Chapter 5

Greer’s POV

I didn’t expect him to stay.

After I fell, my cheek pressed hot and trembling against the thick, straining bulge in his slacks. I braced for the inevitable: the sharp step back, the muttered apology laced with regret, the door closing behind him as he fled down the hall. I braced for shame to crash over me like cold water, leaving me kneeling alone on the rug with my face burning and my heart in pieces. But he didn’t move. Neither did I.

My hands stayed braced on his thighs, fingers sinking into firm muscle that quivered beneath my palms like taut wire about to snap. His cock throbbed against my cheek through the wool hard, insistent, alive in a way that made my own pulse stutter. His hand remained in my hair: heavy, warm, fingers loosely threaded as though he were caught between cradling me and holding himself back from something irreversible. Maybe he was afraid to grip too tight. Maybe he was afraid to let go at all.

My breath came in shallow, uneven puffs that fogged the dark fabric. Once. Twice. On the third exhale I nuzzled, just the smallest, most tentative shift of my cheek against him. He twitched violently in response. A low, broken sound tore from his throat, half groan, half surrender.

“Greer,” he rasped. His voice was wrecked, gravel dragged over silk. “We can’t.”

The words sounded more like a plea than a command. But he didn’t pull away. I lifted my head slowly, lashes fluttering as I looked up at him through the dim lamplight. His eyes were nearly black—pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of winter blue remained. His jaw was clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek like a countdown. He looked like a man at war with every rule he’d ever lived by.

And he was losing. My fingers trembled as I reached up again. Grazed the front of his slacks, light at first, exploratory, then firmer. Cupping the full, heavy length of him through the layers. He shuddered hard enough that I felt it ripple through his entire frame. His hips jerked forward once, unconscious, needy, then stilled as though he’d shocked himself.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” I whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears.

“When you were trying so hard not to want it?” He exhaled through his nose, rough, ragged. “Don’t.”

But his hand tightened in my hair. Not pushing me away. Guiding me closer until my lips hovered a breath away from the straining outline.

I rose higher on my knees, enough to press my open mouth over the fabric. Warm breath seeped through wool. He groaned low, guttural, the sound vibrating straight down my spine to pool hot and liquid between my thighs. I was soaked. Aching. My tiny sleep shorts clung uncomfortably to my folds, every throb of want echoing the insistent pulse against my lips.

My nipples strained painfully against the thin cotton of my tank top, begging for friction I didn’t dare give myself yet. I fumbled with his belt. The metal buckle clinked softly in the quiet room, too loud, too intimate. Zipper rasped down with agonizing slowness. I tugged the waistband of his boxers low enough for him to spring free. Thick. Veined. The head flushed a deep, angry plum and was already glistening at the slit. Precum beaded there, catching the low golden light like liquid amber.

The sight made my mouth water. I stared, memorizing every ridge, every subtle curve, the way the thick vein along the underside pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Then I leaned in.

My tongue flicked out first, a slow, deliberate circle around the swollen head. Salty. Hot. Pure him.

Calder sucked in a sharp, hissing breath. His free hand shot out and braced against the wall above my head, knuckles whitening as though he needed the solid surface to keep from collapsing. I took him deeper. Lips stretching wide around his girth. Tongue flattening along the underside, tracing that prominent vein as I slid down. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked gently at first, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, then harder.

Bobbing slow. Letting him feel every slick drag, every teasing swirl. “Fuck,” he breathed. The word cracked open, raw and reverent.

His hips rocked, shallow, testing the waters. Then deeper. Fucking my mouth in careful, measured thrusts that grew less measured with every pass. Control fraying at the edges.

I moaned around him—low, needy. The vibration ripped another curse from his chest, rough, ragged. His hand in my hair guided now, gently but firmly, setting a rhythm that made my scalp tingle. I took him to the back of my throat. Gagged once, softly, reflexively and then relaxed, breathing through my nose as tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

Drool slipped down my chin in thin, glistening trails. I didn’t care. I wanted to be messy for him. Marked by him. He was moaning freely now, low, broken sounds that tore from deep in his chest like he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“Greer… Christ… just like that… fuck, sweetheart…” The endearment was soft, accidental and it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through me. My free hand wrapped around the base, stroking what my mouth couldn’t reach. Twisting gently on the upstroke. Matching the slide of my lips until we found a perfect, filthy sync.

His thighs trembled under my palms. Abs clenched so tight the ridges stood out in sharp relief beneath his open shirt. His breath came in short, desperate pants that matched the frantic beat of my own heart. I felt powerful. Worshipped. Wanted in a way I’d never been. It was raw, desperate, undeniable.

He swelled thicker against my tongue. Hotter. Closer. So close. I sucked harder. Faster. Hollowed my cheeks until my jaw ached sweetly. Tongue swirling relentlessly over the sensitive head on every withdrawal. His moans turned desperate, raw, unrestrained. Fingers fisting tighter in my hair. Hips snapping forward in shallow, helpless thrusts.

Then, a knock. It was sharp. On the door. We both froze. My mouth still wrapped around him, lips stretched wide, throat full, tongue pressed flat to the pulsing vein underneath. His cock throbbed once, it became hard, warning against the roof of my mouth.

Another knock. Softer this time.

“Greer?” Veda’s voice drifted through the wood, muffled, impatient, edged with irritation.

“Are you awake? I need to talk about tomorrow’s schedule.”

Calder’s hand fisted tighter in my hair and for one heartbeat like he might yank me off, might end this before it consumed us both.

He didn’t. Instead his hips rocked forward, just once. It was shallow, needy and pushing deeper until the head nudged the back of my throat again. I moaned around him softly and muffled the sound vibrating straight through his length.

He bit out a curse under his breath. Low. Desperate. I was almost in pain. Veda knocked again.

“Greer?” Neither of us answered.

We were too far gone.

His other hand dropped to my shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise. Holding me exactly where he needed me. His hips moved again, slowly, deliberately, fucking my mouth like the interruption had never happened, like the only reality that existed was the wet heat of my mouth and the desperate sounds he couldn’t stop making. I took it. Took all of him. Eyes streaming. Throat working around his thickness. Hands braced on his trembling thighs.

The knock became intense. It got louder..

The door stayed closed. Calder’s moans started again. It was quieter now, but no less wrecked. Hoarse. Broken. Beautiful. He was close.

So close that I tasted him flooding my mouth, the stretch of my lips, the way he held me like I was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

We didn’t stop.

Just then……