Page 37 of His Red Carnation

He smiled and pushed himself in further; my legs began to shake as he went in even deeper, and I could already tell that I was going to come if he so much as looked at my clit. I gasped as he continued, and it felt like it was past the point of pain—Callan’s cock was in my ass and I was ready for him to fuck it.

“I’m in, baby,” he breathed, stilling himself. “How does it feel?”

“So fucking good,” I moaned. “Fuck me now.”

Callan’s mouth widened even more as his hips began to move slowly, watching me carefully.

“Oh my God, it feels so good,” I cried out.

“Yeah? You like me fucking your ass, pretty girl?” His thrusting quickened.

“Yes!” I whimpered.

“Are you going to come while my cock is in your ass?” Now he was fucking me fast and hard and my moans were loud as I clutched onto the sheets beside me, my eyes closed with pleasure.

“Yes. Please!” I begged.

Callan thumbed and circled my clit and I immediately came—I was struck with the most intense pleasure I had ever felt as I whimpered under his touch.

“Fuck!” Callan grunted, and I knew that sound: he was coming too.

My pussy continued to throb as Callan’s hips slowed and he removed his thumb from my clit. I opened my eyes and saw his hot, muscled body as he gripped his hands onto my thighs.

“Callan, that was the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt,” I breathed.

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss me softly.

“Baby, I can confirm that your pussy and ass are the best fucking things I’ve ever felt too.”

* * *

We didn’t have to tour UC Berkeley until the next afternoon, so after we showered, I planned to cuddle with Callan for as long as possible, pressing our naked bodies together. We lay in bed, mindlessly watching reruns ofThe Office, when a commercial for a whiskey brand I’d never heard of came on. My mind drifted to my mom’s comment about his past drug use.

“So, my mom mentioned you used to do drugs,” I blurted out.

Callan laughed instantly.

“Yeah, babe, I did. Drugs, alcohol—anything that could fuck me up.” He spoke so casually about it.

I looked up at him, one hand resting behind his head while he gazed down at me with amusement.

“When did you get sober?”

He narrowed his eyes, staring up at the ceiling as if deep in thought. “The first time or the last time?”

“Both,” I replied quietly.

He shifted slightly as I continued to stare up at him, waiting for him to share more.

“I started drinking really young—like fifteen,” he began. “I’d get blackout drunk. I’d steal my parents’ car and take money from my mom’s purse. I ended up in juvie. Eventually, I started doing cocaine, and that really fucked me up. I went into rehab when I was nineteen, and when I got out, I joined the Navy.”

He looked down at me hesitantly before continuing.

“I met your dad in the Navy, as you know. We became SEALs together. We went through a lot. Jake stayed in, but I was out before I turned thirty. That’s when everything went downhill. Ifound myself on the streets in Philly, drunk and starting fights, living out of a tent. That lasted for a couple of years, and I wanted to fucking die. I called Jake for help because he was the only person I could think of; he was the only one I hadn’t ever fucked over.”

A lump formed in my throat as he looked back up at the ceiling. It was becoming clear why Callan felt so indebted to my dad, why he carried so much guilt about us.

“I got back on my feet. Found a decent job. And now here I am. It’s been eight years,” he finished quietly.

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