Page 5 of Saddle and Scent
His voice, deep and resonant, slices through the haze enveloping my senses like a beacon in a storm-tossed night. Callum's words come as a lifeline, tethering me back to reality even as I stand on the precipice of surrender.
"You're doing perfect, Juniper," he murmurs, his voice a melody that weaves through the chaotic symphony of my body's demands.
It's so gentle, yet it carries an authority that compels me to listen.
"Let it happen," he continues, coaxing me with a patience that feels as boundless as the sky above the ranch on a starry night.
It’s strange how such simple words can wield so much power—how they can pierce through layers of defenses crafted over years of self-reliance and solitude.
The sound of his voice reverberates within me, settling into every crevice until I'm made up of nothing else but sound and sensation. There's a tender command in his tone—a reassurancethat I am seen, understood, even cherished in these raw moments where I’ve laid myself bare before him.
My fingers falter momentarily against heated skin, caught between hesitation and urgency.
I close my eyes briefly, allowing the darkness behind my eyelids to swallow any lingering embarrassment. His presence is a guiding light—steady and unwavering amidst the tumult of my vulnerability—a beacon that promises safety if only I relinquish control long enough to accept it.
Each nerve ending tingles under this newfound freedom—the liberty to feel without restraint—as if allowing myself this indulgence is an act of self-acceptance I’ve denied for far too long. There's something transformative about surrendering to what my body craves; it's as if I'm shedding old skins like a serpent, becoming something new and unknown yet fiercely alive.
His voice anchors me once more in this vast sea of sensations when he repeats softly but firmly: "Juniper." It's not just my name; it’s an invocation—a reminder that while I'm lost in these waves of desire—I'm never truly untethered from reality or from him. The strength in his tone offers solace amid tumultuous waters—a promise that together we’ll navigate whatever comes next.
In that moment, suspended between fear and longing—I realize I've crossed an unseen threshold into trust: trust in another person to hold space for both fragility and strength without judgment—as well as trust within myself to embrace what unfolds naturally without flinching away out of pride or fear.
It feels as though time stretches infinitely around us—the world paused in deference to this pivotal moment where pleasure converges with liberation beneath Callum’s watchful eyes. Slowly but surely—as if responding intuitively to someunspoken cue—I begin letting go completely; each frayed tension unraveling until all that's left is pure experience distilled down into its essential parts: touch, breath, heartbeat—the rhythm underlying everything else.
As my hand moves with newfound confidence across familiar yet foreign terrain—I let myself succumb fully to sensations coursing through every fiber—all hesitance dissolving into clarity born from mutual acceptance shared between two souls who understand each other deeply despite circumstances surrounding them being anything but ordinary or expectedly conventional.
The orgasm hits so hard my vision goes white at the edges.
I claw at the sheets, at my own leg, anything to ground myself. The world goes silent, just the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.
I ride it out, wave after wave, until I’m trembling and boneless and spent.
When it’s over, I’m limp.Panting.Sheets twisted under me, sweat cooling on my skin.
Callum is still there.
He hasn’t moved, hasn’t touched me, but I feel as if he’s the only thing keeping me from dissolving into the mattress.
I manage a weak laugh, because what the fuck else do you do after a performance like that?
“Five stars,” I say, voice wrecked. “Would recommend.”
His lips curve, but just barely.
“Noted.”
For a minute, we’re silent. He hands me the glass of water, careful not to touch my skin.
“You should eat something when you can.”
“Maybe later,” I say, “if my legs work again.”
He stands, starts to leave, then stops.
“If it gets worse, call for me.”
I want to protest, but I don’t.
I just nod, because I know it will get worse, before it gets better.
