3 7

amoroso

adverb. lovingly.

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THE DESIRE HAS SET IN strong.

It's been so long, too long, since I had Callum, since I felt his body on mine. Out of respect for our new dynamic, slow and purposeful and tentative, I haven't tried anything the whole week. Yesterday, a Friday, I came over to watch a movie with him. We cuddled and talked and cooked dinner together. In his bathroom, I was internally moved when Callum retrieved the spare toothbrush I used back when we were hooking up in secret. He never threw it out.

Still, no sex.

This Saturday morning, we wake up blearily, eyes crusted. Together we brush our teeth, tired but slowly waking up, step into the shower, make out in the shower, step out and towel off, and finally lock the door of his bedroom behind us to get dressed for the day. Outside the windows, there's a gray drizzle over the town.

Callum stands at his dresser, wearing only a towel around his hips, slapping his cologne into the sides of his neck. He asks casually, "Do you need a ride back to the dorms? It's raining."

I stare at the firm muscles of his back and the sharp hip bones leading underneath the white linen. Fall backward onto the bed, I unwind my towel and drop it on the floor. I stretch myself naked on top of his sheets, damp hair cascading over my shoulders. "Can I stay a bit longer?"

Callum glances over his shoulder, and his face goes slack. "Holy."

"Get over here," I command, propping myself up on my elbow.

But he doesn't. Taking in my body, a reverent smile graces his lips. He drops his own towel and I eye his hardening erection with obvious lust. Slowly approaching, Callum closes his hands around my ankles and tugs me to the edge of the mattress. The next thing I know, I'm on my back, the breath knocked out of my lungs in the form of a surprised croak. The backs of my knees rest on the soft blanket, and my toes skim the carpet.

Callum leans in, freshly smelling like that cologne of his, and presses a soft kiss to my mouth. Another peck at the side of my chin. One where my jawline meets my ear. He works his way down my neck, swiping his tongue across the faint pulse at my carotid artery. When he aims for a spot on my collarbone, I grunt with impatience, take his face in both hands and slant his mouth over mine.

His palm lands beside my face, a pleased chuckle falling right onto my tongue. Kissing me back, his scent curls around me, woodsy and warm, his heartbeat thumping solidly against mine. I chase every sensation—the pressure of our torsos together, the slide of his tongue against my bottom lip, his scent—with eyes closed and heart wide open.

I caress him, fingertips tracing the ridges of his abdomen and dragging up, up, upward until I can hold his face. Callum steps away and stands over me, eyes hooded with lust, and a type of care I didn't think I'd ever see on his face. Or that I'd ever have in my own heart.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Should I have done it another way? The last few years?"

I shake my head, reaching for his hand, bringing it to rest on my naked heartbeat. He's been apologizing for days now. "Whatever it took to get here. It's worth it."

Callum tucks his head into the curve of my neck, sucking slowly and laving the sensitive flesh. Teeth, then tongue, hit the spot above my collarbone and a strangled moan leaks out of me. I sounded pathetic, needy, unlike myself, arms clinging to his body.

Callum just chuckles, moves lower, and takes a nipple into his mouth. My pussy is throbbing, slicking itself, in anticipation. In the lower periphery, I can see that my décolletage is decorated with deep purple markings, and I would have cursed Callum for bruising me if I hadn't slid my hands into his hair, moaned while he kissed my skin, and whispered yes, over and over, in thanks for every single one.

Hands wander, part my legs as he kneels on the floor and brings his shoulders between my thighs. His fingers linger and explore and stroke the very top of my hamstring but never any closer to where I really want to be touched.

I tilt my head up to watch him watching me. I note his inhale and the way his eyelids grow heavy. The look in his eye is nearly predatory.

"Did you just smell me?" I wonder incredulously. A bolt of insecurity strikes me, and I swallow around the tightness in my throat, emptiness between my legs.

"I missed everything about you," Callum answers, pressing his warm lips to the juncture of my leg and my pelvis. "So this time, I don't want to miss a thing."

Every part of me tightens up at his words. Heart squeezing, throat clenching, and pussy spasming desperately. Still, his forefinger kept tracing a maddeningly tight circle around my slit without true contact. Teasing me.

Then he lays an open-mouthed kiss to my pussy, tongue moving gently and applying very little pressure. "Oh," I gasp, tendrils of electricity zipping through my nervous system. My hips buck against his face, but he's prepared.

Callum wraps both arms around my upper thighs and holds me tightly, spread open, taking his sweet-ass time. It is maddening, I'm going mad, and I arch my hips trying to get closer. More friction. More movement. More everything. He knows my body better than I do, because my brain is begging for fast and rough, yet he's giving me something sweet and rhythmic and attentive that has my core spasming desperately.

This is better than anything than I could have dreamed of, because my dreams don't have the small things, the details I can't even be sure exist for any person other than Callum. The slight stubble on his chin, occasionally grazing the most sensitive skin below and somehow stoking the needy lust building in my gut. The jingle of his dog tag necklace as the pendant hits the mattress and makes the beads of the chain collide softly. The drag of skin on cotton, when he grips my ass and brings me even closer to his mouth.

His tongue swirls around my clit and I draw a sharp inhale. The pleasure mounts inside me, swift and compelling like a crashing cymbal, shockwaves emanating through my mind. I usually love touching Callum's hair. This time, I let my fingers trace the shell of his ear, my other hand tangled with his on my hip. His ear is red, maybe from the warmth of the shower, or from rushing blood.

I don't want to miss anything, either.

Nothing about this experience should be forgotten. The sounds, the parts of his body no-one pays attention to, the way Callum makes me feel. I will remember it all.

Callum slides a finger into me, crooking it against the sweet spot inside me, stroking it each time his hand slides in and out. I can't keep my head up anymore. My hair fans on the blanket as I arch on the bed, chest heaving with wanton breathing.

"Oh, God, Callum," I moan. He's squeezing my hand as hard as I am his. "Please."

He adds another finger, expertly increasing his pace in time with the ebbing and flowing suction on my clit. Oh. Fuck.

I come for him like a sonic boom—the first peak of pleasure so sharp and cutting. Then, as my hips buck and Callum sucks harder, prolonging the tingling in my head and pussy and toes, the pleasure disperses into total carnage. I fist his hair and grind against his face, shivering against the low, resonating moan of approval he makes. The sound echoes through my body, into my bones.

I shift my head and feel coolness on the back of my neck, where I'm sweating. While I watch, rubbery-limbed, Callum sheathes himself into a condom. I stand up on jelly legs, sealing our lips together. We kiss while I push Callum to sit on the bed—another kiss, breathing labored—leaning against the headboard, and straddle his taut body. This takes him by surprise, but quickly his expression morphs into pure adoration. I think the tenderness in his eyes could be a reflection.

My legs spread on either side of his hips—his skin burning hot against my thighs—and I curl a guiding hand around his cock. Callum releases a low exhale, pulling me down to his mouth once more, our hips pressing together. And then his tongue is sliding into my mouth in exact synchrony with his cock into my pussy. He seats himself fully, stretching me, and a sound of pure lust hits the air. (I don't know who made it.)

I let Callum set the rhythm with his hands gripping my waist, rocking my hips backward and forward, colliding with his thrusts. His movements remain steady and confident when I pull him closer. Callum, Callum, Callum, my heartbeat seems to thrum. Maybe if I hadn't been kissing Callum so deeply, I would have been panting his name, too. Callum. It just rolls off the tongue.

I gradually accustom to the thickness, the length of him, gradually welcome the impact into body. My hips buck against his slick, warm skin and a familiar crest of pressure wells up, my mind going dark and fuzzy. I whisper against his mouth, "I love you."

He stops kissing me. "I love you, Bay."

When I open my eyes, I realize Callum intends to watch me as he tips me over the edge. I used to close my eyes when I orgasmed; the view was a mark of power I wasn't ready to give anyone. He sinks me onto his cock and holds me down as he rubs my clit, circling his hips. The dam breaks open and I let Callum watch everything play out on my face.

Lightning shoots from my core to my brain, and I stop thinking—I just feel.

"Fuck," Callum groans, his head dipping until his lips—dry, smooth—pressed against my shoulder. His hips give one experimental thrust, and we both moan. I feel the rumble of his moan on my skin as I pulse around him. "Fuck, Bay. You—"

He trails off with a gasp.

That's it. You.

I squeeze his shoulders for dear life as he picks up his pace, finds the perfect rhythm. Too fast a tempo now would leave me winded and oversensitive to every sensation. Callum gives me enough breathing room for every form of pleasure to wash over me and sink in. The ache of each inward stroke, then the deep pressure as he bottoms out inside me, and the tingles erupting from my center as he strokes my clit.

He's always known; I don't know how he knows. Maybe he's reading my body, noting the way my hips cant greedily for more when I'm ready, the scattered breaths leaving my parted lips, or maybe he's just that much of a fucking natural. I don't know.

But Callum finds that rhythm, and he keeps it. Blistering pleasure storms through me, straddling pain. My arousal is slick between my legs, on the inside of my thighs, on the front of Callum's hips where he slams into me. Each thrust brings a gust of air that cools my wet skin. The contrast between hot and cold—as well as the knowledge I'm wetter than I've ever been in my life, spread open for Callum, his face slack with bliss—sends me careening into another splintering orgasm, tumbling from the edge again, for the third time, so quickly after plummeting off it.

I'm coming apart at the seams.

This one, I can't simply breathe through. My head hangs in the back, eyes rolling up, and I scream his name. He feels me—he must—feels my pussy clamping around him and the irregular twitching of my legs around his pistoning body. Callum hisses my name like a prayer, his motions picking up speed until the bed frame creaks beneath us.

"Fuck, Callum," I sigh. "Oh, God. Yes."

"That's it, baby," he encourages me, plunging slower and deeper. "That's it."

Callum thrusts deep and spills himself inside me, his shoulders trembling, ashy hair matted with sweat. Yes. Here is the power and safety I wanted. The power to undo him, like he undoes me.

The safety to fall apart and be put back together again.