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He wanted to feel her again—how supple her skin felt beneath his touch, the way she trembled when his fingers encircled her wrist, tugging her closer, her heartbeat thundering against the flat of his palm.
This damned arm prevented that. He still had his good arm. Could still feel her in that way. Yet something felt wrong. Felt off. An allure of touch, but not quite registering on his skin, like his nerve-endings had been singed. All he felt anymore was pain. And the worst part? He wants that, he craves the pain that encapsulates his veins and filled the void inside of his chest.
The way her eyes had initially widened when she had first discovered him within the secret room. There was no judgment in her present, no disgust like he had been anticipating. She didn't look at him like he was broken or less of a man, just like she wanted to assist in some way. Never once did she shy from touching him, often fiddling with the shirts he adorned and rolling up the sleeves, pads of her fingers exploring the steel plating.
So gentle, always so gentle.
He had desired this before—her shameless and unabashed touch, caressing his skin, or the semblance of it. He still desires it, but with an increased intensity. He wants ivory teeth puncturing his skin until her teeth are stained scarlet, he wants the feel of her fingers pressing bruising into his skin. He wants the reminder of it, to look at his reflection with wanton eyes. The reddened crescents of her nails scraping along his spine as she holds him close to her, leaving him hissing out in ecstasy.
He never tells her, though. It wasn't as if she would understand. She claimed that she did, that she understood, but how could she? Despite her presence in Skyhaven, she had rarely visited him within the room, much to his admitted relief. No longer did he have to hide it, but even so, he was still self-conscious about it. It mattered little how she felt about it, he still needed time to adjust to the change, to how his shoulder ached where the steel connected with marred flesh.
Caleb toys with the tool in his hand, twirling it within his fingers, before bringing it down to a loosened screw. His jaw tenses as he works diligently to fix the mishap, having injured the arm in an earlier battle. She had been blessedly quiet since he had returned home—she had learned not to ask too many questions and to give him his space, even if he wanted her there no matter what.
Gentle rapping echoes from just outside of the room, and he has half the mind to turn her away, "—give me a minute."
He doesn't even know why he had spoken up at all because within a second, she was pressing through the door and flooding the area with light from the living room. Her lips are twisted into a displeased frown at the sight and she tentatively approaches, her eyes never once leaving his. Nearing closer to him, her gaze inevitably darts to the sight of his wounded arm, "I wish you would let me take care of you."
He knows she was sincere, but it doesn't stop the humorless snort that emanates from his throat, "tell me about it. I dedicate myself to your safety and yet you never listen, do you?"
The look that crosses her countenance is enough to make him feel apologetic. She wears an expression that relays that she wants to address what he had said, but her teeth buried within her bottom lip prevents her from voicing those remarks. Instead she snatches the tool out of his grip and takes the task upon herself, screwing the piece back into place, lacking her usual finesse and caution. In fact, he would dare say that she purposefully seeks to hurt him based on how tightly she winds the screw.
If he had a bone there, he was certain she would have penetrated through it and then some. The kind of suffering that catches in his throat in the form of a groan, one that would not easily escape his lips. She was more perceptive than she looked, however, seemingly noticing the muffled sound. She glides down the smooth expanse of mixed metal and finds another screw. Wasn't even loose, but he doesn't dare open his mouth to question it, just clenches his teeth at the blissful agony seeping through his shoulder.
Pleased by her effort, she sets the tool down and turns a keem eye to the exposed wiring, "that's why I need to do this. You've always been there for me and it's time I do the same for you," she pauses and inhales a soothing breath, nail catching on a red wire.
"—wait."
She never listened. Not in youth, and not now. Always unpredictable and operating on reckless instinct. He releases a tormented whimper, unable to contain the gargled noise as she tugs the wire free from its component. He should be humiliated. He should be cringing in the corner somewhere and loathing his newfound affinity for masochism. His cock shouldn't be stirring to life beneath his joggers, bunching the fabric and dampening the material.
He pulses for her, his chest and face flushing from pain or pleasure—he can't decipher which is which, not when she directs her attention to a blue wire, one that makes it difficult to flex his fingers. He swallows thickly, fervent gaze transfixed on her countenance. Unlike other circumstances, her emotions aren't as apparent as they usually were, her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes pointedly fixed on the sight of his arm.
Even through the infliction of pain, her touch remains prudent, like she wasn't relishing her sadist role, "I never wanted you to see me like this," admits Caleb after a shuddering breath, his lids fluttering to a close, his head shaking as a myriad of emotions bubble to the surface, "how weak I am for you," deft fingers thrust one of the wires back in place; he doesn't know which and he doesn't care because she was there and that was enough, "how sick I really am."
He doesn't want to make eye contact with her because he secretly harbors a fear that one day, she wouldn't look at him with the same adoring gaze. That one day he would look at her and see the horror that should have always been there, scowling upon him like he was some disgusting monster. Worthy of being tracked down and hunted. Crushed beneath her foot. And just like he fears that, he thinks that he would have reveled in it, the way he would be at her mercy.
He always knows when the chip is acting up. His heartbeat was ramming against his chest, struggling for freedom, while his brain feels like it swells in his skull, thudding against the bone. She always made him feel like this. Like his body betrays him, warming significantly and making him feel like he should dig into his chest and offer her his beating heart. She deserved it. It was no longer his and hadn't been for some time, he just wishes he could put it into words and explain it without it sounding as insane as it does.
He gets overwhelmed so easily now, but the chip remedies that in the form of emotional regulation, never failing to calm him down and talk him from the ledge, so to speak. He normally doesn't fight it, but he does now, his fingers furling into fists at his sides. If she was alarmed by his sudden change in demeanor, she doesn't show it, instead bringing her hands down to cup his cheeks. She lowers her head and presses it against his, breathing in slowly, and then exhaling, warm breath fanning into his face.
"Can you breathe for me?" her voice was like an anchor, keeping him rooted in the chaos, his heart pounding as he focuses on her words. His eyelids clench to a close and his jaw goes rigid, but he listens, "it's okay if I'm your weakness because you've always been mine, too," her hands abandon his heated cheeks in favor of raking down his neck, eliciting an involuntary shiver, "I don't care how sick you think you are. I have, and will always, be here for you. I need you just as much as you need me."
He releases a ragged breath, a sensation akin to the air being punched viciously out of his lungs. All he ever wanted to hear had been spoken, finally coming to fruition, and he feels the pathetic urge to sob. Can feel the prick of tears at the back of his eyes for some peculiar reason that he can't quite fathom at the moment. All he knows is that he was opening his eyes once more to reveal an angelic face with an equally as wrecked expression, her eyes glassy and her bottom lip trembling.
Her stalled hands on his neck are now going to his shoulders, gingerly pressing forward until he willingly guides himself down onto the frigid table. Her hands are swiping away a barrage of tools and medical supplies, ignoring how the items clatter unceremoniously to the floor. His hands move on their own accord to scoop beneath her ass, lifting her up and atop of him. He had dreamt of this moment—her thighs straddling his waist, her hands going to pin his wrists above his head, while her mouth hovers just above his.
"Tell me you need me, too," she pleads, her voice wavering with desperation, searching his gaze wildly, "—Caleb . . ?"
The truth was that Caleb doesn't trust himself with her, not like he used to. He had always been fucked up, all things considered, but never to this extent. He wants to use his evol and trap her beneath him while he takes her apart, starting with his face buried between her legs. He wants to keep her pinned there and immobile as he ravages her, his mouth slickened by her folds, tongue lapping at her, determined to express his carnal devotions.
His fingertips press into the skin of her ass as he surges forward to close the distance between them. He couldn't take it anymore, his impatience wearing thin and getting the better of him. He answers her in the form of working her mouth open with his own, tip of his tongue stroking the seam of her lips until she relents and allows him access. His tongue explores her cavern and commits each ridge and crevice to memory, earning a rewarding moan from her as she returns his urgency.
The tip of his tongue drags languidly over the roof of her mouth, and she hums pleasantly at the tease, willing him to repeat the action. Her hands are everywhere all at once—tangling in raven hair, leaving him disheveled, ghosting over the heated skin of his face, and ultimately smoothing over the expanse of his chest. Her hand splays flat over his heart and for a moment, she pauses from the kiss, intent on feeling its maddening beat against her hand.
Caleb allows his head to fall back against the table, his lips shining with saliva, "can you feel what you do to me?" his voice is low and husky and she must like it with how her hips are grinding down against his own; his cock weeps for the feel of her bare cunt and wants nothing more than to get her undressed and ready for him.
She stares down at him, awestruck. If she weren't so turned on, she would have been immensely concerned for his well-being. But as it was, she cares very little and makes it a personal goal to see just how much his heart can take, "you told me before that only I can do this to you, did you mean it?"
His chest rapidly rises and falls, breathing labored as he weakly twitches his hips forward, needing more of the lascivious friction she provides, "you tell me."
Maybe it wasn't the most coherent response, but his mind couldn't fathom being eloquent right now, not when she reacts in kind. Her nails continue to drag down the length of his chest until she reaches the prominent ridges his abdomen. Her eyes are heavily hooded when she looks up at him, her fingers tracing each line, then travels lower, "I've always wanted to do this," she admits with a flush, pausing on her trek when she meets the waistband of his sweats.
She takes her time to tease him versus offering instant gratification. But that was okay, he wanted her to draw it out. He wanted his neglected cock to keep pulsing, positively aching with the need to be nestled deep within her cunt. His gaze is intense and unyielding as he watches her trace the outline of his cock, and he grunts at the fresh droplets of cum that gather at the head. She blinks up at him, her thumb sticky and shining from precum; he was leaking through his sweats and he doesn't care, he wants her to know just how badly he needs her.
"Been savin' all this for you," his timbre has lowered, sounding almost gravelly in his blissed out state, "no one else. Only ever been you for me."
And for the first time since the start of the encounter, she takes a considerate pause. She takes the time to assess his features, finding that he was solemn, that he meant what he said. She doesn't look smug or astonished, but she does look visibly relieved, her gaze softening considerably. She brushes over his clothed cock to offer him some solace, and he hisses through clenched teeth, feebly trying to keep his hips flush against the table versus demanding too much, too soon.
She thankfully doesn't tease him too much and rises slightly as she hooks her thumb in his sweats, tugging them down to his mid-thigh. His neglected cock dribbles at the cool air, twitching for warmth, and she takes care of him like she always does. She effortlessly straddles his cock once more and hums pleasantly at the feel of him pressing against her; even through the layer of panties and a pair of shorts, she can feel the impossibly hard press of his cock against her center and it drives her mad.
His hands are moving along her thighs, up and down, alternating between harsh squeezes and kneading supple flesh. He catches her eye and she looks bashful, glancing away briefly. One of his hands captures her chin, making her face him, "if you don't want this anymore and you want to stop, then— . . . "
She shakes her head vehemently, swatting his hand away, "it's not that. I've never— . . . " Her hand slips between the flush of their bodies to tease at his cock, her palm surrounding rigid flesh and offering a pointed squeeze.
Electricity teems just beneath his skin, igniting once the thoughts piece together. He releases a strangled moan at the feel of her touching him; her hand moves slow and unsure, holding him too lose in her palm, "—hey, look at me." He instructs and hesitantly, she complies, meeting his heated gaze and awaiting the next instruction. He places a hand over hers, pressing at her fingers and coaxing her to tighten her grip on his cock; almost instantaneously, a droplet a precum beads at the head, "just like that. You won't hurt me," he says reassuringly, even though he wishes she would, "I'll take whatever you want to give."
After a few languid strokes, he releases his grip on her hand, allowing her to set the pace. Her hand holds him firm, pumping him gingerly, like she fears she will cause him harm. But with each passing sound that emanates from his throat, she gains more confidence and ensuing momentum, stroking his cock with deft fingers and seamless finesse. He struggles to keep his eyes open as she strokes him, wanting nothing more than to lose himself like this—to burst between her fingers, pearlescent release dripping between the spaces.
His hips are bucking forward, and he feels pathetic for it. That it had only just started and would be ending far too soon. Her hand falters on his cock, causing her to twist on the upstroke, and he almost releases then and there. He slants a hand over hers once more, and she startles, concern etched on her features as she questions apprehensively, "did I hurt you?"
Caleb steels himself the best he can, his toes curling inward as he wards off his impending orgasm, "I— . . . don't want it to be over. Not yet." He wants to prolong it and make it last for as long as he can and more importantly, he wanted it to be more about her. He sucks in a sobering breath, then exhales, "here, lay down for me."
"But—"
He shoots her a look and much to his amusement, she obeys. So unlike her. He can't deny that he revels in it, the power of telling her to do something and having her listen without rebuttal. The control, he muses, he liked having control. She lays on the table propped up on her forearms, fixating on him as he decides his next course action, "be a good girl for me, okay?"
The way she looks at him now shoots straight to his cock—her eyes widened considerably and she wets her bottom lip, nodding vigorously like she aims to please, and yeah, he shouldn't think about that right now. Not when he was struggling not to orgasm already. He begrudgingly averts his gaze to focus on tugging thin shorts down the length of her thighs and over her knees, letting them pool around her ankles.
His fingers ghost, featherlight, over the cotton panties that she adorns and relishes in how she shivers in response. His thumb brushes in a downward motion, pausing over her sensitive nub. He watches her expression and how her head falls back, so he repeats the motion but with added pressure, noting how her elbows are quivering, struggling to stay upright. He focuses his attention there and experimentally swivels the pad of his thumb, releasing a ragged breath of his own when she moans his name.
He wants that. No, he needs that. He needs to hear his name like that again, and again, and again until it was permanently seared on her tongue. He tries to not let the anticipation get the better of him, but he was losing his own resolve, which wouldn't be beneficial for either of them. So, he takes a deep breath and hooks his thumbs in the band of her panties, moving at a tantalizing pace as he drag them down her thighs to join her shorts.
She kicks them off swiftly, then blindly stretches out her legs, managing to capture him about the waist. She pulls, and like that, he was leaning across the cold table, elbows on either side of her hips, while his tongue darts out to taste—he can't describe what she tastes like, just knows that it was heady and intoxicating, something he wants to drown in and never abandon. One hand kneads at her thigh, while the other keeps her hips pinned, his tongue languidly flicking at her clit and marveling at the way she trembles.
He pays special attention to the sensitive bud, but wants to explore further. He offers a final suck there, much to her frustration, then ventures toward her glistening folds. Her scent was strongest here and he wastes no time in lapping at her folds, his tongue greedily dipping between soft flesh and really tasting her. He works at her with languorous licks, stroking at her folds with an unhinged eagerness, quickly finding himself addicted.
She makes to grapple at his hair, but he stops her with a lift of his head. He narrows his eyes at her, and when she makes to tangle digits in his hair once more, she finds her wrists restrained by the glimmer of his evol, "watch me," instructs the man, gaze darkening as she thrashes against the faint glow of her bindings, wanting nothing more than to tug at his scalp, directing him where she wanted him the most.
Her chest is heaving and she forces her eyes to remain open, fixated on the way his tongue moves with a fluid finesse. Rolling against her folds, then suckling earnestly, even adding his fingers back into the mix. His mouth concentrates on her clit, while he teasingly trails the tip of his finger along her slit before plunging inside with little preamble. He once again marvels at the way her body receives him, opening up and clenching around his thick digit.
"Caleb— . . . "
He peers up at her, then slides in the next digit, pressing deep to the knuckle. She opens her mouth, but no audible words are spoken. He smirks smugly as her hips weakly rise from the table in favor of his glorious mouth, but he puts a stop to that, too. Her hips are under the same sorcery, gravity keeping her locked to the tabletop, much to his pleasure. He draws out each moan with pointed strokes of his fingers, curling inward as he stretches her open, her breathing turning labored the more he pumps inside of her.
"I can't— . . . " She whimpers, and he pauses at the tell-tale clench around his fingers, knowing that she was reaching the point of no return, "please, Caleb, I— . . . I need you."
It felt like something within him had short-circuited, like his internal wiring had gotten crossed and all he feels is the simmer of his blood burning in his veins. She had sounded so choked up on pleasure, so close to releasing, that he has no choice but to oblige. Hearing that she needed him was nearly enough to send him toppling over the edge, his cock painfully hard and drizzling between his legs. He offers a final brush over her clit before he grapples at her hips, pulling her to the edge of the table.
He grasps at his cock and doesn't hesitate in the slightest in lining up the head, pausing to stroke her delicate folds. Her eyes are wide and pleading when he glances up at her, and like that, he offers her the relief she needed. He rocks his hips forward and sheathes deeply within hot, wet heat—it was a snug fit, but his cock manages to nestle to the hilt, filling her up and stretching her open. It feels too good and he temporarily loses control of his evol, his hold on her relinquishing and allowing her to reach toward him.
He placates her in the form of bowing his head and offering a round of open-mouthed kisses; she arches her off the table and meets him halfway, her fingers tangling at the back of his head and clawing at his scalp. He grunts, his hips twitching as he instinctively reels back and slams forward. She moans into his mouth and he greedily swallows it down, humming at the feel of her legs encircling him.
He feels feral—the way it all becomes too much and he relies solely on carnal impulse. He was nipping at her jaw and then her neck, peppering her in a litany of bruises that he would take pride in later. He had started at a tantalizing pace, reveling in the drag of his cock along her walls, then slowly grinding forward until his cock disappears within her. He had watched the way the two were intimately connected, awestruck by how well she was taking him, how her body warmly welcomed him back with each fluid stroke.
"I need— . . . " She doesn't seem to quite know what she needs, just that she needs it; needs him.
She had demanded more, and he had given it to her. He rolls his hips earnestly, losing himself in the delicious sound of skin slapping skin. He measures out each thrust and pointedly surges forward, snapping his hips with unabashed intensity as he finds his rhythm. She meets him halfway and actively spurs him on, her hips rising up and steadily swiveling, moving with him toward a common goal. His hips jerk frantically forward, dedicating himself to heightening her pleasure, letting her use him to sate her own desires.
"That's it," Caleb goads her, earning a whimper, "take what you need."
And she greedily takes it, fisting at the back of his head and holding him there. She breathlessly moans into his mouth, her cunt tightening around his cock until he feels he may burst. She clenches steadily around him, her nails digging into his skin for purchase, and with a sharp gasp of his name, he feels the flood of her juices coating his cock and slickening the slide of their bodies. He chases after that feeling vehemently, his cock pulsing in time with each torturous clench of her walls, coaxing him to his high.
He can't take it any longer and succumbs to the overwhelming tightness that surrounds him, his face burying in her neck as he reaches his peak. He releases in thick ropes, painting her walls in his milky essence, his cock weakly twitches as he empties inside of her. She strokes at the back of his head as the first wave hits him, overtaking him and dragging him under. He had never experienced bliss quite like this before—his vision blurring, his sensations invaded by nothing but her, just like he preferred, how he likes it.
His heart lurches within his chest, as if feebly attempting to crawl out and lodge itself against her. He wishes it could do just that. Attach to her and let her care for him, to become her most prized possession. He offers a grunt, and she shushes him, bringing his head down to cradle against her chest. She strokes the feathery hair at the nape of his neck as he descends from his high, whispering professions of adoration, secrets that would stay between them.
He weakly withdraws from her embrace to appraise her; her cheeks are flushed and her bottom lip is thoroughly bitten, but she was as beautiful as ever. He can't resist the urge to kiss her again, slow and languid, enjoying the gentle slide of her tongue against his. He releases a soft sigh, brushing his lips against her own, "I love you. Always have, always will."
"—promise?"
He snorts at this, then tilts his head slightly, tugging at her bottom lip, "you were always mine, even if you didn't know it."
"—yeah?"
Caleb feels like bursting at the seams; even if he couldn't physically gift her his heart, it was still there, laid out on the table and ripe for the taking, "tell me you're mine."
A lazy smile plays on the corner of her mouth as she regards him, her fingers stroking along the soothing steel of his arm, "you just want to stroke your ego," she lightheartedly teases, pinching at the wiring and earning a grunt, "you already know the answer."
It wasn't like him to beg, but part of him needs to hear those words, lest he lose the remnants of sanity he had been clinging to. The tip of his tongue flicks at her earlobe, then shamelessly nips at it, breathing a low, "—please?"
Her legs are wrapping around his waist once more, keeping him locked there and unable to slip away. He withdraws slightly at the miniscule friction to gauge her expression, finding himself surging forward abruptly; she yanks at the dog tag around his neck until his lips are hovering just above hers. His eyes are wide and filled with yearning, and so she doesn't torture him for much longer. She offers a solemn smile, then breathes, "I'm yours, Caleb."
He doesn't know why, but the threat of tears has returned to prick at the back of his eyes. If he was asked about it, he would blame the chip and its terrible emotional regulation coding. He wishes that she hadn't noticed, but she had always been so attentive, too alert for her own good. Her hands find his cheeks, thumbs brushing away a pesky tear—what a traitor, it was, to roll down his cheek like that in front of her. She must think he was pathetic, but it wasn't his fault, not really anyway.
He was overwhelmed with love, every bottled up emotion overflowing and revealing themselves in the form of crystalline tears. He bows his head against her shoulder, clinging to the back of her shirt, his shoulders quaking with a withheld sob. She shushes him once more and soothes him through it, reminding him that she was there, that she would always be there. That he needed to let go, that it was okay to let go.
Somehow the two had ended up back in his bedroom, still sticky and heated. She had guided him to the bed and allowed him to lay in the center before she crawled atop of him. She had eased down on his cock and guided his hands to her hips, effectively holding her taut against him. She tells him that she loves him as she swivels her hips, riding him slowly, drawing out each rise and fall on his cock. His hands are at her hips, then her thighs, ultimately settling between her legs as he lazily strokes over her clit.
The two come together this time, one after the other, forever chasing behind one another. She collapses within his arms, lulled to sleep by his ever-present embrace. And Caleb? Caleb can barley function, let alone sleep as the realization seeps in that his dreams were becoming reality and he couldn't fathom how he was capable of being loved to this extent. He strokes at her back with cool fingers, finding that she had quite liked the feel of cold steel against her skin.
And for the first time, he swears he can feel her.