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The night was supposed to be nothing special—just you and Caleb, comfortably lounging in your apartment after a long day. He had arrived unannounced, as he often did, armed with a takeout bag and his usual smooth confidence.
“Thought you might need something better than instant noodles,” he had said, plucking the sad-looking cup from your hands before you could protest. “I’m good at many things, Pipsqueak, but watching you commit culinary crimes isn’t something I can endure.”
That had led to dinner, which led to easy conversation, which led to now—Caleb reclining against the couch, long legs stretched out and spread, while you rummaged through your drawers for something more comfortable.
That’s when it happened.
Without thinking, you pulled your shirt off in one fluid motion, your mind still caught in whatever story you’d been telling. It was nothing to you—just shedding an uncomfortable layer, just changing clothes in the presence of someone who had seen you in far less modest situations before.
But to Caleb?
His entire world ground to a halt.
A sharp inhale—nearly silent, but in the quiet of your apartment, it might as well have been a gunshot.
His grip on his knee tightened, knuckles whitening. His jaw flexed, muscles locking down the urge to react—to move, to touch, to give in to the instincts roaring beneath his carefully composed exterior.
The dim glow of your bedside lamp caught on the newly revealed skin, highlighting every curve, every dip, the delicate rise and fall of your breath. He could see the way warmth pooled along your collarbone, how the gentle lighting painted you in hues of gold and shadow.
You turned, mid-sentence. “Do you think—”
You stopped.
Caleb was unnaturally still, eyes dark, posture tense as though he were waging some unseen war within himself.
Your brows knit together. “Why do you look like that?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He forced himself to breathe, to drag his gaze up from the temptation of your bare skin to your face—like a drowning man clawing his way to the surface.
“Like what?” His voice was lower than usual, rough at the edges.
You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Weird.”
He let out a slow, deliberate breath, tipping his head back against the couch. His fingers curled into his knee like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Then stop looking at me,” he muttered.
You snorted. “Drama queen.”
Caleb huffed a laugh, but it was strained. Because the moment you turned back around, reaching for whatever clothing you had been intending to grab, his control slipped another degree.
And if you kept this up…
He was going to break.
─── ༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻ ───
You didn’t think much of Caleb’s reaction. If anything, you thought he was just being dramatic, as he sometimes was when you caught him off guard. So you went about your business, sifting through your drawer in search of the oversized sleep shirt you usually wore around him.
Behind you, Caleb exhaled slowly, as though measuring every breath, forcing himself to stay composed.
It wasn’t working.
The room felt warmer now, but he wasn’t sure if that was from the low hum of your heater or the way desire coiled in his chest, hot and restless. He prided himself on control, on patience—but when it came to you, that discipline had always been tested.
And now, with your bare skin still lingering in his vision, you were unknowingly dismantling his resolve piece by piece.
The worst part? You had no idea.
“Ah, there it is,” you murmured, finally pulling out the shirt. You turned back to face him, and—without a second thought—you stepped between his legs, tossing the shirt over your shoulder as you grabbed the throw blanket that had been draped over the couch.
Caleb stilled.
You weren’t touching him, not yet, but the proximity was enough to send his pulse hammering against his ribs. He could smell the faintest trace of your perfume, something soft and teasing that clung to your skin like a secret.
He shouldn’t be thinking about this. Shouldn’t be thinking about how easy it would be to reach out—to run his hands over the bare stretch of your waist, to trace his fingers over the warmth of your chest, to feel the way your breath would stutter beneath his touch.
But god, you weren’t making it easy for him.
Not when you exhaled a quiet, satisfied sigh and flopped down beside him, curling into the couch with a sleepy sort of contentment.
Caleb swallowed hard. Look away. Get up. Do something.
Instead, he remained frozen as you stretched, your arm brushing against his, a casual, unconscious touch that sent sparks racing down his spine.
You turned your head, blinking at him. “You okay?”
Caleb dragged in a breath. He couldn’t answer right away—not when your voice was soft with drowsiness, not when your lips were slightly parted, not when you were still so goddamn close.
“Fine,” he finally said, though it sounded more like a warning than reassurance.
You tilted your head, your gaze searching his face, as if trying to read what wasn’t being said. And then, with the same reckless unawareness that had been driving him insane all night, you shifted closer, resting against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Caleb’s entire body went rigid.
This was dangerous.
You had fallen against him countless times before—after long missions, late nights, in moments of exhaustion. But this… this was different. This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t necessity. This was just you, curling into him out of instinct, trusting him to be there.
And he was.
Caleb let out a slow breath, his arm lifting—hesitating, just for a moment—before settling around your shoulders, pulling you fully against him.
A mistake.
Because the moment he did, he could feel everything.
The warmth of your skin against his. The slow, steady rise and fall of your breathing. The way your fingers curled against his shirt, absentminded.
You sighed, melting into him. “Mmm… you’re warm.”
Caleb pressed his lips together, shutting his eyes briefly. Don’t say things like that. Not right now.
You didn’t notice the way his grip tightened ever so slightly. Didn’t see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, fighting the heat pooling low in his stomach.
“Should I move?” you murmured, though you made no effort to do so.
“Yes,” Caleb agreed, voice a little too strained. “You should.”
You hummed, shifting slightly, and that was his undoing—because the way your body moved against him, soft and languid, sent a sharp pulse of something dangerously close to need straight through him.
You felt it then.
The tension in his muscles. The way his breath caught, almost imperceptible. The way his fingers flexed against your arm before tightening, as if caught in a battle between letting go and pulling you closer.
Slowly, you lifted your head, eyes meeting his.
And that was when you finally saw it.
The carefully controlled patience was gone, replaced with something raw and dark and unspoken. His gaze flickered to your lips—just for a second, just long enough for heat to lick up your spine—before snapping back up.
Caleb was always composed. Always teasing, always smooth, always in control.
But right now?
Right now, he looked like a man on the verge of ruin.
Your lips parted slightly, your breath catching in the stillness between you. “Caleb…”
His jaw clenched, his fingers pressing slightly into your skin. His eyes searched yours, torn between a restraint that had kept him in check for so long… and the temptation that was begging him to finally let go.
If you moved even an inch closer—
His grip on control would shatter.
─── ༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻ ───
The space between you was nearly nonexistent now—just breath, just heat, just the quiet hum of something unspoken but unbearably loud.
Caleb was still—too still.
But his eyes burned.
A slow drag of violet, tracing over every detail of you—your lips, plump and parted in the barest breath; the way your pulse fluttered at the base of your throat; the bare skin that still lingered against his, setting fire to every nerve.
And then, finally, a shift.
Subtle. Intentional.
His hand, warm and steady, brushed against your arm—fingertips barely skimming over the sensitive skin near your elbow before tracing upward, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of you.
You shivered.
It was the smallest reaction, but he caught it. He always caught it.
His lips twitched—something dangerous, something knowing—but his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet and restrained.
“You sure you don't wanna move?” he murmured, the same warning from before. But this time, the way he said it made it sound less like a suggestion and more like a plea.
You hugged his arm tightly against your chest, pressing into your softness as you nuzzled against him in a wordless 'no.'
And that was when Caleb finally cracked.
The hand that had been hesitating against your arm suddenly slid down—over the curve of your waist, fingers pressing into the bare skin just above your hip, not rough, not soft, just firm enough to make you feel every inch of contact.
The breath you sucked in was sharp.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” Caleb muttered, half under his breath, his fingers flexing against you like he was restraining himself from something worse.
You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Are you sure I don't?”
A sharp inhale—his. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering behind them. He searched your face, as if giving you one last chance to pull away.
But you didn’t.
And so he gave in.
─── ༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻ ───
It happened all at once.
His hand tightened on your waist as he surged forward, closing the last sliver of space, crushing you against him. His lips met yours with none of the hesitation from before—just raw, aching need.
Heat. Pressure. The weight of all the times he had held back crashing into this single, devastating moment.
His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and god—it was dizzying, the way he kissed you. Slow at first, like he was savoring it, like he was claiming you one deliberate movement at a time. But then—deeper, rougher, his teeth grazing your lower lip, a low sound catching in his throat as you parted them for him.
You barely had time to breathe.
Your fingers found the front of his shirt, clutching, twisting in the fabric as he shifted, pulling you more fully onto his lap. The motion sent a sharp rush of sensation through you—the solid warmth of his body, the way his arm wrapped around your lower back, grinding you against his hot, growing length.
His lips left yours only to trail lower, skimming along your jaw and throat with open-mouthed kisses that burned.
“You have no idea,” he murmured again, this time against the sensitive skin just beneath your ear.
His teeth nipped, just barely, and you let out a sound you didn’t even recognize—breathless, desperate.
He cursed, the sound low and rough, his grip on you tightening.
The way you moved against him was dangerous. Every shift, every brush of skin against fabric, made his breath catch, made the muscles in his arms tense with the effort to hold himself back.
“Caleb—”
He groaned, the sound vibrating against your throat as his fingers dug into your hip.
“If you keep saying my name like that,” he murmured, voice low and thick with restraint, “I’m not going to stop.”
You stilled, breath shallow, heart pounding out of your chest.
He meant it.
Caleb was a man of control, of discipline. But right now—that control was hanging by a thread.
And you were the one holding the scissors.
For a long, charged moment, neither of you moved. Your heart raced, the weight of his words settling between you.
Then, slowly, you leaned in again, your fingers trailing from his chest to the bare skin of his collarbone, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth in something soft, deliberate, inviting.
“I want you.”
A quick, shuddering breath.
And then—
Caleb was gone.
─── ༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻ ───
His mouth crashed against yours again, but this time—no restraint, no careful hesitations, no holding back.
He kissed you like he was starved.
Like he had been waiting for this, suffering in silence, desperate to claim what had always been just out of reach.
Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tightening as he pulled you even closer—if that was possible—until there was nothing between you but the growing ache of something neither of you could deny anymore.
His hands—god, his hands. One still pressed against your waist, fingers flexing with barely concealed urgency, while the other slid up, under the fabric of your shirt, tracing the shape of your spine, dragging slow, teasing paths over your skin.
You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, turning it into something deeper.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growled, low and rough.
And then, as if to prove his point, his fingers dipped lower, pressing into the small of your back, guiding your hips against his in a slow, devastating motion that had your breath catching, heat pooling in places you weren’t ready to acknowledge.
You shuddered in his embrace, your soaked panties doing nothing to contain the slick evidence of your desire as he ground you against him. The damp heat between your legs melded with the stain he had already left against his own jeans, darkening the fabric further, the proof of your shared arousal smearing together in a sinful, intoxicating mix.
Caleb stilled, his forehead pressing against yours, breath ragged, dangerously close to losing himself entirely.
Your fingers slid down, pressing lightly against the bare skin above his heart, feeling the way it pounded beneath your touch.
Slowly, you lifted your gaze, meeting his, and his mouth found yours again.
His kiss was deep, consuming, passionate. A collision of heat and breath as he pulled you flush against him, his hands no longer tentative but possessive, claiming.
Caleb’s grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer. The air between you thickened, charged with something dark and primal, something that neither of you could restrain any longer. The slow, deliberate press of his body against yours left no space, no questions—only the scorching heat of anticipation as his hands roamed lower, fingers pressing into the fabric still clinging to your skin.
A sharp inhale rattled through him as you shifted, the movement igniting a spark that threatened to consume you both. His lips descended again, claiming yours in a kiss that was full of fire and desperation, his teeth grazing, biting, soothing in the same breath, as if he was both punishing and worshiping you all at once.
Without warning, Caleb's strong arms embraced you tightly as he rose from the couch. A gasp escaped you as your back met the cool sheets beneath you, the contrast against your fevered skin sending shivers down your spine. He hovered above you now, his violet gaze searing, the edges of his control fraying with every ragged breath. His hands, firm and unyielding, slid up the length of your thighs, parting them as he settled between them, his body caging you in with unspoken possession.
His mouth found the column of your throat, hot and open-mouthed, each kiss leaving a burning trail of sensation that coiled low in your stomach. He lingered there, his tongue flicking against the pulse hammering beneath your skin before he exhaled, “You feel so—”
He cut himself off with a low growl, his frustration palpable as his hips pressed against yours in a slow, torturous roll. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through you, a whimper escaping before you could stop it, and that was all it took. His restraint snapped.
His hands gripped your thighs, dragging them further apart, his body pressing deeper into yours, heat to heat, a promise and a challenge in the same movement. His lips traced lower, each kiss more urgent, more desperate, as if he was unraveling with every inch of skin he claimed. You writhed beneath him, your nails scraping against the taut muscles of his back, the way he tensed beneath your touch setting fire to your every nerve.
His voice was a whisper against your skin, rough with need. “I want you so badly, Y/N. Tell me it's okay for me to keep going.”
You didn’t hesitate. You cupped his face gently in your hands before murmuring reassuringly against his lips, “I want you too, Caleb. It's okay.”
A curse, low and guttural, rumbled from his chest as he captured your mouth again, his hands sliding up your body with reverence and hunger. Every shift of his hips, every press of his tongue, every desperate grasp of his fingers sent you spiraling further into the abyss of sensation.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
He must have felt it too, the unbearable need to be closer, to erase the last barriers between you. His hands found the fabric between you and without hesitation, he rid you of it, the cool air barely kissing your skin before he was there, setting ablaze every inch of you with his touch, his mouth, his body.
His lips traced down, over the delicate curve of your breasts, lower, lower—each kiss a silent vow, each lingering touch a promise. You arched beneath him, gasping as he reached the most sensitive parts of you, his hands splaying wide against your hips as if to hold you steady, to anchor himself as he unraveled you piece by piece.
Caleb was thorough. Devastatingly so. His patience had burned away, replaced by an almost fevered need to hear you, to feel you, to know every inch of you in ways neither of you would ever recover from. And when he finally returned to you, his body pressing fully against yours, skin to skin, heat to heat, the the sweet sounds you made were his undoing.
His lips were at your ear, his breath hot as he murmured, “You’re mine.”
And then, finally—finally—he took you, in a slow, deliberate claim that left no doubt, no hesitation.
Every thrust, every movement, every whispered curse and gasped plea built upon the last, the crescendo of tension breaking into something all-consuming, something that neither of you could fight any longer. His body moved with yours, a perfect rhythm, a perfect storm, his hands gripping, guiding, worshiping as he drove you both to the brink and beyond.
Caleb’s pace was unrelenting, a rhythm perfectly in tune to make your body sing for him—every movement designed to pull you deeper, to unravel you further. The world outside of this moment ceased to exist, reduced to nothing but the heady press of his body, the heat of his skin against yours, the way his name spilled from your lips in broken whispers between gasps of air.
He felt it—your surrender, the way your body arched to meet his with desperate need, the way your fingers clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders, into his back, marking him in return. A groan tore from his throat as he buried himself deeper, his grip tightening at your hips, the edges of his control fraying with each desperate thrust.
His lips sought yours, but the kiss barely formed before it shattered into something raw and breathless, more gasped exhale than structured movement. He sucked on your lower lip, a fleeting nip from his teeth before his mouth left a burning trail down the curve of your jaw and down the column of your throat, where his tongue flicked over the pulse hammering there.
“You feel—” His voice broke, the words lost to the shudder that wracked through him as you clenched around him. A curse tumbled from his lips, guttural, reverent, his forehead pressing against yours as he fought for breath. “—so damn good.”
The admission sent another rush of heat through you, a thrill sparking along every nerve as his hands roamed, fingers splaying wide across your chest, your waist, gripping, kneading, as if trying to memorize every inch of your body. He shifted then, changing the angle, and the pleasure that shot through you was enough to make your vision blur, a cry escaping before you could stop it.
Caleb’s answering groan was wrecked, his grip tightening as he chased that perfect, devastating friction. He was relentless now, lost in the push and pull of your bodies, the way you fit together like you had been made for this—made for him. Every movement was a silent vow, every thrust a declaration that went beyond words.
“Say my name,” he rasped against your skin, his breath hot at your ear, a command wrapped in plea.
You did. Over and over. Each time, it came out more broken, more desperate, until you could barely form the syllables, until it dissolved into nothing but gasps and moans, into the sound of his own name echoing through the dark.
He was close. You could feel it in the way his movements turned erratic, the way his fingers trembled slightly where they held you, the way his breath stuttered between each thrust. But he refused to let go without taking you with him, refused to fall unless he was pulling you over the edge with him.
“Come with me,” he urged, voice strained, his lips brushing over yours as he pressed deeper, slower now, deliberate in the way he wrung every last ounce of pleasure from your body.
And then, the tension coiled impossibly tight before it snapped, sending you spiraling into oblivion, your body shaking beneath the sheer force of it. Caleb was right there with you, his own release chasing yours, your name still on his lips as he broke apart, his body shuddering, collapsing against yours as if he could no longer hold himself together.
But still, he didn’t let go. Didn’t pull away.
And neither did you.
─── ༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻༺ ♡ ༻ ───
The silence that followed was thick with the echoes of what had just passed between you, heavy with the weight of something neither of you could name but both felt in the marrow of your bones. Caleb’s breath was still uneven, his chest rising and falling against yours, each exhale ghosting across your skin like the remnants of a storm. His arms remained locked around you, his body still pressing you into the mattress as if afraid to let go, afraid that you might slip through his fingers like something fragile, something fleeting.
His forehead rested against yours, the warmth of his skin a grounding force against the lingering tremors running through your body. Slowly, his fingers traced down your flushed back, a languid, absentminded caress that sent little shivers sparking in the wake of his touch. He wasn’t in a rush to move, to break the moment, and neither were you.
Your legs were still tangled together, your body still aching, still molded to his in a way that felt irrevocable, like you had been shaped for this—for him. The thought made something in your chest tighten, a slow, deep ache that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the man who now held you as if you were his whole world.
A sigh left him, soft and spent, as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You're absolutely perfect,” he confessed, his lips brushing over your damp skin, tasting the salt lingering there, the aftershocks of your shared intimacy.
You gently kissed his cheek and threaded your fingers through his hair, nails dragging lightly along his scalp, and he let out a low hum of contentment.
Another silence stretched between you, but this one was different—sated, lingering, charged with something softer yet no less intense. Caleb shifted, just enough to ease some of his weight off you, but not so much that you felt the loss of him. His hand drifted lower, tracing slow, lazy circles along your hip, as if his body was incapable of stopping, as if he still needed to touch, to claim, to keep you in the orbit of his gravity.
“You’re trembling.” His voice was a hushed murmur, laced with lingering concern beneath the husky edge that had yet to leave it.
You hadn’t noticed it, the subtle quiver in your limbs, the way your breath still hadn’t fully evened out. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the way he had undone you so thoroughly that you weren’t sure how to piece yourself back together again.
“And whose fault is that?” Your smile betrayed your playful teasing.
Caleb exhaled, and then, in one slow, deliberate motion, he gathered you against him, rolling onto his side so that you were half-draped over his chest, his arms a secure, unwavering cage around you. His lips pressed to your forehead and temple slow, comforting kisses.
“All mine,” he grinned with satisfaction, his voice dropping to something softer, something meant only for you. His fingers tangled with yours, threading together, holding tight as his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm.
And in that moment, with his warmth surrounding you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you knew with absolute certainty—nothing between you would ever be the same again.