Only then do I pull back, pressing a slow, reverent kiss against the inside of her thigh.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her skin flushed down to her perfect, bare breasts, her body loose and spent.

I watch her, my hands still gripping her thighs, keeping her exactly where she is.

Then, low and rough, I murmur—"That's my good girl."

Her eyes flutter open, dazed, unfocused, still floating somewhere in the high I just gave her.

And then she looks at me.

Not just looks.

Locks onto me.

Like I'm the only person in the room. The only one who matters in her world.

"Please, Cal, I need⁠—"

I already fucking know.

She wants my cock.

Wants me to bury myself inside her, stretch her open, fuck her so deep and hard that she forgets everything but my name.

I want that too.

More than I can put into words.

But not yet.

I press one last kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath me. "Not tonight."

She whines, frustrated, needy. "Why not?"

I crawl back up her body, settling beside her, pressing my lips against hers, swallowing the whimper she lets out when she feels me still hard against her.

"Because I want to savor this, Izzy." I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb along her flushed jaw, tilting her chin up just enough to make her look at me. "I want to stretch this out, keep you on the edge, make you desperate for it."

Her lips part on a shallow breath, eyes darkening with want.

"We have time, pretty girl." I lean in, dragging my teeth along her bottom lip, feeling her shiver. "And when I finally take you, it's going to ruin us both."

She whimpers.

Soft, needy, already unraveling. She licks her lips, eyes lowering with a kind of hesitant hunger⁠—

and then she surprises me.

"Then can I at least take care of you?"

Fuck.

I grunt, my hands fisting in the couch cushions, trying to stay in control.

"Izzy—"

She doesn't give me a chance to protest. She reaches for me, wrapping her fingers around the thick outline of my cock through my pants, and I curse, hips jerking into her touch.

She's so fucking eager.

So willing.

Like she wants to make up for all the times she was denied this.

Like she wants to worship me the way I just worshiped her.

I groan, my head tipping back, but she doesn't let up.

She tightens her grip, stroking me through the fabric, watching me like she's memorizing every reaction, every little twitch of my body.

"Please?" she whispers, voice breathy, teasing and wicked.

Fuck.

I nod, because there's no way in hell I can say no to her right now.

"Yeah. But I'm close. A few strokes, and I'm done."

Her eyes glint.

And she surprises me again.

"I want to taste you."

I suck in a breath.

Jesus Christ, she's going to kill me.

I grab her wrist, stopping her from reaching for my waistband.

"Soon." My voice is rough, strained, barely hanging on. "But not this time. Not when I can't properly enjoy it."

She pouts, but I love that look on her.

So fucking much.

"Come here."

She shifts, settling on her knees in front of me.

I barely have time to brace myself before she releases my cock and takes me in her hand, slow, teasing, too fucking perfect. I hiss through my teeth, watching her, watching her beautiful, delicate fingers wrap around me.

It's too much.

Her skin is still flushed from my mouth on her.

The taste of her release still lingers on my tongue, hot and sweet and addictive.

And now, she’s on her knees, bare and breathtaking, eyes dark with heat, her mouth soft and waiting, my cock in her hand, stroking me slow.

How the fuck am I supposed to last through that?

It's two strokes.

Maybe three.

And I'm done.

I groan, head tipping back, my fingers tightening in her hair, my entire body locking up as pleasure crashes through me.

She doesn't stop.

Her fingers keep stroking, like she's memorizing the way I feel in her palm. My cock jerks in her grip, spilling over her perfect fucking tits, painting her skin in thick, hot ropes of my release.

I thought that would be enough.

I thought that would be the thing to finally wreck me, to leave me breathless and spent and unable to think straight.

I was wrong.

Because then⁠—

She does it.

She drags her fingers through it.

Slow. Unbothered.

Like it's natural.

Like she was meant to be covered in me.

She lifts them to her lips, and tastes me. My jaw locks, my chest tightening, my entire body going so fucking tense I might snap in half. The room narrows, time slows, my vision focused solely on her.

Naked.

Kneeling before me.

Mine.

Her lips part slightly, tongue flicking out, swiping over the tip of her finger. Her eyes are big, her breathing unsteady, her mouth pink and swollen from kissing me, her tits still slick with my release.

She smirks.

Fucking smirks.

A tiny, self-satisfied, wicked little thing, her eyes glinting up at me, fully aware of the effect she has on me.

She knows how possessive I feel in this moment.

She understands the primal claim she's staked by accepting my mark on her skin.

She recognizes that my restraint is hanging by a thread—that if I wasn't committed to taking this slowly, I'd have her spread out beneath me again, licking my own come off her skin, kissing it back into her mouth, and making her take me deep and desperate.

I exhale, gritting my teeth, dragging my gaze over her, forcing my cock to stop twitching at the sight.

I don't blink.

I don't look away.

I just stare her down.

I’m completely wrecked when I say, "Fuck, Izzy."

I swallow hard, my body still pulsing, my muscles still tight, my restraint hanging by a fucking thread. She tilts her head, her fingers still teasing her lips.

Like she's waiting for me to break.

I almost do.

Instead, I narrow my eyes, watching her. And then, voice gravel-rough, utterly fucking ruined, I ask⁠—

"What are you trying to do to me?"

I LICKED HIM. ZERO REGRETS.

IZZY

Cal is still looking at me, eyes intense like I just did something unholy. There’s a raw hunger in his stare, so palpable I can almost hear the argument in his head—whether to drop to his knees and worship me or flip me over and devour me whole.

His chest rises and falls steadily, controlled, broad and solid and covered in ink. My eyes trace every muscle, every ridge of his body that I've wanted to run my tongue over since the moment I saw them peeking out from his button-down. His stomach remains tight, every carved-out inch of him tense.

I feel it—heat crawling over my skin, settling low and deep, flooding my veins until I’m buzzing with need. Every nerve is awake, my whole body aching for what’s coming.

Then he moves. Fast.

Before I even process what's happening, he's on me, hands gripping the backs of my thighs, lifting me clean off the ground like I weigh absolutely fucking nothing. I let out a surprised squeak at the sensation of suddenly being airborne. My arms fly around his neck on instinct, clutching onto him as he carries me like I belong to him. Like I always have. Like I always will.

I barely get a breath in before he speaks, voice laced with amusement. "You good?"

I scowl against his shoulder, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his body, the feel of his arms wrapped around me, strong and sure. "You could warn a girl before doing shit like that."