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coffeefleecy · 10 days ago

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The Serpent's Repletion

Pairing: Caleb X MC

Just when you think you're free, he pulls you back into his clutches. This is part five of my Serpent series, and the next installment will be the ending.

Word Count: 13.2K

Text divider by @cafekitsune

Tags/Warnings: incubus!Caleb, smut, degradation, dacryphilia, slight manipulation, dream sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal sex, oral sex, safe words, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, come eating/swallowing/marking/sharing, possessive sex, mentions of alcohol (she has two beers with dinner), demon sex (for this reason, I'm going to add a 'dub-con' warning. MC agrees and consensually wants everything and there are constant consent checks, but because dreams/demons can be a murky area this definitely classifies. Please take care of yourself and read with caution!)

Caleb's peace offering plagues your mind for days. You fall into an endless loop of questioning whether or not the food is something you made for yourself and second-guessing those suspicions because of the handwriting. If you were to leave yourself leftovers or even do meal prep, you wouldn't need to mark the food as your own, especially since you live alone. It doesn't make sense that you could have done it, but neither does the fact that your dreamlike companion would have the capacity to do it.

Unless he's been lying about everything.

His calculated deception is tinged with enough truth to give him plausible deniability. Why would he lie about something as small as flowers? What reason would there be for him to steal your undergarments? If he exists only in your mind, there would be no way for him to leave you food. Everything Caleb says to you sparks just enough doubt that you grapple with the fact that you might be losing it.

To combat your debilitating trepidation, you throw yourself into work. It's not that you aren't a dedicated employee, but the concentration on something bigger allows you to untether from the things you leave in your personal life. You're far too anxious to face Caleb again. Whatever shred of pride you’ve clung to has been compromised, so you decide you'll quit him cold turkey and move on entirely so you don't have to battle with the guilt and the confusion he plagues you with.

The first week is onerous, the loss of his presence agitating waves of pain and nausea as you shiver in bed, cut off from the source like you're going through withdrawals. The room is colder, and your thoughts are heavier. You sink into a restless hell, begging whatever forces of nature you can think of for sleep that doesn't come.

To your surprise, things steadily get easier.

A whole night’s rest never comes, and seldom is that sleep very significant, but when you wake up after two weeks without Caleb, you can confidently look at yourself in the mirror. Your skin is still flaking in small, dry patches, but the flush is slowly returning to those once sunken cheeks. You’re finally able to manage on your feet with minimal weakness, and you’re no longer worried about the spells of fatigue that threaten to strike where you stand.

After regaining your footing, your workdays are easier and more fulfilling, and you’re able to ease back into action as much as your body allows. After the third week of Caleb’s absence, you're wrapping up your paperwork for the day, and he only crosses your mind once. You finish what you're doing, submit all your work accordingly, and grab your bag to leave. Your coworker, Tara, greets you as you're standing up.

"Hey, great work today," she beams. "You look like you've been getting a little more rest. Did you drink that tea I recommended?"

"Yes," you answer with a half-truth, though you decide to spare her the part that the tea was nothing more than a placebo. "Thanks for the recommendation. Are you heading home for today?"

"Heading home, but Jenna was talking about grabbing dinner out with a couple of people from work. I came by to extend the invitation. What do you think?"

Truthfully, you hadn't planned on going anywhere tonight, and with Caleb's absence, you've been looking forward to an extended session with your vibrator. Tara doesn't need to know about that, so you shrug noncommittally.

"I don't know, I’m kind of beat from the fieldwork today -”

"Even Xavier's coming," Tara presses, interrupting your refusal. "You know he's not much of a joiner. Going out to dinner may be one of our only chances to all hang out outside of work."

Tara's right; your field partner, Xavier, never attends any of the office gatherings. Despite being excellent at his job, he's not one for socializing. He only really comes out of his shell when the two of you are together and doesn't have much interest in connecting with anyone else. He walks you home sometimes, being just a floor above in your apartment, so you see him often. You suspect that the only reason he's even going to this outing is that Tara probably mentioned you. It looks like you don't have much of an option, so you look at your watch, sigh, and turn to her.

"Did you tell Xavier that I'd be there?" You ask bluntly with a hint of accusation.

Tara purses her lips, and her sheepish expression is just as good as a vocal 'yes.'

"So, in other words, if I don't go, Xavier won't go."

"That's not exactly…" Tara trails off when she sees the pointed look on your face. "Okay, yeah, I sort of mentioned that you'd be going, and that's the only reason he agreed."

"Tara…"

"Please? Everyone wants you there. Your meal and drinks will be my treat, and that's NOT just because you're the only reason Xavier's coming."

"Everything I consume will be on your bill?" You ask skeptically.

Tara nods, her short, fluffy hair bobbing back and forth with enthusiasm. You hate how well she knows that you can't deny her when she's excited, and you sigh.

"Fine, but I'm only going because Xavier's going, so if he doesn't show up -"

"You're free to leave early if you'd like," Tara agrees. "Though… I kind of hope you’ll stay. I’ve been missing you.”

"It's fine - I didn't have anything at home to make for dinner, anyway." You swallow the guilt in your throat. “What time are we meeting?"

Tara practically glows.

"An hour from now. It'll give you time to head home and change if you want. I can send you the restaurant's location when Jenna tells me. I think it's going to be a hot pot place."

Your acceptance of the invitation makes Tara's smile widen, and you tell yourself that you can pretend to have a social battery for at least a couple of hours. Besides, if Xavier's going, you'll have another person there who's a little less extroverted, and you always like getting to see him outside of a work setting.

After you get home, you throw on a casual outfit - a cute, denim skirt paired with a buttery yellow blouse held together by strings over a simple white tank top. You check your phone and find the restaurant's location. Just as you're inputting the coordinates on your map, you hear a polite knock on your door.

"Xavier?" You answer it, revealing your handsome field partner on the other side.

"Hello," he says. "I figured we could walk to the restaurant together."

You fix him with a cynical stare, withering with unspoken accusations.

"No," you correct. "You're here because you think I'm going to flake, and you're making sure that if I do, you can, too. Is that right?"

Xavier rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and shrugs.

"There's no reason for me to go if you don't, is there?"

"Well, you can count on going, because I'm ready, and I was just about to leave. If you'd like to walk together, we can, but I'm afraid I've already told Tara I'd at least show up. Looks like you're out of luck."

"If you're there, it won't be so bad," Xavier says uncertainly, but offers you a small smile and steps aside to let you out. "We can walk together."

Being with Xavier is easy. He's soft-spoken for the most part, but after the countless hours and fieldwork you've done with him, you've managed to peel back that carefully layered shell of his to expose bits of his personality. He's sweet, but not nearly as closed off and innocent as others expect. His carefully constructed exterior is a farce - a wall he's built for self-preservation, but working in tandem has brought a closeness between the two of you.

You fall into step next to Xavier and share a comfortable silence on the way to the restaurant. You're greeted with giant smiles and a lot of buzz around Xavier's attendance, so you're able to take a seat without a lot of interaction. Xavier throws you a look at your abandonment, which you return with a sly smile before turning your attention to the menu. An easy, filling lull of conversation falls amongst your coworkers, and to your surprise, even Xavier's joining in. Tara nudges you as you take a sip of your beer.

"Thank you."

"For what?" You ask in confusion, wiping your upper lip.

"Coming out. I wasn't just asking you so Xavier would come, you know. I'm glad you're having a good time. You are, aren't you?" She adds at the end, suddenly looking a little panicked.

"I am," you laugh. "Thank you for inviting me. I needed it. Besides, you're right. Xavier needed some interaction that doesn't revolve around work, anyway."

You both look to Xavier, who looks back at you with a tight, shy smile and brief nod, letting you know he doesn’t need any rescuing.

"Still… I'm glad you're doing a little better." Tara rests her head on your shoulder. "We were a little worried about you."

You clear your throat, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the mention of your struggles, but nod, then take a sip of your beer.

"Thank you," You reply. "I am. Doing better, that is."

It surprises you how honest that answer is, and you’re grateful that you don’t have to lie anymore. Caleb's visits feel so far away; the memory of his touch so distant. Any lingering feelings of anxiety and longing seem muted, as you’ve squashed them down and put them into a neat little box that you can only hear from if you're standing too close. When you saw him regularly, even going a day without seeing him was emotionally and physically taxing. You would never dream of a world where he'd be gone for weeks. True to his word, he only comes when called. You wonder if this entire thing was some work stress-induced fever dream, an alternate reality you stumbled into with an overuse of sleep-aid products. You shake your head slightly at the thought, and Tara looks at you with a question in her expressive eyes.

"I’m fine, just a chill." You pass off the brief lapse as nothing and take another sip of your beer.

Tara nods, seemingly placated by your answer, and turns to another of your coworkers who is trying to get her attention.

After a couple of beers that produce a pleasant buzz and tons of good food, you bid your coworkers goodbye and turn to grab your bag, only to see Xavier extending it out to you.

"Ready?" He asks expectantly.

"Are you going to walk me home?" You ask, accepting the bag with a grin.

Xavier casts his eyes to the side, his expression the only indicator that he might be a bit embarrassed on his otherwise composed face.

"It's late, and we're going to the same place, right? Unless you'd rather walk ahead of me? I can stand back for a few minutes if my company -"

"Xavier, I'm just joking. Of course, we can walk home together."

The first few steps into the night air are jarring as a bitter chill rakes through your spine and a wave of cold washes over you despite the buzz of warmth from the alcohol. Wordlessly, Xavier pulls his sweatshirt over his head and offers it to you.

"No, it's -"

"I can just get it back from you tomorrow," Xavier counters, leaving no room for argument. "It's not like I don't know where to find you."

"Thanks." You sheepishly accept the sweatshirt and take notice of the clean, floral scent when you pull it over your head. "I didn't realize it was going to be this cold, otherwise I -"

"You wouldn't have worn a skirt?" Xavier supplies.

"Mhm," You agree wryly as you fall into step with him. "So, what made you decide to come out? Was it just because of me?"

"I… suppose you could say that's one of the reasons," Xavier responds carefully, avoiding your eyes. "Not that I rely on you to babysit me or anything like that, it's just… easier."

"Easier?"

"Easier to talk to you - easier to be around you."

"It's easier?"

"Something like that." Xavier steps ahead a bit so you can't see the look on his face. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," you surprise yourself as you speak. "I think I did."

"I’m glad. You've been worn out lately. Has everything been okay?" Xavier looks back at you, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "That's one of the other reasons I came out."

"What, to make sure I'm okay?"

He nods.

"You've been different, especially in the field. It's not that you're doing poorly," Xavier says quickly, so you don't get the wrong idea. "It's just… I can tell you're exhausted."

"I'm fine," you assure him. "There's no need for concern. I appreciate it anyway."

Xavier nods, accepting your answer with a small, barely there smile. Like before, you fall into a comfortable, effortless silence on the walk back to the apartments. Xavier insists on walking you to your place, where you stumble slightly as you're unlocking the door. Xavier reaches out, his reflexes faster than your own, to hook his arm around your waist and steady you.

The two drinks you had at the restaurant aren't enough to dull your senses, but instead heighten them. You can feel Xavier's hand on your stomach, fingers lingering as he bids you goodnight.

"I'll see you at work, partner."

You pray he doesn't catch the flush on your cheeks before he walks away, and you tumble inside, clumsiness induced by embarrassment rather than tipsiness.

In Caleb's absence, you've become incredibly touch-starved, yearning for that closeness and intimacy. Despite being on good terms with Xavier, it's never crossed your mind to push the boundaries of that relationship, especially when you know this temporary feeling of desire will pass, just like it always does. It’s not something you want to take up with the HR department, either.

In an attempt to shake that creeping, insistent craving, you lumber to the kitchen and grab a cup of water. You take a long and thirsty gulp that does nothing to slake the growing warmth in your body. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, counting to five seconds before you exhale, hoping it will clear your head.

"Fuck it," you think after a beat of standing alone, deciding you have no one to answer to and no one to make you feel ashamed.

You toss your bag aside, not bothering to undress or change before you're flinging yourself onto your bed and fishing around in your nightstand for the vibrator you rarely use. It's small and just enough for clitoral stimulation, but you'll take anything that you can get. Xavier's sweater cloaks you in the fresh scent of freesia, a soapy and clean aroma that is entirely Xavier and not nearly sweet enough. You find yourself longing for the scent of apples, the tart and fruity fragrance that's afflicted your mind and ruined you for good.

"Don't think about him." You chide yourself as you lift the sweatshirt to caress your stomach and try to ignore that familiar ache.

You let your fingertips wander across your stomach, delicate and gentle, but not nearly enough to give yourself what you need. Impatience gets the best of you, so with an angry huff, you cup your breasts. The barrier of your bra limits the amount of sensation you’re able to feel, so you slip your thumbs beneath the cups to tease your nipples, biting your lip to focus in desperation to feel something - anything. It’s almost impossible to immerse yourself in your fantasies without your mind wandering to that playful, demeaning voice and those violet eyes that see right through you.

It feels all wrong.

A bitten-back whine of frustration hisses through your clenched teeth. You decide that you've had enough and abandon your breasts, slipping your thumbs from the cups of your bra to wander lower until your fingers reach the button of your denim skirt. After fumbling for a few seconds, the button yields with a muted snap, granting just enough room for you to slide your hands beneath the rigid material. Your fingertips ghost over the lace that covers the heat between your legs, the material soaked and skin burning at the touch. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you sigh as you try to imagine something that isn't the man - the monster - who’s dug his claws into your existence.

You begin to rub yourself over your panties with hesitant fingers. Masturbating isn't something you turn to often, and it's usually a last-ditch effort when sleep eludes you, so you haven't quite perfected the method. Your touch is pleasant enough, but the lingering and pressing self-awareness rings beneath it and saps your focus, the knowledge that these are your fingers driving any satisfaction away.

With a shuddering sigh, you pull your fingers from beneath your skirt in search of the pink vibrator next to you. It's cool to the touch, and the silky silicone is pleasant to hold. The vibrator fits the shape of your palm, oval-shaped with a slight lip at the end to stimulate your clitoris.

"Please," your voice is raw, cracking with need and desperation in the silence that surrounds you. “Need more… Need…”

You slide your hand between your legs and press the button that brings the toy to life with a low hum as the smooth silicone caresses your damp center. You can already feel yourself getting wetter, each pulse of the toy coaxing small moans from your parted lips as you buck your hips into a phantom touch.

"Please," You find yourself begging as you press the toy to your clit, trembling with the gentle, soothing buzz that makes your thighs quiver. "Just a little more -"

Even as the vibrations spark from your core to ebb and flow in quiet euphoria, it feels contrived. It's always taken an immense amount of concentration for you to come, your orgasms hovering just out of reach as you blindly tear through clouds of uncertainty to fruitlessly grasp around nothing. The entire reason Caleb began making appearances was because of your inability to fuck yourself to sleep.

Caleb.

No.

Don't think about him.

You press a button on your vibrator to increase the intensity, and your toes curl.

Need more.

Not enough.

Caleb.

Intense pools of smoldering violet sear into the back of your eyelids, the memory of Caleb's piercing gaze so fresh and potent you can visualize him staring back at you even through closed eyes. The cadence of his teasing voice echoes, twisting and rooting in your ears like a doomed siren song that feels like a death march. Your brows draw together, your focus and desire coalescing in a burning ache inside of you that blooms and swells with the beginnings of an elusive bliss.

"Caleb," you whimper through quivering, bitten lips.

"Took you long enough, 'cause this shit was getting painful to watch. Are you sure I'm the one you want to see?" Caleb's voice is rigid, taut with a barely contained and unsteady rage that threatens to snap at any moment.

You lift your head to find Caleb standing between your thighs, looking more exhausted than you've ever seen him. He is every bit as perfect as you remember, but his shoulders slump slightly forward with an invisible weight, and his eyes are subdued and listless with bags that mirror your own. He's wearing what he always wears - a long, white shirt with useless buckles that seem to serve no purpose and jeans that typically fit him perfectly but appear to sag slightly. The faint glimmer of a chain disappears beneath his shirt. His rumpled clothing is a stark difference from the pristine condition in which he initially presented himself to you.

"Ca-Caleb, what are you -"

"Yeah, Pipsqueak, I could ask you the same question." He lashes out in a harsh accusation, reaching forward to swat the vibrator out of your hand. "What are you doing?"

"I-I wasn't asleep. I don't understand how you're here." You stammer, confusion settling into your mind in thick, hazy clouds.

Caleb moves to your side of your bed, the mattress dipping with his weight as he leans over you. Despite the weariness that mars his perfect face, there’s something sinister in the curve of his cracking lips. The look in his eyes is mocking - challenging in the way it pins you to the bed with a fixed gravity that seems to press on your chest.

"Yeah," he rasps, the sharpness in his voice slicing through the fatigue. “Not asleep, but still begging for me. Thought you could go without me, huh? Thought you could live without this? Settle for some guy you work with instead, just to beg for me the second you get those fingers between your legs?"

Even though you can hardly read Caleb, his face betrays all of his frustrations and accusations as he glowers at you.

"What-what are you talking about?"

Caleb barks out a humorless laugh, brittle like shards of glass. It makes your skin prickle.

"I'd ask you who this Xavier guy is," Caleb snaps, his face so close to your own that you can taste the anger from his mouth as his hot breath fans across your face. “But unfortunately, I know. He had his grimy hands all over you earlier, didn't he? I can still smell him. Were you gonna let him fuck you? Sure seemed like you wanted him to."

"N-No, he's just my partner at work - I -"

"Do you think about that partner of yours touching you like this?" Caleb’s words are venomous, anger injected in every swelling syllable as his hand snakes between your legs.

"Looks like your little hunter friend has gotten you all worked up - guess I don't even need to be here. Maybe I should leave.” He mocks ruthlessly with a cruel, crooked grin. “Nice sweatshirt, by the way."

"I -" You blanch, thoughts plucked and pulled in every direction.

Beneath the scrutiny and humiliation, the stark reality is that you’re glad he’s here.

He reaches forward, his hands closing your arms in his grasp, pulling you to your feet to cradle you to his chest. He wraps his arms around you tightly, his hold on you constricting with snake-like strength. Caleb's touch, which usually brings so much comfort, feels foreign, as if the verity of his intentions has been drained, leaving a hollow shell in the wake of his fingers. He walks backward, guiding both of you with an eerie elegance until he finds the wall, which he turns to pin you against. He backs away slightly, retreating just enough for his eyes to bore into yours. He lingers there, his face so close to yours that your lips nearly meet, and you can feel his fury in the form of his hot breath, teeming with impatience and accusation.

"Why so quiet?" He wonders aloud, lifting his palm to cradle your cheek with a delicate touch at odds with the quiet rage in his eyes.

"- I don't know if it's a good idea for us to keep seeing each other like this." You say meekly, despite both of you knowing that you’re already falling apart beneath his touch.

He scoffs.

"Do you think you don't need me? Is that what you think?” Caleb’s voice drops, low and dangerous. “You summoned me - you need this -” His fingers slip into your hair, threading deep until his grip tugs at your scalp sharply, sparks of a euphoric kind of pain tingling in their wake. “You need me, don’t you? Tell me. Say it. Say how much you need me.”

He presses you against the wall and turns your head until your cheek flattens against the cool paint, the gritty texture leaving faint indentations in your skin. Caleb leans in, his breath scalding your neck while his free hand slides down your waist, slow and calculated, until his fingers clamp around your hip with an iron-like grip.

"If you're good for me," Caleb's tongue flicks the shell of your ear. "I might let you come."

"I need -"

Caleb cuts you off with a sharp cry, his fist tightening in your hair with enough force to steal the sentence from your lips.

"Changed my mind," Caleb breathes, a hint of danger threading through his words. “Let me show you what you need. Tap my leg if you’re not willing.”

Caleb pauses to allow for refusal, and when you don’t stop him, he slips his hands into your unbuttoned skirt. His movements are deliberate and restless, smooth with practice but drenched in urgency. He drags your skirt and your panties down to the tops of your thighs – enough to bare you to him but render you unable to move without his guidance.

"Put those hands against the wall for me, yeah?"

He frames it as a question, but the silky tone of his voice tears with the barbs beneath it, leaving no room for disobedience. Caleb finally loosens his grip on your hair, and you let out a shaky breath as the throbbing in your scalp ebbs to offer a short-lived moment of relief in that brief lull. Caleb uses this moment to shift your hips just the way he wants them, molding your back to his front with ease. You can feel him against your ass, delicious friction sparking between the two of you as he grinds slowly against you. His palm comes down, a sharp slap echoing as a sting blooms against your bare ass. Your lips part with a high-pitched, startled gasp, which Caleb silences with another spank.

"You gonna let me take you against this wall?" His lips hover by your ear, voice a gritty, coaxing rasp. "Are you going to let me bend you over and fuck you 'til you can't handle it anymore?"

Caleb’s breath ghosts over your jaw as his fingers flex, digging possessively into the meat of your ass to hold you exactly where he wants you.

"Yes, how -“

"Bend over," Caleb cuts in, his words sharp and immediate. "Brace your hands against the wall for me and arch your back as much as you can, yeah? Can you do that for me?"

His voice drops into a condescending, mocking lilt, as if he is speaking to a disobedient child. It’s subdued at first but carries a threatening undertone. When you hesitate, your body freezes as hot shame and want coil within you, he strikes again.

Smack.

The sound echoes in the otherwise quiet room, a dull sting spreading across the skin where his palm meets your ass.

"What did I say?" His voice is fraying, revealing thinly veiled agitation. “Are you going to make me tell you twice?"

Your breath catches. Although the fabric of your skirt and panties bunches around your thighs, you obey as best as you can by flattening your palms against the textured wall. You arch your back, spine bending in discomfort as you offer yourself to him, every bit of your defiance melting into submission.

Caleb’s hands immediately claim you as he cups your ass with his palms, squeezing hard enough to leave marks in your flesh.

"Missed this - missed this cute ass." He marvels in quiet reverence, releasing his clutches to rub his hands over your ass cheeks instead, soothing and calm in contrast to the edge in his authority.

"Pipsqueak, you have no idea." His voice breaks. "You have no idea what a goddamn nightmare it's been for me without this ass, these thighs -"

Caleb swears under his breath as his fingers slip between your thighs to find you drenched.

"This all for me, Pipsqueak?" He demands sharply, the usually fond nickname biting at your ears. "Or are you soaking your panties for your little coworker?"

All of that time apart and all of that work you've done spirals and swirls down the drain when Caleb presses two of his fingers inside of you, filling you in a way that makes your knees buckle. The stretch and pressure are precisely what you’ve been missing, ripping a choked sound from your throat before you can repress it.

"J-Just you, I - Caleb, is this a good idea?” You whimper, your voice filled with grief and need as he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you.

"No?" His words curdle bitterly. “Fine. Go find your loser boyfriend, then." Caleb sneers, releasing his hold on you to pull away from you completely. “I won't do anything that you don't want me to do. Don't fucking bother calling for me next time."

Your panic flares as he withdraws from you, the warmth receding into bitter cold. You instinctively turn to reach out to grab his arm, unable to stop yourself.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" His words are knife-like as he plucks roughly at the sweatshirt covering your body, the fabric twisting in his clutches. “I came all this way to find you in his sweatshirt,” Caleb’s words drip with venom. “And now you’re telling me to get lost?”

"I," Your lip trembles as you speak, your resolve disintegrating like wet paper. "You - I - I was thinking of you."

Caleb's fixes you with a mixed look, his eyes blazing but the corners of his mouth turned down. His expression teeters between anger and poorly masked pain. You feel yourself folding under his scrutiny. He never looks away, not even for a breath, and you realize that he’s waiting for an apology you don’t even owe.

Up close, you can see him more clearly in the dim light - the pallor of his skin, the hollows carved beneath his cheekbones, and the exhaustion etched into his face like it’s been there for years. He looks like someone who’s been living in agony - clinging to a bleak existence, and he’s glaring at you like you’re the one who’s wounded him.

"Were you?" Caleb doubts, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth from yours. The heat of his breath caresses your lips, intimate and suffocating.

"Take this fucking sweater off before I tear it off of you and rip it to shreds - it fucking reeks."

There’s no hesitation or strength to fight your urges left in you. You move without thought, needing to obey, bending to Caleb’s will, and eager to please him. You slip your fingers beneath the hem of the sweatshirt, fumbling to pull it over your head, but not quickly enough for Caleb's tastes. He snatches the fabric from you mid-motion, wrenching it from your grip with a sharp and impatient yank.

He throws it to the side without a second look, sending the fabric sailing across the room as if the mere presence of it offends him. You’re left in just the top and undershirt you wore out earlier, heart hammering and pinned to the spot.

"That's better," Caleb breathes, eyes sweeping over you with a twisted satisfaction. “But you still smell like him. I'm going to have to fix that, hm?"

Caleb drives you backward until the wall stops you, solid and inflexible against your spine. His hand snakes between your thighs, tugging your skirt and panties off in one fluid motion. The fabric crumples against the floor before Caleb lifts your legs to free you and kicks it to the side, leaving you bare from the waist down. He dips his head, burying his face into the hollow of your neck to inhale desperately. His teeth graze your skin, then sink just enough to make you whine, followed by the slick heat of his tongue. He laves it over the bite to sap the sting, like he’s drawing venom from a snake bite. His free hand tilts your chin, forcing you to bare your neck to him.

"I need you to smell like me," Caleb mutters, his words half-slurred against your skin, sounding more like a confession than a command. "I need to get rid of his scent."

"Caleb, I -"

"If you tell me to stop, I'll stop," Caleb murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive curve of your neck just beneath your ear. He pauses, his breath tickling your skin enough to make it tingle. "Do you want me to stop?"

Your conflict hangs in the air, heavy like clouds weighted with the inevitable promise of thunderstorms. You’ve done so well without him during the weeks spent stitching yourself back together. You’ve licked those raw, temporary wounds until they scabbed over, leaving only a mark as a reminder of him. Yet, with him pressed against you now, it feels as though every bit of that progress is crumbling to reopen those stitches that have almost dissolved.

He's more insistent than he's ever been; his touch is urgent and thirsty, as if it were less about you and more about the need within himself. Caleb undoes your composure with learned and terrifying ease. He has such a potent effect on your mind that you find it difficult to even behave around him, let alone think rationally. The logical part of your brain screams for distance, for you to banish him and send him into exile so you can rip that band-aid off and finally forget about him.

The longing swells in your chest, heavy and traitorous as it drowns out the reason. The press of his lips against your neck is that drug you’ve been detoxing from, seeping through your veins as an opiate that numbs and softens the edges of your resistance.

"Don't stop." The words tumble from your lips before your brain can catch them, panicked and breathless - a confession and surrender tied into a gift box just for him.

“Don’t stop?” Caleb echoes, the venom dissipating to make way for dangerous amusement. “Gonna need you to be a little more specific, Pipsqueak.”

“I don’t know what -”

Smack.

You recoil as the familiar heat spreads across your ass and you hear the smack of his hand against your skin.

“I think you need to show me how much you’ve missed me,” Caleb snarls. “Apologize to me for running off with some other guy, huh? Are you sorry?”

His question lands like a trap ready to spring if you answer incorrectly.

"I I-I'm sorry, I didn't -"

"Yeah, you're sorry?" His voice softens, almost tender and kind. “You want to apologize to me?"

When you nod, his eyes darken and narrow with a command that slices through that sweet pretense.

“Okay.” He pauses, then his following words fall like the blade of a guillotine. "Apologize with your throat, then."

Your body suddenly bows under the force of an unseen weight that presses down on your shoulders and knocks you to your knees. With his eyes half-lidded and full of a molten, irate glint, Caleb watches as you sink to the ground.

He bends forward to cradle your face with his hands, unexpectedly delicate in contrast to his dangerously quiet voice and unknown intentions. Caleb's thumbs trace the curve of your bottom lip, pressing lightly until they part.

"Open a little wider for me, hm?" He coaxes, and his smirk deepens with pride that plays at the corners of his lips when you obey. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

One hand slides from your jaw into your hair, fingers tightening in the strands while he pulls his thumb out on the other to replace it with his index and middle fingers. They press against the wet padding of your tongue, warm and intrusive with an oddly soothing weight. He starts gently, easing deeper, coaxing your mouth to accept the thickness of them.

Caleb’s own mouth parts slightly as he watches before he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. He seems to be restraining himself, reining in the hunger and fighting the urge to take what he wants by exercising every bit of his control to play nicely with you.

"Hands behind your back," Caleb says hoarsely. "I won't tell you twice."

You're unable to answer him with his fingers stuffed in your mouth, but accommodate his request and pull your hands behind your back. Caleb watches the movement, his pupils dilating, then slips a third finger into your mouth. Your mouth stretches around his fingers, and Caleb grins when he sees saliva pooling and spilling from the corners of your mouth to trail down your chin.

"Just like that," he murmurs reverently. “Get my fingers nice and wet, okay?”

Caleb takes a slow, deliberate breath as he watches your tongue encircle his fingers. His eyes glimmer with an awe-struck pride, and for a moment, you wonder if that sweet Caleb who left you food is present beneath his frustration and impatience. His exhale is shuddery, but his voice steadies.

“Listen to me carefully. You're going to enjoy this. I'm going to make goddamn sure you're enjoying this, but the second something changes, you're going to use one of those hands to tap me on the leg. The only reason I'm not tying them up is so you can let me know if it's too much for you. Nod if you understand."

You nod, eyes wide as you drip saliva onto his hand. Satisfied, he mirrors your nod and presses his fingers in deeper, urging them to the back of your throat until they nearly touch your uvula.

"You know by now," Caleb goes on. “That I know what you need. I know your desire like it's my own. I will do anything to please you, but I also need you to have that autonomy to stop me, because neither of us will be having a good time if you try to be a little hero, yeah?"

You nod again, your throat working around the intrusion.

"I'm glad we understand each other, Pipsqueak."

Caleb finally extracts his fingers, dragging them from your mouth in a slow, deliberate pull. A string of saliva clings between the tips of his fingers and your lips, catching in the light as it extends and snaps.

"Now," he presses, voice dipping into a lower, gentler register. “Give me a word - any word - that you'll be able to remember and say if you need me to stop.”

"Apple," you say without thinking, your senses overwhelmed with that intoxicating fragrance of him that you’ve been craving.

"Outstanding." He accepts the word with a smirk. "Are you going to apologize to me thoroughly now? You should know that your actions have deeply hurt me. Are you ready to take responsibility?"

As soon as you nod, Caleb answers by pressing those fingers back between your lips with no hesitation, pushing until they reach the back of your throat. The motion is sudden and deep, your body reacting with a startled gag. He holds them there, testing, his narrow eyes searching yours for any sign of refusal.

Instead, you meet his gaze, watery-eyed and lips straining, and he sees your surrender cloaked in the need that reflects his own.

"Keep your eyes open for me, hm?" Caleb coaxes as his fingers begin to move.

After the initial intrusion, Caleb continues to move slowly and steadily as he pumps his fingers in and out of your mouth. The intimate, rhythmic motion fills the room with the sopping sounds of your compliance.

"Look at me," Caleb whispers, reveling in every shiver and flinch you give him. “Just like that."

It takes everything in you to keep your hands clasped behind your back. Every nerve in your body begs you to grab hold of his wrist and secure yourself in his presence, but you know better. One mistake could be interpreted as disobedience, and the idea of him stopping—or worse, punishing you - twists your stomach into knots.

Despite the fact that he is as hungry as you are, his touch is assured and measured. His right hand moves in a slow, deliberate rhythm, filling your mouth with index, middle, and ring fingers as he thrusts them in with slick strokes, while his left palm cradles the side of your face, the thumb lightly grazing your cheekbone. Caleb's weary eyes never leave yours, so fierce and unwavering in their regard for you that it seems like they are punching right through you.

"It's been a while since you've sucked me off," Caleb muses. "So we gotta get you nice and ready, hm?"

As you attempt to formulate a response to his cruel, rhetorical question, your lips stretch around his fingers, and saliva spills down your chin.

"Anyone ever taught you not to talk with your mouth full?" Caleb taunts. His thumb brushes your damp skin as his tone sharpens, low and cruel. "So pathetic…"

The next thrust of his fingers drives deeper, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Your eyebrows knit together, lashes fluttering as concentration and strain twist together in your expression. Caleb’s eyes remain fixed on you, heavy-lidded and dark, looking down on you as though you’re something fragile - something he can break. He watches every labored gag as you manage to swallow around his fingers.

"If you're so eager to be speaking," he drawls. “Maybe you should be thanking me for giving this to you instead, hm? What do you say?"

You repress a shiver as your throat works and convulses, muscles straining and saliva pooling. It takes every ounce of focus to force those two words around Caleb’s fingers.

"Fank… Fank ‘ou," you struggle to say.

Caleb’s lips twitch, a deep satisfaction illuminating his features as you bow beneath him in submission.

Caleb pulls his fingers out, and air rushes back into your lungs with a shaky gasp. His slippery hand cups your jaw before you can catch your breath completely, smearing your saliva all over your skin as he turns your face to the left and then the right while examining you with veneration. His eyes sweep over every curve and angle, teeth digging into his lips, taking in all of your sounds and twitches as if he’s engraving this moment into his memory - like he might lose this if he isn’t careful.

His other hand slips into your hair to grasp the strands by the root. His pull tightens, sharp at your scalp, securing you beneath him as if he needs to know that you’re not going anywhere. The pressure sends waves of pleasure down your spine. For a brief moment, it feels almost loving as he tenderly strokes your jaw with his right palm—until those fingers slide back past your lips.

You accept the cramping in your jaw because you know it's just a preview of what's to come. Caleb’s visits have been solely on you - dedicated to his singular mission of making you come and wringing as much pleasure as he can from your body to make you fall apart for him again and again, while he takes nothing in return.

Tonight is different. You see it in the set of his jaw, tight and locked. You’ve craved the taste of him since the first time he let you go down on him, and something tells you that he won’t be as gentle this time. He’s desperate, consumed by need, and whatever discipline he once prided himself on is steadily dwindling.

You don't want him to be gentle.

Somewhere deep inside, a part of you aches to turn the tide - to make him feel what he’s made you feel all this time - unmoored and helpless for your touch. You want him branded with you, every taste and touch seared into his memory until it becomes permanent and something that will live under his skin as surely as he lives under yours.

"Open wider," Caleb murmurs, his command cloaked with the calmness of a lullaby.

The words slide into you like warm honey, sweet and addictive as he coaxes you to obey, your pulse thrumming with anticipation.

You open as wide as you can, jaw straining as you keep your eyes on his. Caleb’s eyes glint with something mischievous, and then, without warning, he pulls his fingers free. He cups your jaw with his wet palm again to steady you, and he spits directly into your mouth. The suddenness makes you flinch, a sharp tremor running through you as you get a good taste of what he’s given you, shame burning beneath your cheeks at how much you like it.

"Keep it there," Caleb orders as he strokes soothing, gentle circles into your cheeks with his fingers. “No spitting.”

It’s jarring - the collision of tenderness and cruelty; the comfort braided with degradation keeping you trembling on the edge, your whole body strung taut like the strings of a violin that only Caleb knows how to play.

He leaves you suspended in stillness for a breath before bending down to capture your lips in a voracious kiss that’s nothing short of feral. There’s no elegance, not the usual precision or calculated control you’ve come to expect from him. It’s all teeth clacking and tongue entwining hungrily with your own, tasting you without reserve and plunging into your mouth to mimic what he wants to do to you with his cock later. It's messy and sopping with saliva pooling slickly between your lips and his, and you find yourself craving it. The taste of him is inhuman and ambrosial in an intoxicating way that you know is too much of a good thing. You crash into him with wax wings, gratitude spilling from your lips even as they melt into nothingness.

Every part of him sings to you, forcing your focus to narrow to only him and bending your will as easily as aluminum. He is your warden and your captor, pulling you kicking and screaming back into the cell you nearly broke free from, and you return willingly - gratefully - back behind those bars.

His presence is a warning sign that has been painted over, the cautionary yellow remaining underneath as that deceitful paint flakes off in chunks. It's not as easy to distance yourself from him when you don't have that outside perspective; that shitty, sinking feeling that drains you of your sleep and very life force.

Caleb straightens up to loosen his belt and frantically fiddles with the fastenings on his jeans, then shoves them down with his boxers until they bunch just beneath the curve of his ass. His cock bobs free, flushed dark and red as it juts before your face.

Caleb’s fingers find their way back in your hair, tight to the scalp to tilt your head. He uses his grip to guide and angle you exactly as he pleases, then pushes forward until the crown of his cock rests heavily against your tongue.

"You're gonna take it for me, right?" His voice is low and steady, eyes locked onto yours without so much as a blink. "You're gonna be good for me and apologize for running off to other men, right?"

"Mhm," you manage, lips parting to seal around his head, your aching jaw already working to accommodate him.

"Good girl," Caleb breathes, approval rough in his tone as he presses himself further into the warmth of your mouth, graciously allowing you a few moments to acclimatize to his size.

"Fuck, I missed this mouth."

Caleb’s words fall in a rasp, thick with hunger. He eases back just enough to drag himself over your lips before pressing forward again.

"I've thought about this so much." He whispers in a low voice, his tongue caressing the words to taste them before letting them go. "This innocent little mouth taking my cock, looking so shy and pretty when we both know you’d take all of it - let me gag you with it if I wanted."

The shameful, needy heat spreads beneath your ribs and floods your chest. You wince at your lack of self-control and feel the sting of self-awareness, wondering when you gave up the battle. Caleb guides your head with firm, authoritative hands that flex in your hair.

"It's okay, Pipsqueak," he says soothingly, that mockery lurking beneath the surface. “You don't have to pretend. I know you've been needing me. I know you've been wanting this.”

His fingers tighten in your hair, and with a subtle but undeniable force, Caleb tilts your head back until you’re looking up at him. The position leaves you exposed and vulnerable - all of you laid bare for him to survey.

“I've been watching you..."

Caleb's steady glide in and out of your mouth becomes rhythmic and deliberate as his pace quickens. He builds speed only to ease off in brief pauses, allowing you just enough breath to keep going - just enough to feel the restraint thrumming in him and the knowledge that he’s holding back for now.

"Been watching you these past few weeks,” He admits, voice heavy with something darker than lust. “So sad, so sleep-deprived … you've been worrying your coworkers - Some more than others, it would seem."

Caleb’s eyes narrow, shadows pooling in their depths. The brittle laugh that escapes his lips is joyless and dripping with something cruel. You know he's referring to Xavier. His fingers tighten in your hair so much that your scalp screams. Then, he drives forward, pushing deeper into your mouth until the head of it breaches the back of your throat. You gag, throat spasming reflexively, tears springing unbidden into your eyes. Your vision blurs with the sting of your pain, but his hold on you never wavers.

"You know,” Caleb’s voice dips into a vicious, irascible growl. “That no one will ever be able to make you feel as good as I can… right? Huh?"

His question cuts, and not because you doubt the truth of it, but because you can’t answer - not with him buried so deep in your mouth you’re struggling to breathe. The only way to speak is to stop him, to tap his leg and pull yourself out of the moment. He knows it. He wants you to know it.

He gives you time. He holds you there, letting you swallow around him, letting your throat work through the gagging and the burn. He’s offering the tiniest sliver of control back to you - a single way out if you want it. His captivating eyes lock on yours, gleaming with that dark challenge.

Tap me.

Make me stop.

I dare you.

As you look into each other's eyes, a lengthy and charged moment lingers between you.

You could move.

You could end this.

But you don’t.

Caleb sees it in your eyes and the way you stay still, mouth straining around him, and something sharp dances in his expression. His mouth twists into a smirk that drips with satisfaction, that joy never reaching the fury simmering in those eyes.

"That's what I thought,” He growls, words laced with a possessive heat. “Now show me how good you can suck my cock, and I'll reward you for being such a sweet girl, okay?"

" he

He rations his narcotic praise with deliberate cruelty so there’s just enough to keep you shaking for more. When the fix finally comes, it burns in its pure, uncut ecstasy. Every approval is a hit to the bloodstream in a rush that floods your body and leaves you weightless, begging for another taste.

"That's my good girl - there she is," Caleb marvels - another euphoric hit to your dopamine receptors.

His lips part in a sexy half-sigh, half-moan when you take him to the back of your throat.

Your jaw protests, but his reactions outweigh any discomfort you’re experiencing.

His vulnerability makes you feel lightheaded as more raw sounds flow freely from him, causing a euphoric wave of bliss to sweep through your body. Each sigh is a reward, each haggard breath proof that you’re making him come undone.

The rough edge to his voice scrapes down your spine and radiates through your body, your cunt fluttering helplessly around nothing. You squirm uncomfortably as your insides clench and your arousal seeps out to trail down your thighs.

As if he can smell it on you, Caleb's eyes flick down, piercing and perceptive. A delighted laugh escapes his lips in disbelief at what he’s reduced you to. Nothing ever escapes Caleb's notice, including your sorry state.

"Aw, you're getting this wet just from sucking me off?” Caleb jeers. “You're filthy, aren't you? You've missed this just as much as I have - don’t bother denying it. I know you've been needing this. I know it's what you've been craving. You know that I'm the only one who can give you any relief, right? It's just me."

His filthy words have you rubbing your legs together, aching for any kind of friction; any reprieve he'll give you, even if it's just his shoe to grind on like he offered to you before. Caleb doesn’t offer, nor does he so much as shift his stance. He only watches you, slack-jawed and with that evil little glint in his eye. The message is clear. This isn’t for you right now.

It’s for him.

Your moan around him is strangled by the punishing ache of your jaw and the raw burn clawing at your throat as he fills it. Your surrender feeds him, and your desperate noises draw out his own, his moans rising in swelling waves until they spill from his lips.

"Wanna bury my cock in your throat," Caleb says, emphasizing the words by pulling you further down on him.

You gag again, but Caleb doesn't relent. He pulls almost out of your mouth, your lips drawing over the sensitive skin before diving back in, hips snapping forward with a need he’s no longer bothering to restrain.

"That's it - that’s my good girl." He groans. “Let me do all the work, yeah? Let me fuck this pretty mouth. You gonna let me come all over those gorgeous lips? Paint your face so you remember who you belong to? Or do you want me to pull out?”

You don’t want to.

You want to please him.

You want him to want you.

That fractured, insecure part of yourself that you don’t want to confront lingers from the last time when he refused to have sex with you and left you alone with nothing but your sorrows and doubt.

Caleb’s groans come in jagged notes that disperse in the air while he buries himself in your throat. His fingers knot in your hair and clutch until pain tingles like electricity. Your lungs strain, breath stolen as he rams himself deeper, pushing you to your limits. You know you’re clumsy and your rhythm is messy and unpracticed, but Caleb’s eyes dance with approval. He likes the fight in it, the way your body trembles - the way you choke to keep up.

He revels in getting to debase you like this - those fucked-out eyes staring up at him, tears spilling hot down your cheeks as spit pools and drips from the corners of your mouth. As he moves, you can feel it in every relentless thrust and harsh drag of his fingers. He’s breaking you in and shaping you, molding you into something that belongs only to him until your throat knows every vein and ridge by heart.

"Keep it open," Caleb grunts as he pulls out of your mouth, his cock soaked with spit and flushed in his fist.

He squeezes his cock and begins moving his hand in uneven strokes, each pump sloppier and more erratic until he finally shatters.

The whimper that slips from his lips is so startlingly uncharacteristic that it shocks you. His eyebrows draw together as he spills over his hand in thick ropes. His come spurts, splashing across your tongue and cheeks. He paints your face in uneven streaks that drip and shine under the dim light - a glistening brand that marks you as his.

The feeling of his fluid on your skin is strange; searing hot at first, then cooling quickly to settle in sticky patches. Caleb’s chest heaves as he draws in shaky breaths, eyes fixed on the mess he’s made of you. He surges forward to claim your mouth, lips slotting against yours to taste himself. He kisses you brutally, drawing you in close as though to bury himself deep inside you so that you will never be able to leave him.

“Mine,” he growls into your mouth, the word scraping raw from his throat.

“Caleb, that’s -”

Your protest is thin, smothered by the insistence of his lips and the taste of him still coating your tongue. Whatever words you were reaching for dissolve.

“Shut up,” he growls between breaths, lips sealing your silence.

When he’s finished collecting the traces of himself from your mouth, Caleb finally breaks the kiss. Air rushes back into your lungs and you cough, barely able to make his face out through bleary tears.

He smirks at the sight of you.

“Knew you were hungry for it,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your cheek to smear a faint streak of drying come. “That’s my good girl. Knew you’ve been thinking about this… thinking about me and wanting me so badly, you’ve been wasting away without it.”

The good feelings that the past few days have been lighter and that you’ve finally started feeling more like yourself without him slip from your mind the moment Caleb’s hands are on you. His presence eclipses everything, and the broken parts of your life don’t seem so broken when his darkness shrouds them.

For a heartbeat, nothing bad exists.

But what of the aftermath?

You don’t have long to dwell on it. Caleb’s grip tightens, and suddenly he’s hauling you to your feet in one fluid motion. That mysterious gravity he seems to have perfect command over lifts when he wills it, and you feel weightless.

He steadies you with both hands braced firmly on your shoulders, his touch grounding even as your pulse spikes. He traces your skin gently before slipping his hands under your arms to pull you up and drape your legs securely around his waist.

“You trust me?” He asks playfully, a serpent hidden in the grass and awaiting the perfect moment to strike.

“I don’t know if I do.”

Your delicate confession and fear of the unknown linger, spiderwebbing like splintered glass seconds away from shattering.

That weightless pull returns, and gravity lifts to Caleb’s will with no need for his hands. You are a marionette bound to the invisible strings of its puppeteer, no longer in control of your limbs.

He lifts you higher until you’re hovering just above him, and he drapes your legs over his broad shoulders. His glassy, unfocused eyes linger on your center as he holds you there, open, and dripping for him like an offering.

“Hold still for me, okay?” he says unnecessarily.

That phantom force pins you in place, exactly where he wants you, as the very laws of physics flex to conspire with him against you.

Then his mouth is on you.

The first stroke of his tongue is shocking as he trails it from your dripping entrance all the way up to where your clitoris hides beneath the hood.

“S’wet,” he growls, words slurred with need. “Tastes so goddamn good.”

His words are muffled, filthy praises giving way to sensation as each word vibrates against you.

His long tongue moves back down with precision to slip inside you, desperate to taste every part of you until he pulls back with an obscene slurp and flicks the tip against your clit. He latches on, suckling gently at first to pull a ragged cry from your lips. The feeling is overstimulating - so much so that you can’t think straight, but you’re unable to move, anchored to his mouth and suspended by gravity.

The way Caleb eats you out is feral. His tongue dips and circles, teasing and eager as he drinks you in. He tastes you greedily, sucking every bit of your wetness into his mouth until it’s impossible to differentiate between his spit and your arousal.

“Caleb, I-I don’t think I can h-handle it -” You whimper, thrashing weakly against your invisible restraints as each intentional drag of his tongue brings you closer and closer to the orgasm you’ve been chasing after for weeks. “T-Too much.”

“You can,” he growls against your cunt. He plunges his tongue deep inside of you and holds it there, letting you seize helplessly around him as if your body is trying to hold him hostage.

“Mmph… I’m taking everything from you tonight if you’ll let me, okay?”

You cry out his name, head tipping back as your vision swims. Pleasure spikes through you as your body spasms around his tongue. You feel yourself gush around him, slick and shuddering as your arousal smears all over his mouth, marking him just as he’s marked you.

Caleb doesn’t stop there.

If anything, the taste drives him. He doubles his efforts to tease you with a savage precision, every flick of his tongue wringing more from you as he refuses to grant you a moment’s reprieve. He takes you apart with his mouth, set on unraveling you until you’re threadbare, making up for lost time and taking back what was stolen from him in those weeks of your absence.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he slurs, his voice wrecked.

He slurps hungrily at you and takes everything you give him, high on your flavor and the innocence he’s prying out of you.

“Think you can give me one more?” He pants between the onslaught of stimulation. “Remember that word you gave me earlier.”

"I'm not sure if I can," You whine, trembling and begging for a lifesaver that Caleb refuses to throw to you.

“You can - you will,” Caleb corrects you in a manner so certain it feels like a threat. “You will. And you’d better not hold back.”

His tongue is forceful against your clit, swirling and pressing in intricate patterns as his hand slips lower. Without warning, three fingers spear into you at once to fill you. A sharp cry wrenches from the back of your throat, but those fingers slide in easily, cunt slick and accepting from how drenched you are.

“So needy,” Caleb pants, open-mouthed against you.

Caleb curls his fingers deep inside of you and strokes the spot that makes you see stars. He pauses just enough to let his filthy praises wash over you, hazy and overwhelming as his hot breath fans across your skin. Reminders of your failed attempts to bring yourself to orgasm prior to his arrival swim to the front of your brain, proof that his touch is powerful enough to cure you just as much as it ruins you.

“So wet. I could just push right in, couldn’t I?” Caleb scissors his fingers further, zeroing in on that spot. “You’d take it. You’d take every inch of me so easily, wouldn’t you?”

“Caleb, please.” Your voice breaks on his name, your eyes squeezing shut as if the darkness might steady you, but there’s nothing left to focus on that isn’t him.

“Need it - need you to -”

He hums low in his throat, a sound both thoughtful and cruel as he continues stroking you languidly with his fingers.

“Hm,” He muses idly as he languidly thrusts his fingers in and out of you. “No.”

You choke on a sob as Caleb quickens his pace. His fingers drive into you to work in tandem with that wicked tongue, and the sick amusement in his eyes sharpens. He drinks in every quiver and tremor that runs through you, intending to take even more.

“You’re going to come on my tongue and fingers at least two more times, and then do you know what I’m going to do?”

Caleb chuckles, giddy with the power. Your lips part in a silent cry while he strokes with calculated cruelty that shatters your vision and causes you to writhe - a false priest exorcising the very demons he’s possessed you with.

“Then,” He doesn’t even wait for you to respond, his voice dripping with cunning certainty. “I’m going to fuck you until you pass out exactly the way you’ve been needing me to. Because that is what you need, isn’t it?”

When you’re unable to answer, he grins.

“You need me to get that sleep you’ve been craving. I’m the only one who can soothe this restlessness, and I’m the only one who can really give you what you need. You’ll remember that - you’ll remember it every time you ever think about avoiding me again.”

His eyes narrow, glinting with anger.

“Now fucking come for me.”

Caleb twists his fingers to find that spot and attacks it with remorseless rigor as his mouth seals over your clit, the combination ripping through you like lightning.

Your ecstasy distends and bursts, the release so sudden it steals the air from your lungs. Your body jerks, your senses uncertain as to whether to flee or chase more, but gravity itself has you tethered to the wall, suspended in place, and overstimulated to the point of delirium.

“There she is,” He croons, praise laced with cruelty and thick with satisfaction as your shudders ripple against his tongue and fingers. “That’s it - just look at you. One more for me, and then you’ll finally get to feel my cock. How does that sound?”

“C-Caleb,” Your desiccated throat barely allows his name, and your chest heaves as you work to breathe.

“Hm, you’re still talking,” Caleb muses. “Guess I haven’t put you in your place enough.”

His fingers drive impossibly deeper, and your eyes fly wide open, fresh tears gathering in your burning ducts as your body shudders, pinned by his power.

“Beg for my tongue,” Caleb commands with heavy lashes. “Beg for my tongue and my fingers. Beg for that next orgasm and then thank me when I finally give it to you.”

“Can’t - talk - th-throat’s too -”

Caleb tilts his head, eyes gleaming with a wicked satisfaction.

“Aw, did I fuck your poor throat too hard?” He coos, mocking benevolence dripping in every syllable. “Is it all raw and aching? Every swallow burns? Good. That burn’s something for you to remember me by.”

Caleb’s hands are steady as he pries you apart, thumbs parting you until you feel impossibly bare with every trembling inch of you exposed. His gaze is unwavering, locking on yours as he laves his tongue over you again, reverent and thorough.

“Ngh, fuck -” He groans into you. “I’ll never get over this taste - think about it all the time.”

He laps at you greedily, lips smearing your wetness across his mouth and words dense with want.

“Only ever come for me.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Tell me, does it make you happy knowing that I’m the only one you’ll ever truly belong to? That no other man will ever make you feel this good and that you’ll never, ever get close to this feeling with anyone else?”

His tongue thrusts deep again, fingers flexing to keep you stretched wide as his voice hardens.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Pipsqueak. Answer me.”

“Just-just you.” You babble, not even fully aware of what you’re saying, just desperate for him to give you whatever he wants. “P-please - I - w-want it, I m-missed you.”

“That’s right,” he affirms. “Just me, only me.”

In the haze of overstimulation and blinding release, you barely register that Caleb is no longer holding you up with his arms. The invisible grip of his power keeps you suspended, floating and trembling, while one hand works between your legs to coax shocks of pleasure from you.

He fists himself with his other hand, each stroke timed to your gasps and sobs. His eyes roll back, lashes fluttering as he drinks in your devastation.

“Give in to me,” He breathes, voice husky and trembling with distress that doesn’t quite match the ruin he’s inflicting.

His tone is almost submissive.

Almost - but his words are chosen carefully.

“Give me everything, yeah? Give in to me.” He murmurs again, voice cracking. “Won’t you?”

He’s asking something from you that you don’t know you can give him. Your back arches as he plunges his tongue inside of you, hell-bent on making you come as many times as he can.

You whimper as he forces the third orgasm from you, and he spills over his fist at the same time, covering his cock in come while he licks you through it.

“That’s right - come for me, come all over my face and mark me with it, soak me with it,” he encourages, muffled filth spewing from his lips, tongue lapping at your arousal as you give it to him. “Gonna fuck you so hard, gonna make you feel me for the rest of your little life -”

The invisible hold on you releases, causing you to cry out as you slip, but Caleb catches you before you fall. As soon as he catches you and you’re level with him, he presses you back against the wall and crushes his lips to yours, wet and messy as he forces you to taste yourself on him the way he tasted himself on you. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, suffocating and desperate for you to swallow your wetness mixed with his spit, pushing it down your throat.

“Taste us together - this is how it should be - just you and me. You’re not going to leave me, right? No, you won’t leave me.” Caleb whines into your mouth, and it’s the only time you’ve seen him this needy, this submissive, like a switch flipped. “Needed this, can’t go too long without you, don’t make me go any longer without you.”

Caleb pulls you against his chest and wraps your legs around his waist to peel you away from the wall and carry you to bed. He lowers you onto the mattress, your body trembling and open to him like a wrecked offering.

He sheds his clothing in frantic movements so he can get his hands on you again, stripping away layers with a single-minded purpose. He removes the thin, butter-yellow blouse from your shoulders after untying the ribbon with his teeth, your tank top following. He huffs in frustration when he reaches your bra, annoyed by the hindrance. You hear a sharp snap, and the underwire gives way beneath his fingers. He tosses the ruined undergarment aside, grateful you don’t seem to care enough about it to say anything.

Caleb’s lips claim one of your nipples, sucking hard and swirling his tongue until little whimpers bubble from your throat. His free hand cups your other breast, kneading with equal fervor, then he switches to give each peak the same rough worship, delighting in the way you arch beneath him. A mental note flickers behind those dark eyes.

Next time, longer.

Next time, more.

Patience isn’t something he has in bulk, so he releases your nipple with a pop, shifting to loom over you. He presses his cock against your slick entrance to part you - just shy of entering you and leans forward.

“Tell me you need me,” he demands harshly against your lips. “Tell me you need me, or I’m stopping.”

“N-No, don’t stop -”

“Fucking tell me!”

“I need you, Caleb, I need you - please, please don’t stop, please.”

He relishes in your moans as he slips inside of you with no resistance, the glide filthy and smooth as you squelch around him.

“Sh-shit,” Caleb shudders, stammering on the word. “That’s - it, that’s fucking it. Love fucking you like this, love you - I love you so much, I love you, I love you…”

His devotions dissolve mid-breath and devolve into barely coherent groans as he presses himself in, the thick stretch making your body clench around him. His movements are slow at first, delicious and aching, until he’s buried to the hilt and the air is punched from your lungs.

Caleb pulls out of you almost completely and shifts his hips, teasing you as the head of his cock barely dips into you, then drives back in with a brutal slam. Each thrust is punishing, his hips snapping forward as if trying to brand you from the inside out. You can feel the slick mess of his come driven deeper with every stroke, like painting your face with it hadn’t been enough. He needs to fill you and claim you in ways that you’ll feel for days.

“Taking me so well, look at you,” Caleb pants against your ear, his words punctuated with need as he drives his hips against yours. “Such a good girl for me - just for me.”

His tongue flicks against the shell of your ear before tracing down the column of your neck, then sinks his teeth into you, deep enough to make you whimper in pain that he soothes with his tongue.

“Mine.” He snarls, gravelly and possessive. “Inside? Can I come inside? Is it okay? Tell me it’s okay, or I’m pulling out.”

“It’s okay, please - please just do it.”

You’re both strung so tightly it takes moments before you’re coming undone. Your fluttering cunt draws guttural groans from his chest as his orgasm rips through him. He floods you and stays inside of you, plugging you like that alone could seal you to him forever.

Caleb groans, deep and feral - his sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead as he shudders above you.

“Caleb, it’s okay, r-right?”

“You know I’m not - that I can’t.” He knows what you’re talking about and immediately reassures you, voice rough but sure to quell the anxiety swelling in your chest. “I can’t knock you up. I can’t give you anything, remember?” His thumb strokes along your cheek, eyes locking with yours in the first display of sincerity you’ve seen from him in the entire encounter.

“Even if I could…” His lips twitch into something dark, worn out, and possessive. “You’re the only human I’ve fucked in months, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Neither of you acknowledges the dropped pretense. He knows you aren’t stupid, and you don’t have it in you to argue.

Caleb lingers above you, chest heaving and shoulders trembling with effort. For a heartbeat, he simply hovers there to drink in the wrecked sight of your damp skin and parted lips with unfocused eyes that swim with satisfaction and devotion. He commits it to memory before pulling out, both of you shuddering at the loss.

A sharp swear in a language you don’t recognize escapes him when he looks down and sees his come mingling with yours, spilling in warm rivulets. He seems to think about containing himself for a moment, but his hand moves of its own accord to scoop the mess into his fingers and back inside of you, forcing you to hold as much of his come as you can.

“You’re incredible,” Caleb breathes, transfixed as awe colors his voice.

He retracts his fingers from your trembling body, the slick sound making your skin prickle, and brings his other hand to your face. His grip is firm and commanding as he tilts your head until you’re forced to meet his gaze. Without hesitation, he slips those wet fingers between your parted lips, pushing deep enough for your jaw to strain.

“Good girl,” Caleb rasps, a grin curling against the rough edge of his voice. “Taste it. Taste us.”

You’re too spent to fight it, and the taste barely registers beyond the faint salinity and musk. Your mouth moves around his fingers automatically as your instincts give way to submission. He watches gleefully as your tongue sweeps around his fingers, and his grin deepens when you swallow.

Caleb pries your lips wider with those same fingers and leans down to close the space between you. His mouth claims yours, his tongue tracing the shape of your lips before pressing inside to tangle with yours. He tastes you together, massaging his tongue against yours as if determined to intertwine the two of you until you’re one being entirely.

“So delicious,” Caleb murmurs against your lips. “Perfect just for me. So good - only for me.”

He pulls you into his arms and pulls your trembling body against his own despite the slick mingling of come and sweat between you. His arms cradle you gently, and one hand lifts to stroke your sweaty hair from your face with a touch so achingly tender that for a moment, you allow yourself to sink into it - to pretend.

It almost feels real.

“You’re okay.” His voice drifts to you through the haze of your exhaustion. “You're okay, sweetheart. I was a little rough on you this time, but you did so well for me. Took me so well, even after all that time apart.”

“Just a few weeks,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.

“Felt like eternity,” Caleb murmurs, words shrouded in something dark - something that isn’t entirely human. “And I know something about being condemned to eternity.”

Confusion pierces through the fatigue as your sluggish mind latches onto those words.

“What do you mean?” Your voice sounds foreign to your ears, as if you’re trying to speak underwater.

Caleb’s lips curve, but it’s not quite a smile. His thumb ghosts over your cheekbone as he hushes you.

“Rest those eyes for me, okay? Sleep. You need it. You deserve it.”

You’re too far gone to push further and too consumed by the heavy warmth and comfort his arms provide. Your eyelids grow heavy, and as you drift, you can feel his fingers soothing your hair away from your face.

“You taste sweeter every time,” he whispers so quietly, you’re not certain you haven’t imagined it. “You’re mine. Every kiss, every touch, every heartbeat - all mine.”

The words sink into you as your consciousness ebbs - a final, fleeting reminder of how empty he left you - how he feasted on you and drank more than your body could give, sapping your very essence to leave you hollow in his absence.

You don’t dwell on it, because the thought is just that.

Fleeting.

You surrender to sleep cradled in the arms of the very thing you know you should fear. A/N - Hi! Sorry for the delay with this. Truthfully, this story has taken a lot longer than I planned. I was going to post the ending fully, but this portion would have been well over 50k words, and ultimately, it made more sense to break it up. I have finished the ending and want to polish it so that it's exactly how I want it. The next part is absolutely going to be the last. Huge thank you to my amazing friends Joobi and Ajax for reading over this for me and calming me down - they were so, SO much help, and I likely wouldn't have felt confident posting this without them. Joobi, huge shout out for helping me so much with the title!

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coffeefleecy · 11 days ago