Page 103 of The Last Call Home
“I’m okay,” I whisper, leaning in, foreheads brushing, heart pounding against his chest like it’s begging him to finish what he started.“You don’t need to get a condom.I’m on the pill.And I’ve only been with one other person—Cass—just like you.My panel was clear.”
His eyes search mine, lingering and unreadable for a moment that stretches between us like a breathless expanse.
“You sure?”he asks, and there’s something there—more than just lust.A thread of concern.Of care.
I nod.“Yeah.I want this.I want you.”
The moment those words leave my mouth, he grips my hips, pulling me down into him, his mouth catching mine in a kiss that’s no longer soft or sweet.It’s feral.A promise and a claim all at once.I slide my hands down his chest, feeling every taut inch of him, every hard line straining beneath skin and control.
He shifts under me, one arm curling behind my back, the other guiding himself between my thighs.And then?—
Fuck.
He pushes into me with one long, slow stroke, his mouth breaking away from mine with a gasp that sounds like he’s been holding it in for years.My nails dig into his shoulders as my breath catching as my body stretches to take him in.
We move together, not in frantic thrusts but in slow, grinding rolls of our hips—me straddling him, his back propped against the headboard, one hand gripping my waist while the other cradles the back of my neck.My forehead drops to his.I kiss the corner of his mouth.He bites the inside of his lip, trying not to lose control.
“Fuck,” I breathe, rocking against him.“You feel ...you feel so good.”
His fingers flex, digging into my hips like he’s holding on by a thread.
“You were made for this,” he growls against my jaw, his voice wrecked.“For this.For me.”
And right now, I believe it.Every part of me believes it.
For once, I don’t feel like too much or not enough.I don’t feel broken or breakable.I feel wanted.Claimed.Worshipped in a way that makes my throat tighten and my chest ache.
I move faster, hips rolling with purpose now, riding him like I know how deep he is, how good it feels when he hits just the right spot.He meets me stroke for stroke, his mouth dragging along my collarbone, kissing, biting, licking, each touch sending sparks up my spine.
Then his voice goes low—filthy and possessive.
“Touch yourself.”
“What?”I gasp, my rhythm faltering.
His eyes lock on mine, dark and demanding.“Your clit.Right now.I want to feel you fall apart while you fuck yourself on my cock.”
Heat punches through me so fast it steals the breath from my lungs.I reach between us with trembling fingers, finding that swollen ache already begging for more.I circle it, slow at first, then faster, just like he likes.Just like I like.
“That’s it,” he groans, thrusting up into me harder now, deeper, rougher.“Fuck, look at you.You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
Every movement winds tighter.The wet slap of skin.The sting of his grip.My breath stuttering with every pass of my fingers.His cock, thick and deep inside me, pulsing as he fucks up into me like he’s chasing something.
Like he’s chasing me.
I cry out, jaw slack, body shaking as the pressure builds to the edge of ruin.
“I want you to come all over me, Delilah,” he pants, voice right against my lips.“Make a mess on my cock.I want to feel it.Every.Fucking.Drop.”
I shatter with his name on my tongue, coming hard and loud, my body clenched tight around him.And he keeps fucking me through it, holding me down, drawing out every aftershock until I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except hold on.
Because nothing else exists.
Just this—his voice, my pulse, and the raw, desperate way we break together.
ChapterForty-Four
Delilah
