An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(80)

My cheeks feel hot with the telltale flush of desire. Cal steps right between my knees, pressing our groins together as I lean back on my palms and stare up at him with parted lips that still tingle with the memory of his kiss in the gardens.

Swallowing, his chest heaves in time with mine, two hooded eyes fixed on my mouth before he slides them back up. “I was wondering what you would look like when I make you come.”

Humiliatingly, a moan falls out of me.

The sound escapes unplanned, unprecedented, and it takes all of my effort to keep my arms from shaking as they hold my weight.

“I was trying to picture your eyes. If they’d be closed, lost to the moment, or wide and glazed, staring right at me while I brought you to ecstasy,” he says, voice low and husky. “I was thinking about the color in your cheeks. Pink, red, something in between.” He grazes a rough finger along my cheekbone. “And your mouth,” he rasps. “Would you scream my name? Pant it? Beg me for more?”

My head falls back, as if the titillating words swimming through my mind are far too heavy to keep it upright. “Cal…” I part my legs wider on instinct, and he grinds against me, his erection evident. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“What do you want me to do?” Cal leans over me, his lips near my ear, arms caging me in. “Tell me what you want, sunshine.”

Every part of me feels sensitized, tender, weightless, buzzing. I say it before I think it: “Touch me.”

And then it’s all I can think about.

Cal touching me.

Everywhere.

Without pause, he tears apart the button on my jeans, tugs at the zipper, then thrusts his hand down the front of my pants. I cry out and fall back against the desk as Cal’s free hand lifts to cover my mouth. “Shh.” He hovers over me, the tips of our noses touching, his fingers inching their way inside my underwear. When he finds me wet and needy, his eyes practically roll up as he hisses through his teeth, “Fuck, Lucy.”

“Oh my God.” I writhe underneath him, my words muffled by his palm. One of my legs raises to curl around his hip while the other lifts until the heel of my boot is planted on the desk. “Oh God.”

He drags his fingers down my mouth, tugging my jaw open, then replaces his hand with his mouth. His tongue plunges inside, our moans mingling. My underwear is yanked to the side as we kiss, and Cal inserts a long finger inside of me. A second one joins, sending a surge of blinding heat through me. My spine arcs off the desk, my elbows digging into the wood grains and likely gathering splinters. I don’t care. All I care about is the tingle that’s already climbing, sparking, enveloping my womb.

Two fingers pump in and out, hot and fast. This isn’t sweet or gentle. It’s rough, angry, aggressive, desperate. His erection grinds into my inner thigh, hard like steel, as our kiss turns messy—teeth clanking, tongues in a rhythmless frenzy, breaths sharp and uneven. The wet sounds of him roughly fingering me vibrate through the quiet office, mixing with Cal’s groans and my whimpers. I lift a hand to slide the beanie off his head, revealing his mop of hair. It falls over his forehead, into his eyes, and I fist it as I unravel. He does the same to mine, tugging at my own tresses partially draped over the side of his desk, until he’s craning my neck back.

“You’re so sweet. An angel.”

“Cal…”

“What do angels look like when they break apart?” he pants against the curve of my throat, laving his tongue up to the sensitive patch of skin behind my ear. “Break for me, Lucy.”

I’m semi-aware of the door being unlocked, of co-workers and possible customers only a few feet away, but I can’t bring myself to stop. I can’t pull away; I can only pull him closer. I grip the nape of his neck, holding him to me as his hand works me. The underside of his palm rubs against my clit as his fingers curl inside of me, not too far to hurt, but far enough that my hips jolt up off the desk. “Cal, Cal, Cal,” I chant his name, my eyes closing.

He takes his unoccupied hand and shoves my blouse up my chest, palming me through my shell pink bra. His tongue drags down from my neck, right between my breasts, teasing my scar before sucking my nipple through the layer of lace. “You’re fucking killing me,” he groans.

I hear a zipper unfasten. Forcing my eyes open, I glance down to see him pulling himself free of his jeans and boxers, then stroking his cock as he continues to touch me in a way I’ve never been touched before him. Tattooed fingers are fisted around his thick erection, pumping furiously, the tip leaking with precum, and the sight is enough to send me over the edge.

Mindlessly, I slap my own hand across my mouth to stifle my cry of pleasure. I wonder if I’m too loud, if the door is about to plow open, if our indiscretion will be witnessed by unpermitted eyes.

Still, I don’t care.

I can’t care.

I break apart, viciously, wholly, my body tensing and imploding as wave after wave of ecstasy ripples through me. I feel it in my core, in the deepest parts of me, and I’ve never experienced anything like it before. I’m flying high on the rapture of it when I feel warm spurts of liquid pool along my bare stomach. My shirt is still rolled up over my breasts as Cal releases onto me. I look up at him through drunken eyes, watching his face morph with bliss.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, jerking himself, hovering over me as he depletes.

He finishes, and we both go still, breathing heavily.