Chapter 26 You Are The Only One Who Can Make Me C*m
Claire
I couldn’t even remember how our clothes came off; one moment we were kissing, the next they were scattered across the floor like forgotten secrets. All I knew was the cool air on my bare skin and the heat of his body as he pushed me gently onto the wide, low couch and sank to his knees between my thighs.
He spread me open with strong hands, eyes dark and hungry, and then his mouth was on me.
A raw, helpless moan tore from my throat the instant his lips closed around my clit. He sucked—firm, deliberate—tongue flicking in quick, perfect strokes that made my hips buck off the cushion. My fingers found his hair, tangling tight, holding him there as if he might ever think to leave.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmured against me, voice muffled, reverent. He wasn’t teasing now; he was devouring, licking broad stripes up my folds before circling back to my clit, sucking harder, like he couldn’t get enough, would never get enough.
Pleasure coiled tight and fast in my belly. My thighs trembled around his shoulders.
“Liam,” I gasped, barely able to form the words, “I’m gonna come—”
He didn’t answer with words. He only growled low in his throat, the vibration sending sparks through me, and doubled his efforts—tongue lashing faster, lips sealing tight, one hand sliding two fingers deep inside me and curling just right.
It hit me like a wave crashing over stone. I came undone with a sharp cry, back arching, hips grinding against his mouth as pulse after pulse of blinding pleasure tore through me. He stayed with me through all of it, licking gently now, drawing out every last shudder until I collapsed, boneless and breathless, against the cushions.
Only then did he lift his head, lips glistening with me, eyes blazing as they met mine.
He licked his lips, savoring my taste and smiled—slow, wicked, and utterly satisfied.
“Good girl, Mrs. Claire.”
I gasped for air, chest heaving, body still trembling from the orgasm he’d just pulled from me with his mouth. He rose up slowly, eyes locked on mine, and pressed his lips to my mouth. I tasted myself on him—salty, intimate—and the kiss was slippery, wet, our tongues sliding together in a lazy, filthy dance.
He nudged my legs wider with his knee, the thick head of his cock brushing my soaked entrance. I whimmed into his mouth, desperate. He broke the kiss, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. It felt so raw, so deeply intimate—nothing like the mechanical sex I’d known with Ian. This was something else entirely.
Slowly, deliberately, he pushed inside. In one smooth, swift thrust, he filled me completely. A broken moan tore from my throat as my back arched off the couch.
He drew out almost all the way, then slammed back in. “I’ve missed this,” he murmured against my collarbone, voice rough, repeating the slow withdrawal and deep, claiming thrust.
I’d missed it too—this fluttering heat in my belly, the tingling ache that only he seemed to soothe and stoke higher at the same time.
“Move faster,” I pleaded, nails digging into his shoulders.
He gripped my hips hard enough to bruise. “As you wish, Mrs. Claire.”
And then he let go.
His hips snapped forward again and again, relentless, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. It was mad, frantic fucking—deep, punishing strokes that drove the air from my lungs. One hand slid up to wrap lightly around my throat, holding me steady, pinning me beneath him. I didn’t care if he left marks; I wanted him to wreck me.
“Fuck—did you get tighter?” he growled with every brutal thrust, like he couldn’t believe how perfectly I gripped him.
I never imagined I could crave sex like this, need it like air. His cock dragged over that spot inside me again and again, scratching the itch but somehow making me hungrier for more—of him, this young, insatiable man who’d awakened something wild in me.
Pleasure coiled tighter, faster. I was teetering on the edge again already. “Right there, Liam—” I cried out, voice breaking.
And then he stopped.
Completely still, buried deep.
His hand left my throat. “Why did you—” I started, frantic.
“Shh,” he hushed, eyes dropping to where we were joined, a wicked smile curling his lips.
He wasn’t moving—just holding there, letting me feel every thick inch of him. Then his thumb found my clit, circling slowly. I squirmed, trying to rock against him, but he held my hips firm.
“I just thought of something, Mrs. Claire,” he said, voice low and dangerous, gaze lifting to mine. “You didn’t let me fuck you the other day… because you hated that I spanked you.”
My eyes widened. “So?”
His smile turned downright sinful. Before I could react, he pulled out entirely.
Fuck. What was he doing?
“Turn around, Mrs. Claire.”
Heart pounding, I obeyed, rolling onto my hands and knees.
“Yes—just like that. Doggy style.”
He gripped my hips, pulling me back slightly. “Head down,” he murmured.
I lowered my chest to the couch, ass in the air, vulnerable. He teased my entrance with the head of his cock, then slid in slow—agonizingly slow—until he bottomed out. A hiss escaped me as he started thrusting again, deeper from this angle, heavier, each stroke jolting through my whole body.
And then—crack—his palm landed hard on my ass.
“Ah!” I yelped, the sting blooming hot across my skin.
He didn’t ease up. He fucked me hard, hips slamming into me, while his hand came down again and again—sharp, deliberate spanks that made my flesh burn. Pain and pleasure twisted together, inseparable. Every sting melted into a rush of heat that made me clench around him harder.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—only feel. The edge rushed up fast.
I reached back blindly, fingers digging into his thigh, squeezing hard as my pussy clamped down on him. I was there—right there.
He fisted my hair, yanking my head back just as I shattered.
“Oh fuck—yes!” I screamed, body convulsing, waves of pleasure ripping through me so intensely my vision blurred. I shook uncontrollably, pussy pulsing around his cock in endless spasms.
But he didn’t stop.
He kept thrusting through my orgasm—hard, steady, relentless—drawing it out until I was sobbing with overstimulation, tears pricking my eyes, every nerve alight.
Only when I collapsed forward, trembling and spent, did he slow, leaning over me, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“We’re not done yet, Mrs. Claire.”
I was still trembling, trying to catch my breath, my body a live wire of overstimulation, when the words slipped out from me. “There’s only so much this body can take,” I panted, half-laughing, half-pleading.
He laughed low against my ear, the sound dark and teasing. “But I haven’t come yet,” he murmured, nipping the lobe. “Or do you want me to go finish with Pattie?”
The name hit like ice water. I stiffened beneath him, anger flaring through the haze of pleasure. He was inside me—still hard, still buried deep—and he dared say another woman’s name?
Before I could snap, he continued, voice dropping to a husky whisper as he sucked gently at my ear. “But then there’s a problem, Mrs. Claire.” A pause, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re the only one who can make me come.”
I froze. He’d said something like this before—I couldn’t place when, but the words echoed, familiar and heavy. “What do you mean by that?” I asked, voice unsteady.
He chuckled, the vibration rumbling from his chest onto my back. “Exactly what I said. You’re the only one who can make me come. So don’t worry—you have me all to yourself.”
Was he serious? Or was this another one of his twisted games?
He eased back just enough to give me space. I rolled onto my back, looking up at him—his hair tousled, eyes sharp and intense, lips curved in that half-smirk that always unraveled me.
“Was that why you blackmailed me?” I asked, searching his face.
His smile widened, slow and dangerous. He reached out, gently tucking a strand of damp hair behind my ear. “Tell me, Mrs. Claire,” he said softly, “what would make a twenty-eight-year-old man so desperate for a forty-two-year-old woman that he’d go to the lengths of blackmailing her for sex?”
I swallowed. “I thought… you did it to keep me from breaking up Pattie and Ian.”
“That too,” he admitted, eyes glinting. “But that wasn’t the main reason.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to something raw, almost reverent. “The main reason, Mrs. Claire… is that you made me come the very first time I fucked you. Something no one else has ever done. So I decided then and there—I’d keep you. By any means necessary.”
His words sank into me like stones. Obsession. That’s what this was. The sex was incredible—mind-blowing—but this? This possessiveness in his eyes, the way he spoke like I was his only lifeline? It scared me as much as it thrilled me. He wasn’t going to let me go. Not anytime soon.
And then, before I could respond, I felt him—thick, hard, pressing at my entrance again.
“Now, Mrs. Claire,” he growled, “make me come.”
He slammed into me in one brutal thrust.
A shocked cry tore from my throat, my back arching off the couch. There was no warning, no gentle ease—he just took, hips snapping forward with relentless force, heavy and deep, stealing my breath, my thoughts, everything.
But beneath the onslaught, something shifted inside me.
He needed me. Not just wanted—needed. I was the only one who could give him release. That tape? It wasn’t leveraged over me anymore. If he released it, I’d walk away… and he’d lose the only person who could satisfy him, he wouldn't want to risk that.
A slow, secret smile curved my lips even as he drove into me, each thrust shaking my body.
You’re the one who should be begging, Liam.
Not me.