Page 42 of Auctioned To Be Mine

“Right here, Victoria.”

Oh shit. I was so wet. His chest brushed against my breasts. His breath brushed over my neck. He leaned forward and his teeth nibbled my ear.

I was going to spontaneously combust.

Callum pushed one knee between mine, forcing them apart. He grabbed both wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand while guiding himself with other. He rubbed himself against my wetness. I was so wet and ready. He was big. Maybe too big, but I didn’t care. I was desperate for him.

His lips found mine again. “You ready for this, Victoria?”

If he kept saying my name, I wasn’t going to need him to touch me. That husky tone was more than enough to get me across the finish line.

His gaze locked onto mine as he thrust into me hard. I sucked in a sharp breath as he stretched me. Our simultaneous groans filled the air around us.

Each pump made me gasp for air. Every time he pulled out with just the tip inside me had me begging for more. His hands gripped my wrists tighter above my head as he drove into me again. I stopped thinking entirely. There was nothing left in my brain.

“Callum.” His name was a prayer and a plea at the same time.

He answered by rolling his hips in a way that made my toes curl against the hardwood floor. I couldn’t move my hands. He had them pinned and I didn’t want him to let go. The helplessness of it was doing things to me I wasn’t prepared to think about. My back arched away from the door, pressing my chest into his, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more of everything.

He released my wrists finally, and both of his hands dropped to my hips, gripping hard enough that I was certain I’d have bruises tomorrow. I didn’t care. I grabbed his shoulders, his back, anything I could reach. The muscles moving beneath my palms were extraordinary. The man was built like something carved out of stone. He moved like he knew exactly what he was doing with every inch of himself.

He pulled back slowly. So slowly it was cruel.

“Don’t you dare stop,” I gasped.

I felt him smile against my neck. “I’m not stopping.”

He thrust forward. I cried out, the sound ricocheting off the high ceilings and the glass. I had absolutely abandoned any shred of dignity. My nails scraped down his back.

I had never in my life made sounds like the ones I was making. I was past caring if I sounded like a cat in heat. I was past everything except the way he made me feel. He was making some pretty cat-like sounds himself. More like a feral lion.

He bent his knees and shifted his angle slightly. When he thrust again, I lost what was left of my composure entirely.

“Right there,” I managed.

He did it again. And again.

My head fell back against the door. My fingers found his hair and I pulled, probably too hard, but he groaned like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. The tension had been building since the moment he’d dropped to his knees. It was coiling tight at the base of my spine. I could feel myself coming apart at every edge.

“Look at me,” he said.

I lifted my head and found those green eyes watching me. And I was gone. Another cry of pleasure rolled over me, riding the white lightning coursing through me.

His whole body shuddered against mine. A long, low sound tore out of him that was pretty damn satisfying to hear. His forehead dropped to my shoulder. We stayed like that, breathing hard with his hands still gripping my hips.

Neither of us spoke.

He’d sent me to the stars and I was slowly coming back down. I was standing naked in the entryway of his house with absolutely no regrets whatsoever.

He lifted his head from my shoulder and looked at me. His hair was wrecked. I’d done that. He pressed a single kiss to my forehead that undid me all over again.

“Come on,” he said quietly.

He took my hand and led me down the hall. I grabbed my dress on the way, clutching it against my chest. He pushed open a door that revealed a bathroom larger than my bedroom. It was different from the one I’d hidden out in. Marble countertops, a soaking tub that could fit four people, and soft ambient lighting. Of course his bathroom looked like a spa.

He turned on the faucet at the sink, tested the temperature with his wrist like it was the most natural thing in the world, and handed me a folded washcloth. He stepped back to give me space, then took off the condom and disposed of it.

I cleaned up quietly. He did the same. The moment held a quiet intimacy.