Page 116 of Always Meant for You
He unbuttons his flannel and lets it fall, then pulls his T-shirt over his head in one clean motion. His boots come next, then his jeans, and finally, his boxer briefs. Each movement is quiet and steady. He undresses with care, like he’s shedding every layer between us.
And he’s breathtaking.
Not because he’s built the way men show off at gyms, but because every part of him was earned. Broad chest dusted with dark hair, thick thighs, strong arms, and defined abs that tighten when he moves. Every line is sculpted by years of labor. And below, he’s thick, heavy, and fully erect. This man has a body that could pin me down, stretch me wide open, and leave me begging for more.
And every part of me wants this.
He steps forward, then pauses. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say, but my voice cracks.
His brow furrows. “Mabel . . . ”
I press my hands to his chest. “I want this. I want you, Cal. I’ve only ever wanted you.”
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me with a longing that leaves me breathless.
Before I can put another thought together, he scoops me into his arms and lays me gently on the bed of pillows. He kneels beside me, taking me in with quiet focus. When his gaze lands on the gold M at my neck, I lift my hand to cover it.
“I can take it off.”
“No. Leave it.”
There’s a possessive quality to his words.
I lower my hand, offering him my body.
He starts at my ankles, pressing a kiss to each one, then prowls up my legs, trailing heat with every touch. His breath is warm against my skin, and with each lingering kiss, my focus narrows until there’s nothing left but the anticipation of where he’s heading.
He lowers himself between my thighs. His mouth is on me, licking, sucking, kissing. I’ve never done this before, never been with a man who worships me, who treats every breath, every reaction, as something to learn and respond to. His tongue moves in deliberate strokes, teasing and coaxing, then circling again. He seals his mouth over me and draws gently, and the pull shoots through my body like a live wire, sharp and sweet all at once. When he presses the flat of his tongue against my most sensitive place, pleasure coils low in my belly.
My hips shift instinctively, chasing more. He slides his hands under me, holding me open. He hums, the vibration echoing where I need him most.
I feel everything—his mouth, his breath, the scrape of stubble against my inner thighs.
But he doesn’t rush.
This methodical man never does.
He lingers. He savors.
Time dissolves until nothing remains but his hands gripping my hips, pressing into my flesh, and his mouth working me into a frenzy.
I’m coming undone.
It’s all for me. And I take every bit of tenderness, my body opening to his hands, his mouth, his devotion, each stroke drawing me closer to release.
I bury my fingers in his hair.
“Do you like this?” he asks, his voice raw against my skin.
“Yes,” I manage, barely holding on.
A storm builds inside me, fast and relentless. Heat climbs through my belly like heat lightning snaking across the sky. I’m breathless and wild, rolling my hips, and cupping my breasts in my hands.
He doesn’t let up.
And I can’t hold back.
