Page 298 of Disarm
He laughs, broken and incredulous. “Begging,” he says. “Like I said. You feel… Jesus.”
Caleb grips both of my legs under the knees and starts to move at a pace that feels like it should be illegal. It’s not frantic. Not at first. He rolls his hips in slow, deliberate waves, like he’s testing every angle, every nerve. Each drag hits something high up inside, a dizzy little spark that makes my toes curl.
I watch him.
Head tipped back just enough so that I can see his lip caught between his teeth. Sweat beads at his hairline, trickling down his temples. His chest rises and falls, muscles working.
He looks… powerful.
Beautiful.
Alive.
Pride swells in my chest so hard it hurts. “Fuck, Caleb,” I groan. “Look at you.”
Glancing down at me, with his cheeks flushed, and eyes dark. “No, look at you,” he counters, voice rough. “All tied up and letting me have you.”
Speeding up, just a little, and any coherent reply I might have had gets knocked out of me on a moan. Sometimes he thrusts in slow and deep, sometimes hard and fast. Every so often he puts his weight on my chest so he can kiss me, and that changes the angle enough that I see actual stars through the skylight.
Caleb edges me on purpose, stroking me a few times, bringing me right to the edge, then stopping, letting me hang there, nerves screaming. My wrists jerk uselessly against the rope, he just presses a hand into my sternum and pins me down.
“I want—fuck—I want to be inside you so bad,” I gasp at one point, watching his face crumple a little as he fights off coming.
“You are,” he pants. “You are, Miggy. Every time I move, every sound I make? That’s you. That’s us.”
His words hit almost as hard as his body.
“My brain tried to kill me,” he gasps out, hips stuttering. “I’m not—fuck—not fucking letting it take this from me too.”
“Good,” I groan. “Good. Take it all, baby. Take everything you want.”
Eyes squeezing shut, his rhythm falters, then redoubles, something fierce and determined in every thrust.
“I want to stay,” he says, like a vow. “I want this,”thrust“you,”thrust“us,”thrust“this stupid treehouse,”thrust“all of it.”
Emotion punches through me so hard it’s almost painful.
“Then stay,” I rasp, wriggling my wrists like hell to untie myself so I can touch him. “Stay. With me. Right here.”
He makes a strangled sound that’s half sob, half moan.
“Color?” He chokes.
“Green,” I say, tears pricking hot at the corners of my eyes. “So green, baby. You’re okay. We’re okay.”
His hand finally—finally—wraps around my cock and the combination of him being inside me and his fist wrapped around me is too much. The orgasm tears through me like someoneyanked a live wire. I shout, back arching off the bed, wrists straining against the rope, every muscle locking. Heat floods my gut, then pulses of hot cum shoot out over his fingers, my stomach, and our chests.
For a second there’s nothing but bright, hot static.
When I come back, he’s watching me, eyes wet, hand still working me through the aftershocks.
“Fuck,” I croak. “I…fuck, Caleb.”
His hips stutter, “Yeah?” he gasps. “You with me?”
“Yeah,” I say, blinking away spots. “Now you. Come on. Take it. Come inside me, pretty boy.”
“Fuuuck,” he squeezes his eyes shut and lets go. His rhythm goes wild, unsteady, driven more by sensation than control now. He’s muttering under his breath, Spanish and English, half curses, half prayers.
