Page 113 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

“What’s wrong?” she asks, already reaching for me with both hands.

I crawl over her on my hands and knees, trapping her hips between my thighs, and kiss her hard. She tastes like herself and the lemon frosting from lunch. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, then trail open-mouthed kisses down her throat, biting gently at the place that always makes her gasp.

“I missed you,” I say against her skin, voice rough and low.

She laughs softly, still trying to catch her breath, fingers sliding into my hair. “You saw me a few hours ago.”

I lift my head and look at her. The words come out almost as a growl, deeper than my usual voice. “Too long.”

I yank her shirt up and off, then her bra. My mouth finds her breast immediately, suckling hard on the nipple while my handcups the other, thumb rubbing rough circles over the peak. Callie arches with a broken moan, fingers tightening in my hair.

I switch sides, sucking the other nipple until it’s tight and wet and dark, then scrape my teeth lightly over it before soothing it with my tongue. I keep going back and forth, mouthing and sucking and licking until both of her breasts are marked with the wet shine of my mouth and she is squirming under me.

“Theo—oh god—”

I shove my ruined pants and underwear down just far enough, kick them off the edge of the nest, before pushing her thighs wide with my knees, lining myself up, and sinking into her in one deep, claiming thrust.

I fuck her hard and messy from the first stroke. The nest shifts and bunches under us. Blankets tangle around our legs. I keep kissing her—mouth, neck, the soft underside of her jaw—while my hips snap forward again and again. Every time I bottom out she gasps. Every time I pull back she tries to follow with her hips. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room. My balls slap against her with every thrust. Her nails dig into my back hard enough to sting.

I suck a dark mark onto the side of her throat, then another lower near her collarbone, then return to her breasts, mouthing and sucking while I keep thrusting deep. One of her nipples is still caught between my lips when I reach between us and rub her clit with my thumb the way she likes—fast little circles that make her walls flutter around me.

“Missed this,” I pant against her skin between sucks. “Missed you. Needed you. Couldn’t breathe right without you.”

Callie moans my name, legs wrapping tighter around my waist, heels digging into the backs of my thighs. I can feel her getting close again already, the way her cunt starts to tighten and flutter.

I come first, hard and sudden, spilling deep inside her with a broken, punched-out groan. I don’t stop. I keep fucking her through it, messy and wet now, my own release making every thrust slicker and louder. Callie’s eyes are glassy. She’s right on the edge. I can feel it in the way she clenches around me.

“Come with me,” I tell her, voice completely wrecked. “Please—come with me—want to feel it—”

I suck hard on her nipple again and grind deep, circling her clit faster, and she breaks. Her cunt clamps down around me in strong, rhythmic pulses as she comes, crying out my name loud enough that the whole house can probably hear it. The tight squeeze pulls a second orgasm out of me almost immediately. I bury myself to the hilt and spill into her again, longer this time, body shaking hard, face pressed to her neck while I keep giving her little aborted thrusts until there’s nothing left to give.

We collapse into the nest in a sweaty, sticky, trembling heap. I’m still inside her. My come is leaking out around my cock every time either of us breathes, making a mess of both of us and the blankets beneath. Callie’s legs are loose around my hips. Her fingers stroke slowly, almost mindlessly, through my hair as I nuzzle under her jaw, still breathing hard, and hold her tighter, arms locked around her like I’m afraid she might disappear again if I loosen my grip even a little.

Idris

Dash follows the sound upstairs with his eyes long after Theo disappears with Callie in his arms. For several seconds, none of us moves. The kitchen still smells like all of us and whatever was supposed to be dinner that never made it past the beginning.

The silence breaks with Sloane’s heavy breathing as I twist to find him standing near the island with one hand braced against the counter, his head lowered, his mouth parted. His scent is rough, but beneath that is relief so sharp I feel it against my own ribs.

Dash exhales first. He reaches for the dishtowel on the counter and wipes the edge where Callie had been moments earlier. Then he moves to the sink, washing his hands and face, bracing himself there for a moment before turning around. “She’s going to be spoiled rotten,” he says.

Sloane lets out a low sound that is almost a laugh and almost a purr. “She deserves it.”

“She does.” Dash folds the towel over once and wipes another spot that does not need wiping. His voice stays even, but his scent warms when another sound drifts down from upstairs, Callie’s voice breaking around Theo’s name. “So does he.”

That pulls my attention from Sloane to the ceiling as a high-pitched moan filters through the plaster. I do my best to ignore my own growing need, the temporary bite I keep putting back in Theo’s shoulder giving me a direct link to his desire. I shake my head and lean back against the wall, staring at Dash.

“Can we talk about how we got to you eating out our Beta or is that too weird?” I ask as Sloane coughs into his fist.

Dash clears his throat, blinking a few times before turning toward us. “She took a seat up there while I was preparing dinner. It just happened. Fuck, I’m not explaining this to you.” He drags a hand through his hair before looking around the counter and grabbing his glasses to put back on.

I stifle a laugh as I move toward him to wash my own hands, Sloane following a second later.

Dash reaches for one of the abandoned ingredients to put back in the fridge. “Theo looked at her like he had just found his entire world.”

“He’s been doing that all day,” Sloane says. He pushes away from the counter and carries the plates to the sink, but his attention keeps lifting toward the stairs. “At Blackline. In the car. The second he woke up, he wanted her.”

“He woke up missing her,” I say.