Three weeks after our near-death experience, Calder woke me before the sun was even all the way up by biting me on the ass, in the curve right where it met my leg.
I jolted up onto my elbows with a squeak, and Calder shoved me right back down again.
"I'm busy," he growled against the crease of my ass. "Hold still."
Yeah, I'd promised to do whatever he told me, but I still started to argue. So sue me. I liked to argue.
But when he pulled my cheeks apart and thrust his tongue inside me without so much as buying me a drink first, I collapsed back down onto my face and did what he fucking told me after all.
He ate me out until I was writhing against the mattress, desperate to get off, and then slid up the bed and fucked me just like that, holding me down by the neck and making me his bitch, a little rougher than usual with only his spit for lube.
It helped that he'd left me wet and open after fucking me twice the night before—only who was counting.
