Page 9 of Saddle and Scent
He watches me in the mirror, his face tight with restraint, fists clenched on the mattress.
I know he’s holding back, not because he wants to, but because he thinks I need this—to do it myself, to prove I can.
The heat in Callum’s gaze intensifies, and it's like being placed under a scorching summer sun. My own arousal swells in response, matched beat for beat by the hunger in his eyes. His stare is a tangible weight, tracing a deliberate path from where my fingers tease and flick over my clit, the slick evidence of my desire apparent with every deft movement. I can barely withstand his scrutiny as his eyes travel, lingering at the juncture of my thighs before they slide upward, heated and intent.
I feel raw under his gaze—a sensation akin to being peeled open so every nerve is exposed. My breath hitches as he visually trails from the glistening folds between my legs, up over the flat expanse of my stomach, catching on each shallow rise and fall as I pant with need. His attention is a caress lighter than any touch, yet it leaves me trembling in its wake.
His eyes don’t stop there; they continue their journey to where the thin barrier of my shirt clings damply to sweat-slicked skin. My nipples are hard peaks pushing against the cotton, clearly outlined and begging for attention. It’s as if he’s touching me everywhere all at once, though he remains in place—an illusion crafted from the electric connection we share at this moment.
With each passing second, my imagination runs wild with visions of what he might do next. How easily he could stripaway this final layer of fabric with those capable hands, revealing everything to him in full—the thought alone makes me shiver with anticipation.
He doesn’t reach out; instead, he holds himself back, allowing only his eyes to roam over me like a physical touch that sparks every cell to life with impossible clarity.
I can feel myself edging closer to the brink as waves of pleasure ripple beneath my skin. Every inch of me is alive with awareness—of his presence, of my own vulnerability laid bare before him—and it all builds into something unstoppable.
And then it snaps, like a tight wire breaking free under pressure—the orgasm hits with startling force.
The sensation crashes through me like thunder across an open sky. The cry that escapes my lips is unrestrained and echoing off these unforgiving plaster walls, carrying all the relief and release I hadn’t realized was pent up within me.
Every muscle seizes momentarily before releasing in convulsive collapse onto sweat-dampened sheets.
I am left gasping for air that comes in stuttering gasps as aftershocks ripple through boneless limbs—a puppet whose strings have been cut. My whole body spasms, legs kicking, hands clutching at nothing. I ride it out, gasping, until I collapse, boneless, back onto the ruined sheets.
Instead of feeling destroyed, I feel…fierce.
Alive in a way I haven't felt since my aunt died and left me with a ranch I had no idea how to run, and a life I was supposed to want.
Callum moves up the bed until he sits next to me, heavy and warm, and tucks a piece of sweaty hair behind my ear.
I should thank him.
Or apologize.
Or say literally anything.
Yet, words I don’t expect to leave my lips do before my mind can process it.
“Again?"
His eyes widen, but he grins, slow and real.
"You sure?"
"Yes," I say, and it's a dare.
Whether to myself or for him to finally cave and take part of what he really wants…
It’s now where I catch onto his scent, how it intertwines with mine, dancing and flourishing into something almost dizzy inducing and yet so electrifyingly sweet.
His scent, rich as rain-soaked earth and warm like sun-dried hay, mingles with the floral undertones that cling to my skin. It unfurls through the air like a tangible caress, an intoxicating dance of pheromones that lures me into an exquisite haze. The combined aroma creates an atmosphere so thick it feels almost visible—a tapestry woven from invisible threads that binds us closer. Each inhale fills my lungs with this heady mixture, feeding the fire that simmers beneath my skin.
The sensation is disorienting yet grounding, a paradox that somehow feels right.Complete even.It’s a reminder of how his presence has seeped into the very fabric of this space and myself, leaving an indelible mark. This symphony of scents swirls around us in a languid embrace, its sweetness both electrifying and soothing as it settles over the room like a tangible promise of a future I dare imagine could unfold.
A future that could come true if I let him in…
I focus on him again—his eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that could ignite dry kindling. There’s something primal in how he observes me, as if deciphering some secret language written in the arch of my back or the curve of my smile. His gaze doesn’t falter; it only deepens as if he’s memorizing every nuance, committing this slice of time to memory.
We are tethered now by more than just scent or circumstance; there’s an understanding between us woven from moments shared side by side amid struggles large and small alike—an understanding that transcends spoken language entirely because some things are best felt rather than heard.
