by Callie Hart
Before I met Ben, I had a few boyfriends. A couple of them nearly made it to the twelve-month mark before I freaked out and broke up with them for one reason or another. I knew it was never going to work out with them, because none of them ever made me feel like this. None of them ever felt like they were bringing me back to life, giving me something I could never find by myself. I just gave up caring with Ben, it was the only way I could stay with him, but now that I’m feeling this powerful, impossible riot of emotions with Callan, I know there’s no way I can ever go back.
He makes a frustrated sound as his hands work their way over my bare stomach, up toward my breasts. His fingers skirt along the edge of my bra, digging in a little as my back arches, curving my body into his. He knows how to touch me. He knows how to make me hungry for him. In fact, right now I feel like I’m starving for him.
“God, Callan. Fuck,” I gasp. His eyes meet mine, deep and dark and disturbing. He stops moving. Doesn’t say anything. The silence between us is miles deep and miles wide, and feels like it could be miles further still if either one of us lets it. Callan gives me a look that would have terrified seventeen-year-old me. “We’ve been through so much,” he whispers. “You were my first, and I was yours.” His voice is strained, controlled, like he’s having trouble keeping it together. “But we’re adults now, Coralie. Back then I loved you like a kid. Now I plan on loving you like a man. Do you know what that means? Do you think you can handle that kind of fucking?”
Truthfully, this is already too much for me. I couldn’t back down or turn away now even if I wanted to, though. It’s too late for me. I feel so out of my depth most of the time; the difference right now is that it feels okay to be out of my depth. Callan’s got me. I know he won’t let me drown, hurt, suffer, even if it seems as though that’s all there is for me to do.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I can handle it. I want to find out, though.”
Callan’s mouth quirks up at one side, forming that dimple deep in his cheek again. “There she is,” he says quietly. “See. You think you’re not brave, but you are. And bravery is rewarded, bluebird.” He scoops me up into his arms, and I’m pinned against him, trapped, as he carries me over to the kitchen table. In one swift movement, he knocks the stacked boxes containing my mother’s clothes to the ground. He swears under his breath when he realizes what he just dumped on the floor, but that doesn’t stop him from lying me down on top of the worn wood.
“I want to use the Leica, bluebird,” Callan growls into the crook of my neck as he licks and kisses at my skin. My hands are buried into his thick hair, my fingers wound tight around his hair. I pull a little harder when he says this. “Ahhh. I want to show you everything I see. I want you to see how fucking beautiful you are.”
He drags his thumb across my bottom lip, pressing the pad of it against my lower teeth, pressing my mouth open a little. He trails his tongue over my bottom lip then, fastening it between his own teeth and pulling.
“Why the hell would I let you take photos of me?” I gasp.
“Because…apparently you didn’t care about the last one I took. If it’s true, you won’t mind me taking some now. You can keep every single one of them when they’re developed. You can have the negatives, too.” He bites at my lip again, hard enough that I cry out. The sound of my pleasure mixed in with pain seems to drive him crazy. His hands are everywhere, pulling at my clothes; they find their way underneath my shirt again so he can pinch and roll my nipples through my bra. My body responds in kind, my back arching up off the table, my feet flexing, my thigh muscles contracting. Callan shifts himself so that he’s standing in between my legs. He takes hold of me by the hips and jerks me toward him, so that my pussy is pressed hard up against his erection. “What do you say, bluebird? Willing to pose for me?”
Should I let him do what he’s suggesting? Should I allow myself to be vulnerable for him again? Giving him my body is one thing, but letting him take pictures of it is another thing entirely. I wasn’t lying just now. I really wasn’t bothered by the photo. Sure, it would have been much better for me if thousands of people hadn’t seen me battered and bruised, but it wasn’t the end of the world. I would have forgiven him easily enough. My injuries are all internalized now; they shouldn’t show up on a photo, but I get the feeling that Callan will somehow manage to manifest them in print. His art always has that quality to it. The people in his portraits seem broken, elated, delirious or downcast. Whoever the subject, the photo always conveys their inner most hurts or joys almost perfectly, no matter if they’re expressing themselves in the image or not.
He leans back a little, shifting my loose shirt up to expose my bra. He pulls the right cup down and begins to circle his tongue around my peaked nipple, his eyes fixed on me the whole time. Slowly he bares his teeth and bites down on the small, pink bud of flesh. The pain that follows is exquisitely unbearable, yet I accept it, riding the high of the contact as the sensation rises and rises through me.
“Okay,” I say, closing my eyes. “Okay, you can use the camera. But I keep everything.”
Callan’s eyes are filled with fire as he steps back to grab the camera. “Take off your shirt,” he commands. It’s almost already off anyway, hitched up high, exposing my breasts. I carefully sit up, eyes on him as I slip the cotton material over my head. My bra is plain and black, but Callan’s greedily staring at my chest like my tits are encased in Victoria’s most expensive, most sexual secret. “Tip your head back,” he says.
I comply, angling my head back so that my chin is lifted high. The position makes me feel confident, filled with desire. Callan holds the Leica up to his face and quickly snaps off a shot, making a deep rumbling sound in the base of his throat. He seems to like what he sees. “Slowly slide your bra straps down your shoulders, bluebird.”
I do.
“Good. There.” Callan quickly takes another picture, nodding. “You’re amazing,” he tells me. “The most perfect creature I’ve ever seen.” I’m so used to feeling nothing when I have sex. So used to feeling comfortably numb whenever Ben touches me. This blazing furnace that’s been sparked into life as Callan points the lens of his camera at me is a shock to the system. “Now your skirt, Coralie,” he says. “Slide it up. Let me see how perfect you are there. Show me.”
Taking the hem of my skirt into my hands, I slowly adjust it, pulling the light fabric up my thighs, exposing inch after inch of flesh as he watches with a look of pure lust mastering his features. His eyes are dark, tense, filled with want. His hands remain steady as he lifts the camera up one more time, but I can tell this affects him. “Your panties, Coralie. Take them off. I need to see.”
God damn it. My heart is thrumming like a bird trapped in a cage, batting against my ribs at an alarming pace. I am outside of myself, above myself, looking down on the scene below, watching my hands as my thumbs carefully hook underneath the lace over my hips and I tease the material over my skin, down my legs. I don’t recognize myself. I would never do this for Ben. There isn’t another man alive that I would do this for. I kick out of my underwear, heat flooding my cheeks, undoubtedly staining them red.
“God,” Callan groans. “Open them. Open your legs for me.” His hand reaches down, where he cups himself, the outline of his erection hard in his hand. He squeezes, and my own hands twitch, as if I can feel him myself—how rigid and urgent his body has become. I want to suck him. Lick him. Tease him with my mouth. Taste the sweetness of him on my tongue. Feel his cock growing harder and harder as he tiptoes closer to the edge. My need for him surprises me, almost takes my breath away. I spread my legs wide, angling my hips upwards so he can see me properly, and Callan takes a deep breath. He holds it in his chest as he takes three steps toward me and readies the camera.
“I’ve never forgotten,” he says. “You were the first girl I ever touched. The first girl I ever tasted. The first girl I was inside. Every single woman I’ve been with since has been a shadow of you. They’ve never
been this perfect. I’ve never wanted to exhaust myself making them come with my tongue the way I’m about to do with you. I’ve never wanted to feel them tighten around my dick as they scream out my name. I’ve never wanted to feel them come all over me as I seal my body with theirs. It’s always been mechanical. My heart hasn’t been in it, because it’s been with you all along.” He’s close enough to reach out and take my hand now. He guides me down, so that I’m touching myself between my legs, my fingers wet and slick as I realize how turned on I am. “I want to watch,” he breathes. “Stroke your clit for me, Coralie. Show me how badly you want me.”
I am no longer myself. I’m someone else, someone far braver and far more sexually awakened. Coralie Taylor isn’t the kind of girl to masturbate in front of anyone. She’s the kind of girl who makes herself come in the shower, quickly, efficiently, always trying to distance herself from her need for release. The girl I am right now, this strange, deviant person, lightly touches her fingertips to her pussy, moving her index finger over her clit in a slow, lazy circle, just as the beautiful man standing before her has bid her to.
Callan sighs, huffing out his breath hard enough that he makes a frustrated, pained sound. “Jesus, Coralie. That’s going to be my tongue soon. You have no idea how good I’m going to make you feel. I’m gonna make you fall apart, and when I do, I’m not going to stop. I’m going to slide myself inside you and fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name. I’m going to fuck you so hard that the past twelve years won’t matter anymore. I’m going to make you come so hard on my dick that you’re never going to want to be without me again.”
As he tells me this, I move my finger in a tighter circle, feeling my clit grow more swollen and sensitive. I’m already shivering, my body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure strikes me, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Fuck, Callan. This is…this is crazy.”
“It’s about to get crazier.” Callan leans in very close and ducks down. He swears as he takes a photograph of my fingers, sliding inside my pussy. “Ah, shit. Fuck this.” He puts the camera down on the kitchen counter, growling under his breath. “I can’t wait any longer. Stop touching yourself, Coralie.”
It’s hard to do that, though. I want him so badly. I want to feel him inside me. The slow burn prickling through my body is almost addictive. I continue to stare up at him as I push my fingers inside myself—I know I look defiant right now, daring him to do something about my misbehavior. Callan doesn’t disappoint. He grabs hold of me by the wrist and forces my hand up. My fingers are shiny and glistening; Callan takes one look at them and hums, the vibration coming deep from within his chest.
“I’ve been waiting so long for this, bluebird. I’ve woken up in a cold sweat countless times, imagining what you would taste like on my tongue. Show me what I’ve been missing, baby. Feed me.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead he draws it up, closer to his mouth, close enough for me to curl my fingers toward him and rub the pad of my index against his lips. Callan can barely hold back. I can see the strain on his face as I gently insert the tip of my finger into his mouth. He goes to lick me, the point of his tongue darting out past his lips, but I jerk my fingers away, smiling.
“Oh god. Fuck, Coralie. Don’t fucking play with me.”
I give him what he needs. I press my fingers together, letting him have them, and Callan sucks them clean, his body vibrating with lust.
“It’s not enough,” he whispers, dragging his teeth across his own lips. “I need more. I’m always going to need more.” He moves quickly, grabbing hold of me by the legs again, tugging me closer, and then he’s dipping down, dropping to his knees, hooking my thighs over his shoulders as he buries his tongue into my pussy.
I cry out, overwhelmed by the warmth of his mouth and the heat that zips from between my legs, all over my body, making my muscles flex and contract. Callan laves his tongue over me again and again, sending violent shockwaves through my body, so powerful and undeniable that I don’t even know how to react. My arms and legs work without my permission, my fingers winding through his hair, pulling his head into me in the most shameless way as my legs wrap around him, locking him into place.
The intensity of my response seems to fuel Callan. He takes hold of my hips and buries his tongue deeper, increasing the speed with which he licks and sucks at my clit. He used to love licking me when we were kids, but he seems to have taken a master class at some point. This level of expertise is something that he learned without me. I’d be sad over that fact, if only I weren’t so delirious in my pleasure. The world feels like it’s simply melting away. Callan grunts, his back arching as he shifts to get a better purchase on me. Two seconds later, he’s pushing one of his fingers inside me, continuing his savage assault on my clit, and I’m screaming, my own back curving so hard it feels like my spine is going to snap at any moment. Using his free hand, Callan presses his palm down against the flat of my lower stomach, massaging his finger inside me in a come here motion, and suddenly everything deepens, intensifies, grows almost unmanageable its force. I’ve never felt like this before. This is different. This is weird and amazing and strange all at once.
A bottomless, bizarre pressure begins to build between my legs. “Callan? Oh…Oh my god.” My legs tighten around his head. Callan glances up at me, half his face obscured. He stops what he’s doing with his mouth for a second and speaks breathlessly.
“Don’t worry, bluebird. Just relax. Let go. It’s normal.”
I don’t know how he knows what I’m feeling right now, but it feels far from normal. “I feel like I’m gonna—”
“You’re not gonna pee, I promise you. I’m just gonna make you come properly. You can only do it if you relax, though. You gotta trust me.”
Embarrassment flutters around on the edges of my subconscious, but then Callan purposefully draws the tip of his tongue slowly up and over my clit, giving me the most wicked grin as he does so, and I can’t recognize one emotion from another. It’s almost as if I’m feeling everything in color. The room turns an odd shade of red, tinged with purple as that same, odd sensation building again.
“Oh shit. Fuck, Callan. I don’t think…I can’t stop…” And I can’t. I can’t hold back the surge of power that rips through me like electricity. My breath feels like it’s being sucked from my lungs as I scream silently. I can hear Callan swearing somewhere, can feel his fingers still inside me, can feel him fucking me with them as I writhe and thrash about on the kitchen table.
“Shit. Shit!” I’m lost in a void. My ears are packed with cotton wool, muffled, while a distant ringing sounds somewhere off in another room. My lips are tingling, prickling almost, as my nerve endings fire and snap ruthlessly all over my body. Eventually my hearing begins to clear.
When I open my eyes, Callan’s softly placing kisses against the insides of my thighs. He looks incredibly pleased with himself, and I’m feeling awkwardly wet. I try and clamp my legs together, but Callan pushes them apart again. “Don’t you dare,” he growls. “This is mine.”
Slowly he licks at me, tracing his tongue over my pussy and over the insides of my legs, gently nipping at my skin, making my body jump and twitch. “Is that…normal?” I whisper. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming for hours. Callan sends me a secretive glance up the length of my body. He nods his head.
“Only if you’ve had a really good time,” he says. “I’m hoping you did.”
“My face feels numb. I don’t think I can move.”
“Awesome.” He grins as he straightens up, fixing me in a penetrating gaze. “Remember what I said, Coralie. I told you I was going to feel your pussy tighten around my dick now. This is where we find out if you can handle me. Are you ready?”
I don’t think my body is equipped to take another orgasm like that, but I must be a glutton for punishment. I find myself nodding. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Callan unbuttons his jeans and kicks ou
t of them, revealing a pair of black boxer briefs underneath. They’re tight enough that I don’t need to use my imagination to figure out what’s going on beneath the taut fabric. “Do you want to suck me, Coralie?” he asks. He squeezes his cock again, shivering slightly as he touches himself.
“Yes. God, yes.”
This is all he needs to hear. He removes his boxers in one urgent movement, freeing his already rock solid cock. It springs free, brushing up against his stomach muscles as he steps around the table. I can’t stop staring at him. When we had sex the other night in his old bedroom, neither one of us was paying attention to the details. We were so frantic, desperate to claim one another again, to feel the other half of ourselves snap back into place, that taking a second to appreciate each other’s bodies wasn’t really an option. Now that I’m laid out, practically naked on the table, I have a second to take in the view, and what a magnificent view it is. Callan is flawless. His broad shoulders lead down to hard muscle that looks like it’s been packed onto his chest and stomach by force. There isn’t an inch of fat on him anywhere. His thighs and buttocks are as toned as the rest of him, and his cock…I cannot tear my eyes away from it.
He’s in proportion with the rest of his body, though on the big side. Way bigger than Ben or any of the other guys I’ve slept with over the years. A cold tremor runs over my skin when I think about how he took my virginity with that thing. It had hurt at the time, yes, but I’d been so ready to have him inside me. It had been a perfect pain. A beautiful pain that I cherished at the time.
Callan smirks down at me, his hands working deftly to remove my bunched up shirt and bra, freeing my breasts properly now. “Want a picture?” he asks. “I can actually make that happen. I know a guy.”
“No.” I smile, but as soon as I decline the offer, I almost regret it. Callan quirks an eyebrow at me, like he knows exactly what’s going on inside my head.