airway and nod. My chest is rising and falling sharply, and I can’t stop trembling, partly from the orgasms and partly from the anticipation of having him inside me again.
Slowly, Callan reaches between us and tweaks a nipple. The zing shoots straight to my center, and I suck in a sharp breath. His rough palm cups my breast, and he squeezes, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
“These drive me crazy every fucking day. When you wear those tops that leave nothing to the imag
ination. When you bend down to grab something, and all I can see is this,” he mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to my cleavage.
My sex trickles with moisture, and my muscles clench in anticipation.
He takes his clothes off, his movements slow and methodical. He starts with his shirt, undoing the buttons agonizingly slowly. I lick my suddenly dry lips, and my breath catches when he bares his torso, tossing the shirt to the floor. Callan was always ripped in high school from sports and such, but now…now he’s on another level. His skin is golden, and his washboard abs have me wanting to reach out and caress each hard peak.
My breath leaves me in a sharp gasp, and my eyes water when I spot something on his ribs. It’s small. So small that I have to reach out to get a closer look. There’s a ruckus in my chest as I stare at the small tattoo on his ribs. It’s only a little bigger than the size of a quarter. I trace my fingers over the tattoo. My emotions attack my throat, making it hard to swallow.
“When did you get this?”
I glance up at him, waiting for him to answer me. He cups my jaw, his thumb dragging back and forth across my lips, his eyes riveted to the motion.
“A long time ago.”
I glance back down at the dainty tattoo of a daisy that paints his skin.
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer me. Not that I expected him to. He’s never given me a single straight answer, so I don’t know why he’d start now.
When he works his pants loose and then his briefs, my core throbs. My sex drips. And my heart pangs against my rib cage.
Christ.
I forgot how big he is.
His cock stands thick and proud. It’s curved slightly, the head swollen. The veins along his shaft are prominent, begging to be touched.
Closing the distance between us, Callan reaches out, pinching another one of my nipples. I let out a ragged gasp, and my core throbs painfully.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I whisper breathily.
He bends, sucking a nipple into his mouth and grazing the hardened peak with his teeth ever so slightly. “Because I love these, and someday soon, I’m going to fuck them.”
Oh. My. God.
I don’t know who makes the first move—if I jump into his arms or if he hauls me there.
His hands cup my ass, and my legs wrap around his waist.
“Fuck,” he growls, grabbing a handful of my backside. “This ass is going to be the death of me.”
My back slams against the glass behind me, and Callan adjusts my weight, his gaze clashing with mine. Not looking away, he slams inside me, his cock thrusting to the hilt, taking my breath away.
“Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes, sliding his cock in and out at a punishing pace. His balls slap against my backside, the sound of our panting breaths and slapping flesh echo around us. He drives so deep inside me. With each thrust, he hits something that sends me closer and closer to the edge. I’m certain this is going to be the fastest orgasm ever achieved. Gripping his shoulders, I hang on for dear life, digging my nails into him, piercing his skin.
“You’re so close. I can feel your pussy milking my cock.”
“Callan,” I moan at his filthy mouth.
He dips his head, catching a nipple. He sucks on the hardened peak, his tongue swirling and laving. The sensations drive me insane as sparks shoot straight to my sex.
“Don’t stop,” I pant, feeling my orgasm building.
“Never,” he breathes against my lips, before taking my mouth in a kiss I feel everywhere.
“Look at me,” he demands, working his long, thick cock in and out of me. “Tell me who’s fucking you.”
My walls clamp around his girth, and I choke on my breaths.
“You are.”
He clenches his teeth, eyes darkening with desire and rage. “Say it, Daisy. Say my fucking name.”
“Callan’s fucking me.”
His eyes flare with possessiveness, and he grunts like an animal, his strokes graduating to pounding. It’s my undoing. I feel my pussy clamp around his length as my orgasm slams into me. A kaleidoscope of colors dances behind my eyelids. The vibrancy, the sensations steal the breath from my lungs.
“That’s it,” he praises. “Take it all, baby. Just like that.”
My body won’t stop convulsing. Wave after wave of pleasure slams into me, robbing me of air.
Callan keeps going, thrusting inside me, chasing his own release. And when he finds it, he stills, his thick cock jerking inside me. I feel warmth bloom inside me, and he places a wet kiss on my neck, stilling there as he catches his breath.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but it’s long enough that my legs cramp. As if sensing my discomfort, he places me onto the floor, his hands firmly secured around my waist, keeping me steady.
“Wow,” I breathe out.
He chuckles, his laughter vibrating in his chest. “I’m not done with you yet, Daisy. Not by a long shot.”
My eyes widen. “You can still keep going?”
“All night with you. I’ve been deprived of this for years. I’m done pretending you don’t drive me fucking wild.”
“Why now? Why didn’t you have me then?”
He sobers, a rare sadness glinting in his eyes. “You were never mine to have.”
My heart throbs. I slide my hands around his neck, tightening my grip. In doing so, I feel warmth trickle down my legs. I glance down, and there, in a slow stream, his cum rolls down my thighs.
When I glance up at him, he’s staring down at it, heat pooling in his gaze.
“Christ,” he growls, only seconds before hauling me into his arms. A laugh bubbles past my lips, and when he carries me into the bedroom and tosses me onto the bed, my body craves his again, as if I haven’t just had him.
Callan climbs over my naked body, spreading my legs wide enough to make room for him. He rests his hands beside my head, staring down at me.
“What are we doing, Callan?”
“I don’t know,” he murmurs mere seconds before his lips press against mine. He pries them open with his tongue, and I follow his lead, stroking his tongue, sucking on his bottom lip, getting lost in the very essence that is him.
I expect his touch to be frantic and rough like the other times, but it seems this time, he’s taking his time to explore my body. He toys with my clit and my opening, swirling his warm cum around the bundle of nerves, working his fingers in and out of me as though he can do this for hours. When he slides into me again, it’s slow, a pace that drives me crazy. It’s a pace meant to savor. One neither of us ever wants to end.
I get lost in Callan.
When he strokes inside me and our gazes hold, those walls I thought were built around my heart crumble along with all of the resentment I’ve held on to. It’s just us.
Just as it was always meant to be.
I take a step back from the canvas, a slight smile curving my lips. I finally decided it was time to break open the art supplies Callan gifted to me. He can lie about it, deny it all he wants, but I know he bought them for me. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking. Maybe it’s me reading too much into what’s happening between us.
There’s been a major shift in our dynamic—hell, even our relationship—since the award ceremony at Hearst Castle. Not only did he win the Pritzker Architecture Prize, but he spent the entire weekend inside me, branding his name across my heart.
During the flight home, he actually had a conversation with me, unlike last time. I expected him to push me away once we landed in New York, but he didn’t. He may not have been holding my hand and taking me in his arms at every chance, but he wasn’t as cold, and that was a start.
When he looks at me at the office now, I can feel the heat in his gaze. I can feel his need for me. And it empowers me. It makes me feel special. I don’t know what any of this means for us, and neither of us brings it up. Then after a long workday, we go back to his penthouse; me disappearing onto the lower level and him to his. Every night,
after I get Faith to bed, I feel the side of my bed dip, and every night, he slides inside me, rocking my world.
Then it starts all over again the next day.
We’ve found a routine of sorts, and unlike last time, I’ve decided to keep it close to my chest, not even telling Rose about it. I know what she’ll say, and as much as I know this is a bad idea, I can’t stop. I can’t not be with him.
During those moments he’s inside me or lying next to me, everything in my world feels right. Everything between us feels perfect, and I’m not ready for that to end. I’m not ready for that to be taken from me.
After I fed Faith earlier and put her down, I was feeling antsy. Callan had a dinner meeting with a client, and he still wasn’t back. This is about the time he would slip into bed beside me and fuck me senseless. To keep busy, I busted out the paint supplies and a blank canvas. I had no clue what I wanted to do. I just knew I was itching to create something, anything, and that was all that really mattered to me.
So, I squeezed the tube of colors onto the palette and began playing around. It was meant to be an abstract painting, but as I glance at the multitude of colors and lines, it’s quite obvious it’s a man. The masculine profile is a dead giveaway.
It’s Callan, through and through.
“You painted.”
I startle at the sound of his voice. His shoulder perches on the doorframe as his eyes focus on the canvas. I suck in a sharp breath, avoiding his gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed. I made this for myself. I didn’t have any intention to share it with anyone. Least of all, Callan. I worry he’ll pick it apart. I’m rusty and out of practice. Nothing like the professional he is.
“It’s nothing. I was just messing around.”
Ignoring me, he steps inside, standing closer to the canvas, inspecting everything about it. With my heart racing in my throat, I wait for him to say something. Anything.
“It’s beautiful.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “You’re being nice.”
“I’m not. I have no reason to lie to you, Daisy.”
“It needs work, obviously. This was just…just me playing around.”
He glances at me, searching my gaze. The air between us crackles with awareness. A stifling potency. “Can I keep it?”
