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pathofcomets · 21 days ago

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i've never found a way to be honest

fandom: love and deepspace pairing: caleb/you (2nd POV) summary: 4 times you almost made Caleb lose control, and 1 time you actually did. (6.8k words, rated E.)

“I’m sorry ladies,” his friend says, grinning because he knows he’s the next best thing. “Caleb here has a girlfriend!”

There’s a chorus of disappointed sounds, and you smile, before stepping right next to him, your hand resting on Caleb’s shoulder, propping yourself for the height difference, as you get on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek.

His arm is around your waist immediately, and his smile tells you that he knows you’ve been here for a while, waiting for the best moment to make yourself known. It’s rare that you allow the dramatics of your arrangements to be so elaborate, but he supposes the occasion asks for it, seeing as how it’s his graduation.

Maybe that is why he is so daring now too, turning to kiss you fully on your lips.

You press firmer against his mouth, and when he tugs at your lower lip, you open your mouth, allowing him entry, his tongue almost immediately against yours. He’s not being fair, but neither are you, and it’s annoying you know each other so well. You’ve spent many summers in the attic doing just this, languishing make out sessions, exploring and pushing newly grown bodies, safe in your relationship like you wouldn’t have been with anyone else.

But you don’t like when he plays those moments, some of your most treasured memories, for others.

Your hand moves to his back, under his t-shirt, and pinches - hard . He lets go with a gasp, his eyes sharpening in a warning. You smile at him, your eyes moving around you, where his adoring audience has now dispersed.

“What if I wanted to kiss you for the sake of kissing you, huh?” he says, his expression softening when you moodily push your graduation gift to him.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” you say decisively. “It’s been years since you wanted that.”

“Minutes, at most,” Caleb mutters, and your eyes narrow at him.

It’s not fun to be teased for what you want, just because you can’t have it.

And you turn on your heels, knowing he’ll follow you towards the restaurant. If he wants the truth, then you’ll give it to him, it’s just that he won’t like it, as usual. Caleb is not a man who can take what you want to give. Not yet, though, you think - the army is surely going to straighten him out.

Still, when you’re seated across from him at the table, you can’t help giving him a little taste, regardless. In the warm room, you take off your blazer, revealing a deep cut blouse underneath, showing a bit too much chest. When you lean over the table, trying to ask for a refill of your drink, you can feel Caleb’s gaze following the push of your boobs against the tight material, the risen shape of your nipples through. You’ve planned for him to see this while back at home, potentially while congratulating him with an upgrade in your relationship, but the earlier interaction unrooted you, made you unsure Caleb wants you for anything more than a convenient ruse.

A ruse that is coming to an end from today. Last day as his non-official official girlfriend. You’re not sure what you’ll do with your limited free time, now that you won’t get to run to his side anymore.

You can feel his eyes on you all throughout the dinner, and he’s bordering on being rude, giving mere curt answers to anyone who tries to engage him. When, after turning around in your chair to greet an old acquaintance, you settle back, it takes you a while to notice the edge of the lace of your bra showing, the material of your shirt pulled too low. It’s only Caleb’s insistent gaze that makes you realise this little faux paux.

You’re nothing but prim and proper for the rest of the evening, and Caleb almost misses it. That’s until you’re in the back of the cab home, and you turn towards him, grabbing his hand in yours.

You’re drunkenly daring, Caleb thinks, as you settle his palm over your chest, cupping one of your boobs. His finger strays, he’s only a man after all, dipping under that lace edge he’s peeked at earlier, pressing against the softness of your breast.

You lean in closer, and when you kiss him, it’s like he kissed you earlier, like you’ve hungered for him, which is why Caleb slips his entire hand inside your bra, tugging at the clothes until he can catch your nipple, fondle with the entirety of your boob. He catches your moan in his mouth, he would kill the poor taxi driver if he gets to hear your pretty moans right now.

It’s your hand on his bulge that reminds him what he’s doing, with whom and where. You deserve better than groping in the dark back seat of a car, half drunk, with the childhood friend you may have been interested in kissing and touching at fifteen, but maybe not so much now, not when he’s finally relieved of your duty to play pretend in being his girlfriend.

And because of that, he shakes your hold off, turns to look out the window, pointedly ignoring you. You do the same on your side, wishing that you indeed drunk something stronger than apple juice.

He rings you again, though, with the same excuse of being his girlfriend, just new people to fool.

***

This movie is boring, another war drama that Caleb is so taken with. Heroics are always admirable in men, and almost always condemned in women, which is why you’ve been silent all throughout it: giving him the time to make peace with the idea that you’ll be a Hunter, and danger comes with the job description. It isn’t fair that he thinks he’s allowed to go out there and potentially get hurt, and then get upset when you want to do the same thing.

You’ve grown up together, after all. There’s no wonder you’ve ended up so similar, even in your differences. He can be the one waiting for a change.

You push against his shoulder with yours.

“Are you still upset?”

“I’m never upset at you,” he quickly replies, eyes never leaving the screen, entirely focused.

You chuckle, shifting just a bit closer to him, lifting your hand to rest it at the nape of his neck. Your fingers start playing with his soft hair, eventually massaging his scalp. He sighs, leaning his head a bit harder against your touch, his gaze turning the slightest bit unfocused as he’s chasing that pleasurable feeling. It’s the most he’s received from you in a while, but he’s also not ready just yet to make everything good between you again. Because then he won’t be able to stop himself until it’s great, and then until it’s perfect. He’s grown now, he can’t allow you to become his sole focus.

It’s not a matter of allowing anything for you, though. Just desiring and taking. You move again, lifting on your knees, and then throwing one over his body, shuffling until you’re perfectly settled in his lap. You settle over his hips, pressing hard against the bulge in his pants. You know it already, he’d feel so good inside you, his fat cock sliding in and out…

Caleb is a master of self-restraint, because his only reaction was a mere gasp when your hand accidentally brushed his abs, a bit too low for comfort.

“What are you doing?” he asks, throwing a glance your way, as you start moving your hips, grinding them against his.

“Just continue watching your movie,” you reply, leaning closer to hold on to his shoulders for support, placing a kiss against his cheek before twisting your hip, your clit perfectly aligned with his growing bulge.

You gasp. Fuck, that felt good. If you can’t have the real thing, then at least this is better than what you’ve been reduced to doing, grinding your naked cunt against a pillow, face pushed against the mattress to try and muffle the sound of his name. You don’t yet have the luxury of not living with your grandmother, so at the end of that, you’re always red and ashamed as you’re hand-washing the pillow case in secret, in the middle of the night.

Caleb listens to you, his face turned back towards the screen, even as you notice him biting his lip when you press particularly hard, or when he can feel the growing wet spot on your shorts, since you foregone underwear entirely. He’s being petty, because he doesn’t even touch you to help you, and you can feel your thighs trembling with exhaustion, even as you’re now getting close, even as the pleasure is building inside you.

“I want you to chase that feeling, m’kay? Do whatever feels good for you,” Caleb says, in a voice that slightly resembles his commanding one at work, though you can tell it’s so just so he can pretend he has some semblance of control over this situation.

You shift, one palm pushing against the back of the couch, the other hand digging into his shoulder so painfully he groans. And then, you stop giving a fuck about Caleb at all. You simply use him, his cock rock hard beneath you, as you grind your cunt against it. He gasps and moans at times, but you’re too lost in chasing your own orgasm to care, pressing harder, settling into a merciless angle to get you off. You’re sweating in earnest now, your hair sticking to your forehead, and you mewl with the frustration, being so close, your body exhausting before your release.

But then Caleb shifts, angry at your anger, angry that if you simply asked him for help, you’d have come by now. He’s still looking at the tv, but one of his hand grasps one of your boobs, tears at the loose neckline of your top, until he finds your nipple. He doesn’t bother to ease you into it, you’re too worked up to appreciate it, so he simply pinches your nipple between his fingers, as hard as he can. Your hips stutter, a high, sharp moan out of your moan, broken against the first syllable of his name.

He buckles his hips, meeting your movement halfway, and the moaning continues.

“Yes, yes, please Cale-”

His head leans over your body, his mouth finding your other breast. You’re rutting against him like a real bitch in heat, so he doesn’t care, he merely bites into the softness of your chest, knowing he’s marking you, thinking it’s the least you deserve after making him go through this.

Your hips still, your body trembling against his, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you allow the orgasm to wash over you. It’s only a few seconds that you need, and then you can just grab at his cock, demand him to fuck you, knowing you’d be so wet and ready for him.

He pushes you off before you’ve even got the time to catch your breath. One second more, and you might figure out he just came in his pants.

***

You know this voice.

“Caleb?”

“It’s real. It’s me, I’m back.”

You move without realising, pushing forth into his arms, an embrace that takes a bit too long for him to reciprocate. It’s been over a year, during which you’ve mourned him every single second. There’s nothing in this universe that will make up for that kind of loss, and nothing in this universe better than this moment right here. Even as you think it, you know it’s tainted, changed, something not yet understood having built a wall between the two of you.

He is Caleb. He is not your Caleb anymore, not in full.

You shake your head as you let go, taking the time to properly look him up and down. He’s leaner now, his face more serious, his motions just a bit more weary. They’ve done something to him, and you don’t know what yet, you don’t even know who they are, but all you know is you’ve been here first. Caleb was yours first. It might take another year, or more, but you’ll get him back. And never will he go, not like… not like that.

You pull yourself together, into the Hunter you’ve become in his absence. You’re not his either anymore, and you’re half dreading what this means for your relationship, how you’ll learn the new steps of who you are, separately and together.

You play your role well, too well in Caleb’s opinion. He has no idea when his pipsqueak got so good at lying, though he supposes he doesn’t have the right to be blaming you for any of this. You had to survive without him, didn’t you? It’s his fault, really, which is why he has to make it up to you, which is why he’s taking you back to his place.

You’re too agitated to calm down, but he tries - the usual way, first. He offers you your favourite drink, which he’s been stocking even without knowing if he’ll ever see you again. He tries to put on your favourite show. It’s all such poor mimicry of your previous lives, it hurts.

“Caleb,” you say, and he stops his pacing in the living room to look at you, finally standing in the middle of his world; really, how can he possibly let you go now?

He looks good like this, a decorated colonel. You’ve always known he’s spectacular and extraordinary, but you didn’t know someone else sees him like that, too. And then something ugly rears its head, making your stomach twist. How many others have seen him like this, painfully handsome and in control? How many others have said his name, and had him drop everything for them?

Your control slips. Your calm snaps.

You step closer to him - and then, close enough, you drop to your knees in front of him. The floor is hard, and you know it’ll leave bruises, but you only care about his gaze on you, as you lift your hands, fingers working quickly to unbuckle his pants.

He pulls at your hair, hard, stopping your actions.

“Please,” you babble, desperate now, feeling the tears spring to your eyes without you willing them to. “I need to know you’re truly here, and this -”

This, you think, it’s the only way you won’t lie to me.

He lets go, though not entirely, enough to massage against the spot that he hurt just a mere second earlier. You lick your lips, eyeing the bulge in front of you. You’re not above anything, when it comes to him.

“Please,” you beg again.

“You need to rest,” he says, sounding entirely unaffected.

“I need you.”

And you hurt, because you’ve never had him, not like this, not even before. You’ve gotten close, and then you’ve made peace with losing everything, and now that it’s all back, the want is overwhelming. You need him to fuck you. Now.

He hums, like he’s actually taking your words and needs into consideration. At least before, he pretended at it better.

“My cock or nothing, Pipsqueak.”

And he lets go of your hair. You move, quick and desperate, continuing with what you’ve started. When his cock springs free, you sigh, happy at least something is finally going your way.

You’ve never done this, but Caleb doesn’t care. You start by peppering soft kisses across his cock, feeling him growing under your lips. You’re tentative when you take his tip into your mouth, too scared you might hurt him, but Caleb groans instead, his hips buckling, his cock sinking deeper into your wet warmth. Your tongue swirls, tasting him, and your hand squeezes at the base of his dick, the bit that you cannot fit inside your mouth. He is bitter, a tiny bit salty, and he tastes so fucking good. As you start moving, your head bobbing over the tip, hand working in the same rhythm, you wonder how many times he’s imagined you like this, if he ever touched himself to this.

You lift your eyes, finding Caleb’s. He looks like he’s in pain, trying to keep up the control over his body, but as you continue with your ministrations, saliva pooling at the corner of your mouth, making your movement sloppier, wetter, that control vanishes, slowly but surely. When your hold tightens, his eyes close for a second, and you can feel his thighs trembling, his cock twitching. You can taste the precum on your tongue, and that is followed by the same sharp pull at your hair.

Good to know, next time you’ll wear it in a ponytail, all the better to hold on to.

Caleb pushes you away, and you rest on your legs, confused. But then he takes hold of his cock in his hand, fisting it in his grip, as he looks at you, awash with anger and frustration. That you’re back to torment him, that he wants you so much, that the more you claim him, the more difficult you make your life, that he’d want it no other fucking way.

He comes all over your face, some of his cum in your eyelashes, most over your cheeks and lips. He leans over you, and with his other hand, he spreads it, pools it over your lips, and without him needing to tell you, you open your mouth.

He presses his thumb, hard, on your tongue.

“Don’t ever beg again,” he warns and waits, but you say nothing.

***

From assistant to girlfriend, you’ve come up in the world. And there’s special doors that open only when you’re fucking the right person, though you suppose you haven’t done much of fucking either. Caleb is to blame, of course.

But the sexual tension is thick enough these days that the fools inside this room are easy to convince. Of course, too much and Caleb’s validity will disperse, too little and his sexual prowess is to be questioned. But it’s the two of you, after all. Every single rumour is a little bit true, every single thing is a little bit easier together.

You’ve matched him tonight, your dress the deep midnight blue of his uniform. Every single man present tonight wants to be him, every single woman wants to be you. It’s strange, to be so visible and yet so little known, and you wonder if Caleb is ever lonely when attending these things on his own. Or, maybe, this is where he feels best, the most powerful man in a room.

You’re here just to be a pretty accessory, and you remember earlier, when Caleb undid a smudge of lipstick by licking at the corner of your mouth, how he acted so nonchalant. You’ve visited each other many times since you’ve reunited, and not even once have you done anything more. You think he’s reaching his limit.

Time to test this theory.

Men are the same everywhere, eager, bold and self-confident when they have nothing to prove. Late enough in the night, too many drinks in, though that also applies to you, finding young men who want to fuck the colonel’s girl is as easy as stumbling when tipsy. Which is what you do, fall kindly stopped by an uniformed man who immediately rests his palm on your derriere when steadying you.

You smile at him.

“Be a darlin’ and buy me another drink?” you ask, and he grins.

Around the bar, you’ve gained an audience of at least three, and you wonder what they think it’ll happen. You’ll take them all home, line them up and let them take you one by one? Or maybe, you have three holes after all. You wonder if this worked in the past, with someone else Caleb brought in the past.

“Has he attended these with someone else previously?” you ask, smiling as if you’re saying a joke.

“The colonel?” one of them pips up, and you’ve never even bothered to learn their name. “This is the first time he’s ever attended.”

He’s showing you off, then. Interesting.

Because it means Caleb decided you are to stay. In his life.

And as if you summoned the wolf by mentioning it, you hear your name called out. When you turn around, you have a fancy pastry in one hand and an almost empty glass in your other, and your hair is half come undone.

Caleb trails the nape of your neck, where your hair falls, and you notice him fighting the impulse to fix it, as he’s done countless times growing up. And then his gaze snaps to the men behind you, hardening and cold.

You just hear them leaving, without even saying a goodbye. Manners are hard to come by in the fleet, apparently.

“What are you doing?” Caleb asks you, his expression still as upset.

But it’s clear, isn’t it? You’re merely enjoying yourself, getting what you want from somewhere else, if he won’t give it to you. He knows you’re bluffing, you know he knows… and yet, here you both are, with him moving to guide you away, night now ended.

You let him manhandle you, leaning a bit too much of your weight against him just to feel his muscles tense under you, and you sigh, disappointed in yourself, how much of a goner you are. Anyone with brains would have given up by now, on a man who so obviously and clearly refuses you constantly. You just stubbornly know you can break him.

The cold outside air feels good against your overheated skin. But that’s your only respite, because then Caleb drags you into the nearest alley, narrow enough that your bodies must be close, that no passing wanderer will think to look twice at what you’re doing.

“You can’t do whatever you want with me, Caleb,” you warn.

“You can’t do whatever you want, full stop,” he replies, taunting, though you’ve done nothing else your entire life and it’s not like you’ll start now just because he’s the colonel. You couldn’t give a shit about that, beyond how well he looks in his uniform.

You look up at him, your hand rising to grasp at his necktie. In the silence between your bodies, his gasp is overwhelming, sending a shiver down your spine, imagining how else he might sound, in slightly different situations.

“Are you… jealous, colonel?”

His eyes sharpen in something close to dangerous, which is a warning you might have recognised and listened to if you weren’t drunk.

“You wouldn’t have to be if you just made me yours already,” you taunt back, though your voice is low and husky with the need behind the words.

And you pull, his body following with no resistance, his chest now pressed to yours, his heat so close and so overwhelming. Your tongue peeks out, wetting your dry lips, and you notice how his eyes drop immediately to your mouth, utterly focused.

“You’re not playing fair, Pipsqueak,” he sighs, and at long last, his hands settle at your hips, though you’re not sure if that is to steady you on your heels, or to hold you in one spot before you start squirming against him.

“Imagine it,” you say, your voice low, and you close your eyes, chasing the fantasy. “You could fuck me right here against this wall, and I could go back in there with your cum down my thighs, and every single man in there will know exactly whom I belong to, who is the only one who can fuck me.”

Opening your eyes again, you meet the full intensity of Caleb’s gaze, and that alone makes you whimper. You move, trying to escape his hold, wanting to press harder against the bulge in his trousers, but even as you’re chasing it, you know he won’t give it to you. You knew ever since he came to find you, too angry to care about anything but his own right to be upset. He’ll be holding it over your head for a while, like a child who still has to share your affection, not knowing he has it in full.

But you’re grown now, so you will hold this over his head too. How he didn’t fuck you even when you begged. How he refused you, even when he promised, time and time again, he’ll give you everything you ask for. How he’s disappointed you, in ways he’s been doing over the years. How you still want him, despite it.

You’re not stupid. You know whoever this new Caleb is, he’s too little of the old one. It’s alright, though. You have time to learn him too, and his tells haven’t changed. Just grown, more intense, more dangerous.

“I won’t,” he says, though he looks like he is in pain saying it.

Serves him right.

“Take me home, colonel.”

And she sees the realisation fall, that home is a place they’re sharing for now, and he won’t find a release, an escape any time soon.

He pushes himself away from you, just an arm’s reach away, ready to offer a helping hand if you still have problems walking. But, with a grace you haven’t shown just a few minutes away, the lust and immediate refusal of it washing over your mind like cold water, you lean onto the wall and bend.

At first, Caleb has no idea what you’re doing, half worried you’ll be sick. But then your already short dress hitches a bit higher, following the push of your hand, and even in the poor light of the alley, he notices your underwear is bright red, with a darker patch right at the centre, where your arousal painted it. His nostrils flare, and he forces his eyes to look anywhere else but at you.

It takes a bit of coordination you weren’t sure you’re possessing right now to get your panties through your heeled ankles, but once it’s in your hands, you step closer to him. He still refuses to look at you, stiff like a board, and you smile.

You push your underwear in his chest pocket, bits of it popping out like a handkerchief, and without giving in to the desire to touch him, you push past him towards the main road. He watches you, the knowledge that you’re wearing nothing under your short dress undoing something inside him, and he tucks at your underwear, enough to bring him to his nose and breathe in the smell of you.

And then, knowing that the second he gets home he’ll need to do it again while fisting his cock, he tucks it back in his pocket and follows you.

***

You didn’t tell him you were coming. At the end of a grueling meeting, Caleb simply saw the picture on his phone, the mirror selfie with you wearing a barely there lingerie dress, his bedroom in the background. He doesn’t even think that this might be an old picture instead, you’re not the type to taunt without seeing things all the way through. You have your cruel strikes, but you’re weak. Caleb understands, that’s why he’s strong for the both of you.

He opens the door to his apartment, and he immediately has to hurry to close it behind him. In the middle of the room, you’re sat on a chair, still dressed in the outfit from the picture, but you’re holding his old gun, the one he used to carry back during training, before his death, before being colonel.

There’s the first hint of panic; of how you even got his old guns from the safe, but then he settles because his password is your birthday. And of course you’ve been spending time with him just because it’s him, but he should have never doubted that you’d be digging still, the way he’s been digging into your work too. But this is not about the lies uncovered, or about the truths unspoken. This is about bodies, and what they want - maybe about hearts too, if Caleb dares to stop denying it, despite the pain it’ll cause.

He couldn’t see it in the picture you’ve sent, but your underwear is cut around your cunt, lace surrounding the area and allowing him a perfect view of the one place he’s dreamt of the most. In the way you’re manspreading over the chair, you’re allowing him a perfect view. He swallows, hard, and when that does nothing, he tugs at his necktie, pops a few buttons off, allows the material to fall to the ground before stepping a couple steps closer.

He is mesmerised by the movement of your hands, as you work the gun back together: the surety of it, muscle memory as you’re not even looking down. It’s a side of you he so rarely sees, the proficient fighter, that he almost forgot you’re not always prey. That maybe you’re allowing him to see you like this, all the act of a predator instead.

His brain slips, and he remembers how well you’ve taken him inside your mouth, how the same hands fit around his cock, how good it’d feel to have you touching him again. There’s no way to stop how painfully tight his trousers are on him now. He’s a strong man, but not strong enough to look away; not strong enough to walk away.

“What…” he starts, but his voice breaks, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The click of his gun falling into place is his only reply. You move it then, the cold barrel of the gun tracing a path over your body. Your tiny sexy little gown does nothing to stop the cold of it, and it leaves goosebumps in its wake: over your nipples, the tip of them hardening, down towards your navel, the metal nestling in between your thighs.

Caleb’s nostrils flare, his hand coming up between your bodies, as if he wants to touch you, before he lets it fall by his side, fingers forming a fist. Self-restraint, as usual.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, and your knees clamp together around the gun at the term of endearment; you’ve never heard Caleb use it for you before, but you can’t stop the stupid hope that maybe he did, just not out loud.

“I’m reminding you of what I want,” you say at last, struggling to ease your legs open again, showing him exactly how wet you are, just for him. “Do you want me too?”

You’re burning with the embarrassment of the question, the daringness of the question. But you’re so tired; a decade of wanting him and never having him in full, and he never once took the first step towards you. It’s the last time you’re doing it, too.

Caleb’s entire body shudders, as if he’s held up only by invisible string, on the verge of being cut. For a long moment, it seems like he’s fighting something inside himself, but it doesn’t matter to you, it never does, as long as you’re the one who wins it. And win you do.

“Oh, baby. The only time I don’t want you is when I’ll be dead.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, relieved, your chest huffing up and down with your arousal, with how badly you need him too. “Beg then.”

He asked you not to beg. He never said anything about him begging to fuck you instead. And after years of delicious torture, he deserves this.

Caleb on his knees is a sight to rival gods. He goes with such ease, it’s as if he’s waited for this moment forever. He crawls on his knees for you, coming closer, resting his forehead against your knee, breathing in the smell of your arousal.

You let the gun drop to the carpet, your hand coming to grab his hair instead. He moans, his head following you with such adorable compliance. Pleasure washes all over your body at once, the pure joy of his obedience.

“Take your clothes off,” you say, and because it is Caleb, of course he has to cause some trouble first.

You let him go, but before he listens to you, he pushes forward, nuzzling to your cunt. His tongue pops out, just enough to lick at your entrance once, before your forceful shove at his shoulder pushes him back, away. His upper lip glistens with your juices, and he grins, all disheveled and needy.

You love him so much you want to chop him up in pieces and eat him up.

He starts with his uniform blazer, easily thrown in a corner of a room. Too many buttons on his goddamn shirt, and as he stares fixedly at the space between your legs, you allow a finger to tease at your entrance. When you push it inside, both of you moan, his hand pausing right before tugging his shirt out of his trousers. And the pause persists, his eyes now searching yours for something you don’t know.

But then his resolve steels, and he pulls off his shirt.

The metal of his arm glistens in the afternoon sun. If only you’d told him you were coming, he could have spared you this sight. But nothing changes in your gaze, if anything it softens. You push your finger in and out of you, as he quickens his action.

“You thought I wouldn’t want you?” you ask, angry not at him, but at whoever could make him believe such a thing. “There’s not a thing in this world I wouldn’t forgive you and still love you for.”

And there goes his last article of clothing, and Caleb is back in front of you, his eyes speaking what he cannot: how grateful he is for you, how much he fucking needs you now that you’ve released him from his shame, how much he loves you too.

“Can I please taste your pussy?”

One more thing: there’s not a thing in this world you would tell him no to either. Your legs fall apart, even wider, as you adjust your position, moving your hand away. Caleb stops you halfway, grabbing your hand and tugging it close to his mouth, where he licks your finger clean first, before turning all his attention to his meal.

He helps you adjust one of your legs over his shoulder, skin shivering at the feel of cold metal, and then he’s upon you. His tongue presses against your clit, and your hips buckle, legs trembling. He has to press some of his weight against you to keep the chair from tumbling down, but he does not pause in his ministrations, taking that bud of nerves between his lips, sucking on it hard.

You whine, your cunt’s walls finding only nothingness. You need to be filled up, but you also need him to make you come. Caleb knows you well enough to decode all of this, and he slips three fingers inside you, all at once. You moan, the sensation almost too much, the pleasure met with a slight burn as you struggle to take it all at once, but his tongue around your clit almost immediately makes it all turn into a haze of lust.

His thumb joins in, pressing hard against your clit, as he moves, his tongue joining the fingers inside you, his thumb now hard, quick and relentless. You can feel how hard Caleb is trying to keep you in place, your body thrashing with the crash of your orgasm, and you’re surprised to hear the loud panting and moaning sounds are coming from you.

Caleb is lapping at your cunt, getting your arousal all over his chin, and you’re finding his hair again, patting it away from his face. He grins up at you, a puppyish smile made all the more arousing for his position between your legs.

Speaking of legs, you don’t think yours are working anymore.

“Shall I let you fuck me now?” you say, though still breathless, and your brain is still struggling to realign with the real world.

“Please,” he says, peppering kisses over your inner thigh, the full force of his gaze feeling like fire upon your skin. “I want to fuck you so badly. Can I? I’ll make it so good, I promise. Please baby, please. ”

And he shifts, moves away just enough for you to see how hard and painfully red his cock is. Your mouth waters at the sight: he’s big, you knew this, but now you’re so close to having him inside you, you’re faltering.

“Fuck me already, Caleb.”

And he sweeps you off the chair in his arms before you even finish your sentence, covering the distance to his bedroom in a few long strides.

He throws you on the mattress, and when you look at him again, you know once he’s inside you, there’s no more control for you to be had. You’ll fall apart on his cock, he’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to remember your own name, only knowing you’re his. And you don’t want anything more.

He looks between your bodies, a silent question that you answer by hooking your legs around his back, pulling him closer. You haven’t waited for so long not to have him bare. He falls upon you like a man upon his last meal, his lips bruising against yours, as he lines himself to your entrance.

But he’s merely dragging his cock along your entrance, feeling exactly how wet you are, coating it in your juices. You moan, high and loud at the sensation, tears slowly forming in the corner of your eyes with how much you fucking need him, how good he’s making you feel already, overstimulated even without having him properly touch you. His lips stray, finding your tears and tasting the salt of them.

You gasp as he pushes the tip of his cock in, your breathing growing laboured. Caleb’s expression is strained as he meets your eyes, and you can’t look away from this man who is trying to still do good by you.

“Think you can take it all, baby?” he asks, his finger returning to making circles against your clit.

You swallow a swear word, choosing to go with the truth instead.

“I was made for you, Caleb. Fuck me like it.”

His eyes soften, even as he listens to you, pushing inside you. Your brows furrow with the feeling, how full he’s making you, but how right it feels. He groans, he can’t help it, you’re so fucking tight, and he leans above you, resting his forehead against yours as he settles inside you.

He pants against your neck, and you tentatively try and squeeze your walls against him. He sputters, swearing against your skin, fingers digging painfully at your hips, willing you to stay still.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he breathes, and then he pulls out of you almost entirely, before slamming right back in.

You moan, the sensation too much. You’re so wet, he feels so fucking good, and two glides in, your hips are moving on their own, desperate to meet his movement, desperate to feel more, more, more.

He huffs, pushing the hair from his eyes, grabbing your leg, useless by now with how desperately they’re shaking with the need for release, and he settles it over his shoulder. He helps you with the other one as well, and you close your eyes, feeling him now so much deeper. You knew it’ll be good, you never imagined it’ll be this good.

And then Caleb moves, quickening the pace, and you scream. His name at first, which then turns into a babbling mess of nothingness, as the only other thing you can hear is the loud slap of skin on skin, that in itself turning you on even more.

“Come on, baby. Come for me,” Caleb says, and you open your eyes, ready to say you can’t, not just yet - but the intensity of his gaze, how badly he fucking needs it, how close he is, how hard he’s fucking trying… Well, that just sends you over the edge.

He shifts, one of your legs falling, taking hold of the other to spread it as far as it can go. Your nails are digging painfully into the mattress, and you’re squeezing him so hard, Caleb has no chance of lasting much longer. He’s halting through a few more slams inside you, and then he’s coming as well, a growl at the back of his throat.

You’re comforted by the weight and warmth of his body, as he falls against you, because this is in itself proof of him being real. Caleb breathes in the smell of you, the familiar perfume you haven’t changed in years, for the hope that it might be recognisable to someone you believed dead and hoped maybe not, and smiles.

And when he tries to pull away, you tug him closer instead, willing him inside you for a bit longer, still.

#just noticed the numbers on this fic.....#259 notes???!!!!!#that's crazy <33333333

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