Page 31 of Calypso's Shield
His hands drop to my belt, yanking it loose in one rough motion before unfastening my jeans. He pushes them down, taking my panties with them, and the air hits my bare skin just as his fingers find me.
“Jesus, Lyp,” he groans, feeling how wet I already am, dragging his fingers through my slick heat. “All this for me?”
I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
So he makes me answer him. He slides two fingers inside me, deep, curling them just right, and a moan rips out of me before I can stop it. His grin is pure sin. "That's what I thought."
I dig my nails into his arms, desperate, impatient, and when I rock my hips, chasing more, he curses, pulling his fingers away too soon.
I don’t have time to protest because he’s already yanking his belt loose, unzipping his jeans, and when I glance down, fuck, he’s big. Thick. Heavy in his fist as he strokes himself once, twice, watching me like he’s daring me to stop him. Like I ever fucking would.
"Turn around," he orders, voice rough.
I smirk. "Make me."
His jaw tightens, and the challenge sparks something dark in his eyes. His hand snaps to my waist, spinning me back around before I can even blink.
Then he's there. Lining up behind me, teasing me, dragging the thick head of his cock through my slick heat. I brace myself against the door, fingers curling around the frame, breath coming fast.
"You want it rough, Lyp?" His breath is hot against my ear. "Or do you want me to take my time?"
I laugh. Breathless, aching, and so fucking ready I can’t stand it.
"Rough," I whisper. "Deep."
Then he slams into me in one hard thrust. My body jolts, my breath vanishes, my fingers dig into the doorframe as he stretches me, fills me, claims every inch. A broken moan rips from my throat, and behind me, Farris curses like a man losing his mind.
"Fuck, Calypso," Farris groans, his grip bruising on my hips, holding me still as he buries himself deeper, harder. He pulls back just enough to make me whimper, then slams back in, fast,unrelenting, dragging me right where he wants me. The rhythm is brutal. Punishing. Perfect.
I meet every thrust, pushing back, taking all of him, chasing the high already building deep in my core. One of his hands slides up my spine, tangling in my hair again, pulling just enough to arch my back. His mouth finds my neck, biting, sucking, marking me, and the sharp pleasure of it makes my walls clench hard around him.
Farris growls, deep, possessive, almost feral. "You feel so fucking good," he rasps, his pace brutal, unrelenting. "Like you were made for me."
I can’t even think straight anymore. The pleasure is too much, too consuming, and when his hand slides between my thighs, finding my clit, rubbing tight, fast circles, I shatter.
My orgasm crashes over me, hard and sudden, making me gasp and cry out, my legs trembling as I squeeze around him.
Farris curses, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, harder. And then he groans my name, his grip on my hips bruising as he buries himself deep and lets go, his body tensing, his breath ragged.
For a long moment, we just breathe. Heavy. Spent. Shaking.
His forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin, his arms wrapping around me like he’s trying to keep me in place. Like he’s afraid I’ll run.
I smirk, still catching my breath, and twist my head just enough to glance at him over my shoulder. "Damn, Law Dog."
He laughs low, rough, satisfied as hell. Then he bites my shoulder, grinning against my skin. "Told you I'd ruin you, Lyp."
And fuck, he did.
12
FARRIS
Ihaven’t seen or heard from Calypso in months.
At first, I didn’t think much about it. The Royal Harlots have their own shit to handle, just like we do. But as the days stretched on with no texts, no calls, no showing up out of the blue like she always does, the silence started to eat at me.
Calypso isn’t the sentimental type. Hell, neither am I. But something about this feels wrong.
