Page 151 of Forbidden Fruit
Before I can catch my breath, he spins me around. My hands move instinctively, bracing against the wall. The cool surface contrasts with the heat of his body behind me. His chest presses into my back, and I can feel the sharp rise and fall of his breath, like he’s holding himself back, barely.
His hand covers my mouth again, possessive and grounding.
“Spit,” he commands.
Heat floods my core as I obey, the mix of dominance and tenderness sending a shiver down my spine.
His touch is all-consuming now, fingers sliding between my legs, finding how wet I am for him. My thighs tremble.
“See how fucking soaked you already are for me?” he growls, dragging his fingers through my slick folds, teasing me with maddening patience. “You want more?”
I nod, helpless.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper. “Please.”
“That’s my good girl,” he says before sliding a finger in me, then two, then three. I can’t take it; a moan rips out of me.
“Fuck, Calvin, oh my God.”
“Quiet,” he rasps, wrapping his hand over my mouth again. “You’ll take my fingers… and you’ll come for me. But you’ll do it silently. Understood?”
I bite down on my lip, nodding frantically, already shaking under the pressure. My body’s strung tight, wired and aching, and he knows it. He knows me.
“Just one more, baby. One more, and then you can come. You can take it, can’t you?” His tone deepens, rougher. “I’ve trained this sweet cunt well, haven’t I?”
I can’t answer, not with his hand covering my mouth, but I nod again.
He pushes in, slow and deliberate, stretching me even more. When he adds that fourth finger and presses down on my clit, I completely lose control.
My head falls back. My eyes roll. My whole body starts to seize around him as the orgasm rips through me. I unravel silently, shaking, ruined in the best possible way.
Behind me, I hear his low groan, laced with pride and possession.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Fall apart for me. Just like that. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
And before the tremors have even left my limbs, he’s right there, pressing close, his hard length sliding slowly between my thighs. There’s no rush, no teasing this time. Just a quiet, reverent kind of intensity.
When I forget to breathe, he’s there, one hand cradling my waist, the other brushing soothingly over my ribs.
“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”
He pushes in slowly, steadily, and when he bottoms out, he stays there. Deep. Still. Surrounding me.
A shudder rolls through him, and he exhales against the back of my neck.
“Home,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my skin. “It feels good to be home again.”
He doesn’t move right away. His hands stay on my hips, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go.
Then slowly, he draws back just enough to move. His grip tightens.
“I wish I could make you come again, this time around my dick, but we’re running out of time,” he murmurs. “I promise to make it up to you tonight.”
I want to tell him it’s okay, but I can’t speak because his hips snap forward, filling me in one fluid thrust. It’s fast, hard, desperate, a pace that only happens when the need’sbeen building and building and there’s no more patience left.
I swear I can feel every raw emotion behind every thrust: his hunger, his possessiveness, his love. He’s chasing his own release now, but he’s still locked onto me like I’m the anchor holding him in place.
