Page 65 of The Last Call Home
I swallow.
All of it.
Every last drop.
I keep sucking him through it, dragging it out, making him feel it—his whole body shaking apart as he spills into my mouth, every groan deeper than the last.He tastes like salt and sin and everything I’ve missed.
His other hand claws at my shoulder, grounding himself while wave after wave hits him, like his body doesn’t know how to come down.
I finally pull back, slowly, dragging my tongue along the underside as I let him slip from my mouth.My lips are slick.My jaw aches.My breath fogs against the sweat-damp skin of his stomach.
Cassian is trembling.
Legs loose.
Chest rising like he just survived a war.
His eyes flutter open—barely—and land on me like I’m a ghost he’s not sure he deserves to see.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.Still tasting him.Still wanting.
And when I meet his gaze.“You’re mine.”
He looks down at me like he doesn’t know if he wants to cry or beg for more.
Good.
I wipe my mouth, lick the taste off my lower lip, and rise to my feet, towering over him.
He looks fucked.
Properly, perfectly ruined.
But he’s already grabbing me now, turning me, pinning me to the wall like it’s his turn to worship and destroy in equal measure.
“Your turn,” he growls.
He grunts, and before he can speak, I crush my mouth to his.
No tenderness.
No grace.
Just teeth and tongue and rage twisted up with relentless fucking need.
He bites down on my bottom lip, hard enough to make me groan, and I respond by grabbing his face, holding him still as I devour his mouth.He kisses me back like it’s a challenge.Like this is war, and I’m both the weapon and the battlefield.
We don’t slow down.
We can’t.
Hands fumble between us—grabbing, clawing, needing.My thigh slides between his legs, and he grinds down on it, cock already hard again, pressing into me through his jeans.
I break the kiss, panting, eyes locked on his.
“You want round two?”
He nods, pupils dark and wild.“Loved your mouth, but are you gonna let me fuckallof you this time?”
