Page 21 of The Satyr Next Door
“Oh, my God—”
He groaned like the taste was everything he’d ever wanted, his tongue circling my clit until I cried out, hips jerking helplessly. He held me down with firm hands, controlling the pace, alternating between lazy licks and devastating flicks that made me writhe.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured against me, his voice vibrating through my most sensitive flesh. “Ripe. Sweet. Mine.”
The combination of his words and his mouth unraveled me fast. Pleasure built sharp and hot, coiling tighter with every stroke of his tongue, every nip of his lips.
“Cal—” My voice broke, my thighs clamping around his head, desperate.
He growled in answer, sucking harder, relentless, until the world shattered.
I came with a cry, every muscle seizing, pleasure tearing through me in wave after wave. He didn’t stop, he licked me through it, groaning into my flesh like my climax was his sustenance.
By the time the spasms subsided, I was boneless, shaking, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.
Cal pressed one last kiss to me before crawling up my body, bracing himself on those golden arms, eyes dark with reverence and hunger both.
“You see now, Bella?” His voice was rough. “You are everything. And I will never let you doubt it again.”
I pulled him down into a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel self-conscious. I felt powerful. Desired. Alive!
Chapter 12
Gina
Then he kissed me again, tasting me on his tongue while his hands slid lower, down my ribs, down my hips until he found the slick heat his mouth had left trembling. I gasped when his fingers pressed inside, thick and sure, curling just right until sparks burst behind my eyes. My back arched, my breasts strained against his chest, and a desperate whimper escaped before I could stop it.
“Cal…please—”
“Shhh.” His lips brushed my jaw, my throat, my ear. Each word was heat and promise. “I’ve got you. I’ll always keep you safe.”
The words melted something deep inside me, something that had been locked away for years. I clung to him, thighs falling open shamelessly, rocking against his hand until I shook. But he wasn’t finished. Not even close. He shifted, bracing my hips,pressing his thick, heavy, straining cock against me. I forgot how to breathe.
He pushed inside me, stretching me. I'd had a moment to be scared, but the slide of him sent tingles through me, nerve endings singing as he pushed in. Slow. Careful. Giving me every chance to stop him. The feeling of being stuffed full of him made me clench down, squeezing him. My fingers dug into his shoulders, torn between panic and desperate need, until he was fully seated, hips flush with mine. The rightness of it left me reeling.
“Oh my God—”
His forehead dropped to mine, sweat damp between us. “Bella.You feel like heaven.”
He held still until I moved first, until I rolled my hips against him and whimpered for more. Only then did he start to move, long, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside me. Each stroke wrung a cry from me. It had been years since anyone had touched me like this, years since anyone had taken the time to learn how my body wanted to be loved. And Cal worshipped me with every thrust, every groan, every whispered endearment.
“Beautiful. Mine. Made for me. Every inch of you, perfect.”
The words undid me as much as the rhythm of his body. My legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, and when his thumb found my clit, rubbing in devastating circles, Icame again. Pleasure tore through me, fierce and blinding, my cry muffled against his shoulder as my body clenched around him. He groaned my name, hips jerking harder, faster, until he followed me over the edge, spilling hot and thick inside me.
We collapsed together, trembling, his weight heavy and solid over me, his heartbeat thundering against my chest. For a long moment I just held him, stunned by the fact that I was alive. Alive in ways I hadn’t been in years.
At some point, he carried me to his bed where we stayed for hours. Every time I thought I was spent, wrung out and boneless, he touched me again, his mouth on my shoulder, hand on my hip, slow thrusts that reignited me from the inside out. It wasn’t frantic anymore. It was abundant, luxurious, like every part of me, body, mind, the soul I thought I’d buried was finally allowed to unfurl.
He mapped me with his hands and mouth, traced the pulse points of my wrists and throat, kissed reverence into the stretch marks on my stomach. And when he slid inside me again, steady and unhurried, eyes locked on mine, I understood what the poets meant about souls touching. It wasn’t just physical. It was recognition. Completion.
By the time afternoon spilled golden through his curtains, I’d lost track of how many times I’d come, how many times he’d whispered my name like it was sacred. I only knew I never wanted it to end.
But the world had other ideas.
The sound reached me first: brakes screeching on asphalt, the hiss of bus doors, children’s voices carrying high and familiar on the warm air. The bus.
Merda.
