The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(50)

Cal stood unmoving, towering over me as his eyes feasted on every inch of my flesh. His breath shortened as I freed my breasts from the black lace bra. His mouth parted when I hooked my thumbs in the band of my panties and eased them down my thighs.

“Christ.” His Adam’s apple bobbed before he jerked his chin to the mattress. “On your back.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Say please, Cal.”

“You want me to say please?” He crossed the space between us in a flash. “Then I won’t be saying it alone. You want me to make you beg, sugar?”

Oh, God, yes. “Say. Please.”

He leaned in, his lips touching mine as he growled, “Please.”

I reveled in my victory.

“Now get on the bed. Legs spread wide.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, slowly inching deeper onto the mattress until I could lie down. The touch from the quilt seemed to increase the buzz beneath my skin.

Cal’s hand came to one ankle, placing it wide. Then he did the same with the other until I was bared to him, vulnerable and dripping wet. “Your pussy is so fucking perfect, Nell.”

A lot of people called me Nell. But it was always different with Cal. It was that shortening of my name that had been my undoing from the start.

The night at his hotel in Charlotte, both of us a little raw, and he’d asked one question.

Why can’t I get you out of my head, Nell?

“Fuck me, Cal.” I’d said the same that night too.

“Patience.” He planted his elbows on the bed, his shoulders spanning the space between my knees, and without any teasing, dove for my clit.

I cried out, arching my back as he sucked and licked. He was a man who knew how to please, and at the moment, I didn’t want foreplay.

I wanted a toe-curling, blinding orgasm. A score.

Cal always scored.

His tongue worked magic through my folds, eating me like I was his last meal. A finger plunged deep, followed by another, stroking the spot inside that made my limbs quake.

My hands threaded through his hair, gripping it tightly as I tilted my hips into his mouth, chasing that glorious release.

“Cal.” My head thrashed. My chest heaved. Then everything tightened as the orgasm broke, wracking my body while my heart soared to the stars.

Our moans filled the bedroom. I’d hear them echo for months, just like I had in Denver. But as my orgasm rolled hard and long, I didn’t care. For this, I’d cope with the memories.

He lapped at my wetness until the aftershocks subsided.

My legs and arms fell limp at my sides, my head spinning. No man on earth had such a wickedly talented tongue.

Cal kissed the inside of my thigh, then stood.

The sound of his zipper unlatching filled the room. Then came the ripping of a condom’s wrapper, followed by the drop of his jeans as they joined the clutter on the floor. The mattress dipped with Cal’s weight before he settled into the cradle of my hips.

His hands came to my face, pushing away the hair that had fallen out of the bobby pins I’d used earlier. “Open your eyes.”

“Say—”

“Please.”

I obeyed.

His face hovered inches from mine, and there was an intensity to his expression. A furrow between his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re beautiful.”

I stilled.

Cal had called me beautiful before. Usually with an undercurrent of irritation, like it pained him to admit I was pretty. Other times he’d said it as we’d been clawing at each other’s naked bodies. Those compliments had been driven by unfiltered lust. But this was different. This was . . .

Intimate.

That word rang so loudly through my mind that I sucked in a short breath.

Cal caught my gasp with a kiss. My taste lingered on his lips. His tongue tangled with mine and any fear vanished, replaced with an all-consuming need to have him inside me. I wrapped a leg around his, molding us together. His arms bracketed beside my head, his fingers diving into my hair and pulling it loose.

“More,” I whimpered.

But he didn’t thrust inside. He tortured me with another kiss and his incredible weight pressing me deeper into the bed.

His kiss was languid and slow. His lips were soft and supple. He teased and toyed like he wanted me to remember this one. Like this was our first kiss.

Maybe it was.

Tonight was different, this path we were walking unfamiliar, but I stayed with him, lost in his arms.

We kissed like lovers. And instead of pushing for more, instead of urging him on, I let him sweep me away. I blocked out the past, the fights and angry words, and kissed the man who’d laughed with me at dinner. Who’d given me the best date I’d had in well . . . a long, long time.

His cock was hard against my core. He rubbed against me and the throb in my lower belly became impossible to ignore. But I held on to him, wanting the kiss to last just another moment. Another second. Just in case it didn’t happen again.

A first kiss.

And a last.

He groaned against my mouth, finally unthreading his fingers from my hair to reach between us. Then he fitted himself at my entrance, finding no resistance, as my body stretched around his length.

“Open your eyes,” he said, his cock pushing deep inside my body, and when I obeyed, his gaze was waiting.