Colters' Daughter

Page 11

“No, baby. You don’t have to. You’re tired.”
She gently tugged his hand away from his cock and curled her fingers around the base. “I want to,” she said in a husky voice.
His breath hissed explosively from his throat as she slowly slid her tongue over his length. The warm water had nothing on the heat of her mouth. She sucked him deep, licked over his rigid flesh and then slowly pulled away until the tip of his cock hung precariously from her lips.
She lapped at the slit and made a purring sound deep in her throat, thready with contentment.
“Jesus, Callie.”
“Help me,” she murmured. “Show me how you like it, Max.”
“You know damn well how I like it,” he growled.
But even as he spoke, his hands were on the sides of her face, gripping and holding her in place as he guided his cock inside and then deep. He held himself there for a long moment and then withdrew, sliding across her tongue.
She was the most erotic sight he’d ever witnessed in his life. On her knees, slicked down, water running in rivulets over her breasts, her face turned up and her gaze fastened on him. Awaiting his command.
He stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs and spread his fingers gently over her ears to the slick hair behind them. Her mouth was the sweetest fire he’d ever immersed himself in.
Hot. Tight. Wet.
So damn good he was going to lose his mind, his control, his very soul.
She surrounded him like liquid velvet. Sweet. Fiery beyond his wildest imaginings.
Each stroke to the back of her throat brought him that much closer to absolute abandon. She swallowed around his cock, her throat working around his flesh with wicked skill that left him shuddering uncontrollably.
“Let me taste you, Max. I want everything.”
Her soft plea unhinged him. He stroked deep as his release coiled tight in his balls and surged up his cock. The head of his penis rubbed over the top of her mouth and to the soft tissues at the back of her throat. She swallowed the first spurt of his semen, and the motion shattered the last of his control.
He gripped her head and thrust. Hard. His orgasm was painful. Ripped from him like he was shedding his skin. Intense bursts of ecstasy splintered through his groin and his knees nearly buckled as he exploded in her mouth.
He threw back his head, slammed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth so tightly that pain shot through his jaw.
She continued to stroke and caress him, coaxing the last of his release from his still-hard dick. Each little pet sent another shudder rocketing through his body. Little electric impulses that had him groaning as wave after wave of endless pleasure silvered through his veins.
He slipped from her mouth, but she continued to glide her fingers over his hypersensitive flesh, her hands working their delicious magic.
Suddenly aware of the water still streaming down over Callie, he reached quickly to turn off the shower. He felt like a drunk trying to stagger out of a bar as he took a step through the shower door.
His legs were rubbery and aftershocks still sparked through his body, but his first duty was to Callie.
He grabbed a towel off the rack and reached back for Callie’s hand to help her out of the shower. When she stood, dripping on the floor, he engulfed her in the towel and gently rubbed her from head to toe.
She sighed a little wistfully as he moved to her hair and began wiping the moisture from the long strands.
“I should be drying you,” she murmured.
He leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Huh-uh, dolcezza. You know how much I love taking care of you. And you already took such good care of me in the shower. For the next little while, I’m going to pamper and spoil you ridiculously.”
She smiled. “I like ridiculously. You do ridiculously really well.”
“I should hope so.”
He wrapped her hair in a towel, and then he retrieved the plush robe from the hook on the back of the door and pulled it around her body until she was engulfed by the thick terrycloth.
“Go in the living room and wait for me,” he directed. “It’ll just take me a minute to get dressed.”
Chapter Twelve
Callie walked into the living room, drawing the robe tighter around her. It wasn’t that it was cold. In fact, the apartment was at a perfect temperature. Heat rose from the floors and a fire blazed in the hearth though she guessed it was a gas log.Still, it looked inviting and she went to stand in front of it. When she turned her back to warm the hands she held behind her, she stared out the opposing window to the view of downtown Denver and distant mountains.
In a lot of ways, this reminded her of traveling across Greece and Italy with Max. She’d always backpacked and stayed in hostels or slept in train stations. Max was horrified at the idea that a young woman for all practical purposes was operating as a homeless person.
Callie had laughed and said for all practical purposes he was right. She had money but it had to be strictly rationed, and if she could get cheap accommodations or a place to camp, then she didn’t have to dip into her cash reserve, which meant she could travel even longer.
Max had put an end to all that from the moment Callie first let him make love to her. He’d taken over—not in an overbearing, assholish way—but rather he wanted to take care of her and proceeded to do just that.
He was firm. He was stubborn. But he wasn’t a jerk who got off on giving her orders.
She smiled as she remembered one particular conversation they’d shared in one of the sumptuous hotel rooms he’d reserved. She was on her knees on a thick, plush carpet not unlike the one in his apartment now.
Max had rubbed his hand up and down her cheek in an affectionate caress and asked, “Do I have your obedience, Callie?”
She wrinkled her nose and curled her lip in distaste. “I don’t like that word. I’m not a child. You aren’t my parents. I’m not some wayward twit who needs to be kept in line. Surely there has to be a better way to get your point across, Max. You know I love pleasing you. I need to please you. But please don’t use words like obedience, because it suggests something I don’t like.”
He smiled and leaned down to kiss her furrowed brow. “You worry too much, dolcezza. I never want to make you uncomfortable, to degrade you or make you feel any less than you are. If I ever cross that line, I hope you will, in true Callie fashion, kick my ever-loving ass.”
She grinned back at him. “You bet your ass.”
His face grew serious once more and he touched her cheek again. “Do I have your submission?”
She thought for a long moment about what he was asking for. To some, obedience and submission were probably the same thing. Not to her. Obedience suggested blind loyalty. No free will. Submission suggested a choice. A choice to place herself in the care of another. But with conditions. Trust. Always trust. Obedience didn’t necessarily equate to trust.
If someone was in a position of authority over another, they could command obedience and it would be far different than Callie offering her submission to Max. To give her care and trust to this man.
Finally she looked up at him, her brows drawn in seriousness. “Yes, Max. You have my submission. Willingly and joyfully.”
Callie sighed at the remembrance, and a shiver of delight skittered over her shoulders. They’d spent so many wonderful nights together. She’d submitted without regret. Until the day he’d left and hadn’t returned.
Frowning at the unhappy turn of her thoughts, she hugged her arms and walked away from the fire. She unwound the towel from her hair and dropped it on the floor as she came to stand in front of the window.
She didn’t hear Max’s approach. Didn’t know he was behind her until his hands closed over her shoulders and he brushed a kiss over her temple.
She turned instinctively into the warmth and comfort of his body. He hugged her close, wrapping those strong arms around her, and she tucked her head underneath his chin.
“I wonder if you know how glad I am to have you back where you belong.”
She smiled but didn’t say anything for a moment. It was easy to pretend that they’d never separated and that this was just an extension of the time they’d spent together in Europe.
Maybe he sensed her hesitancy because he pulled away and stared down at her with his intense gaze.
“What are you thinking?”
She started to respond but then wondered if she should really voice what she’d been thinking. She didn’t want to ruin what had been a perfect afternoon.
Max frowned and then tugged her toward the couch. He settled on the end and then pulled her down onto his lap until she was curled in his arms, her back against the arm of the sofa.
“Don’t pull any punches, Callie. Not with me. Whatever it is you were about to say, just say it. We won’t be able to move forward until we clear the air.”
She sighed and leaned her head over until it was pillowed on his shoulder. “I was just thinking about Europe. It was such a fantasy, so dreamlike when we were together. Every day was so perfect and I wondered if it was too good to be true. Then when you left and I finally came home, I convinced myself that’s all it was. Just a fantasy. It wasn’t meant to last.”
She shifted so she could look at him. She felt she owed it to him for what she was about to say.
“I wondered if that’s what this is. Another fantasy. Something too good to be true and if it will disappear just like before. I wonder if I’m deluding myself, and worse, I wonder how stupid I am for allowing it to happen all over again when I know you have so much power to hurt me.”
She thought he might be angry, but she couldn’t be anything less than honest. His answer surprised her, though.
“I understand why you feel that way,” he said roughly. “I don’t blame you. I know I’m asking a lot, particularly because I’m not only asking you for another chance, but I’m asking for your complete and utter trust. I’m asking you to cede power to me. I’m asking for your submission—again.”
She swallowed and nodded, glad that at least he understood her conflict. And her fear.
He smoothed his fingers over her still-damp hair, his gaze so intent on her that she had no doubt of his sincerity.
“I want you, Callie. I want us. I want to see where this takes us. I’ve tried it without you. I was miserable, and I think you were too. I think we’re better together.”
“I want us too,” she whispered. “There’s so much to talk about, though. So much we didn’t cover in Europe. I don’t even know what you do. My family asked, and I felt like the worst sort of idiot. I know nothing about you. And yet you know so much about me.”
Max pressed his lips to her forehead in a gesture so tender that her chest tightened. “That is what this week is for, dolcezza. Us. So that when we go meet your family, there is no doubt to anyone looking at us that you’re happy and confident.”
Her heart fluttered at the endearment he’d teasingly begun when they were in Italy. He’d taught her words of love and affection in many languages, but dolcezza had been her favorite. His eyes always burned a little brighter when he called her that.
“And to begin our week, I want you naked. I love the feel of your skin. I love the beauty of your body. My desire is that when we are in private I am never deprived of your sweetness.”
He pulled gently at the tie and then helped her to her feet. He stood in front of her and carefully peeled away the robe until she was naked in front of him, her skin soft and warm from the shower.
“Bellissima,” he murmured. “You are very beautiful, dolcezza. Even more so because you’re mine.”
He reached for a comb lying on the end table and then sat back on the couch, spreading his thighs. He patted the space between his legs.
“Sit so I can comb your hair while it’s still damp.”
She turned and then settled on the edge of the couch. His hands slipped over her hips as he steadied her, and then they wandered up her waist and around to cup her breasts.
He toyed idly with her nipples until they were rigid, and then he slid his hands up over her shoulders and gathered her hair at her nape.
“I love having the freedom to touch you however and whenever I want.”
“You’re such a spoiled man,” she teased.
“When it comes to you, I am.”
“You’re such a caveman.”
“And this is a problem?” he asked as he began working the comb through the ends of her hair.
“Evidently not.” She sighed. “I can’t resist you even when your knuckles are dragging the ground and you grunt stuff like ‘my woman’.”
“Damn right you’re my woman. What else am I supposed to say?”
She chuckled. “If I have to tell you then you require more work than I’m willing to put in to make you civilized.”
“Admit it, you love that I’m completely uncivilized.”
“Yes, I do, and I don’t want to know what that says about me.”
“It says you’re a woman with intelligent, discerning tastes.”