One Night - The Chill of Winter 1 (+15)

Callie is pretty much your average teenage girl. At 17 she's at the top of her class, and somewhat popular. Her boyfriend Martin is fantastic, and she never doubts his love for her. There's just one problem. A problem with the name of Luke.
Ever since she met Luke they've had an unusual chemistry. And the more Callie ignores it, the worse it gets. She doesn't sleep at night, her grades a dropping - quickly - and she feels like her sanity might be on the line. Because she's never seen herself as the type of girl who would cheat on anyone. And especially not on a guy who loves her deeply, and is treating her perfectly. But still, Luke is haunting her every waking thought, and as her desperation increases, more an more seems possible. Until it all might just explode.


5. Chapter Three

(Explicit sexual content)

 ”You're kidding me. You've got to be. There is simply no other possibility,” I tell him when he pulls up to and old and - seemingly – deserted farm.

”Admit it, it ought to be tried,” he grins. His smile grows even wider when he takes in my confused expression.

”What, exactly, is it that ought to be tried?” I ask him, incredulous. I look around, expecting to find some sort of clue as to what the hell we're doing here. The empty yard isn't being very helpful. Instead of answering my question, he starts walking. And I follow him, hopeless as I am.

He stops by an orange barn, so unstable it's vibrating in the very ground we're standing on, and casually pushes the port open. It reveals a dim room, dominated by a huge pile of soft-looking golden hay.

He grabs my waist from behind and whispers into my ear: ”Fucking in a hay-stack of course.”

An icy burn down my spine. Shivers controlling my body. I have no idea what he's doing to me, but I have to have more of it.

”You are such a perverted asshole,” I murmur, but it sounds half-hearted, even to my own ears.

”I am,” he whispers as he turns me around and places his lips on mine. His hands are on my lower back, and suddenly he's backing me up against the wall, and I'm scared for a second, that the sparks between us will set fire to the dry barn.

”I hate you right now,” I whisper between kisses, while I pull him closer, closer, closer, because nothing is close enough, no amount of skin touching is too much.

”Yeah. And there's a flood in Sahara. Try again Cal,” he mumbles, playing with my lower lip with his teeth.

”There could be,” I persist, but he silences me with another deep kiss. His tongue caressing my lip, his hands caressing the bare skin at my waistline.

”Shhh... No more talking now,” he says, and moves his lips to me neck, biting, licking and sucking in ways that only he can, making it tingle all the down to my toes. My hands are exploring his upper body, almost against my will, but I have to. There's a fire in blood, blissfully painful, painfully blissful, and the only way to tame it is to keep going.

His hands cup my ass, and I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling him hard beneath me. He keeps playing with the sensitive skin on my neck, and I moan into his ear the way I know will make him go crazy.

And I'm right. The moan coming out of his mouth is almost a whine, and he carries me easily to the stack of hay, where he throws me down. His shirt is off in a mili-second, mine an instant later. I barely have the time to feel self-consious with his eyes roaming my body. I use the time his spending drinking me in, looking at him. His hard-edged, yet soft chest, his flat stomach, the bulge showing under his jeans. With his charm he doesn't need to be gorgeous, but he is.

”What are you waiting for?” I flash him my best innocent smile, and he smiles back with a predatory look in his eyes.

He dives down, opens and pulls off my pants in one movement, and my hands are opening his before I know what I doing. Frantic, almost panicked. I need him.

When his jeans are off, he takes me by the hair, knowing what I want and ignoring it. For some reason that makes me even hotter, makes me want him so much more because he so obviously wants me. He pulls my head by the hair, leading my mouth to his dick, standing straight into the air. The taste is of salt and sweat and want, the last so strong I can barely contain my own need. I'm doing everything I know he loves, and his grip in my hair tightens to that unbearably blissful pain that I love so much.

And then he's out, and I'm on my back in the hay, and it's scratchy, and I don't really care, because he's coming down on me.

He's smiling his half-smile, but his eyes are burning white-hot with desire, and I love that sight so much I whimper for who knows what time.

He pushes my panties aside, not actually bothering to take them off, and slips inside easily, no more warm-up needed.

”God, I always forget how perfectly tight you are,” he moans, and starts pumping in and out.

The heat racing through my body is the most perfect, painful, fantastic, awful thing I have ever tried, and I love it so much I don't ever want him to stop, not in a million years.

And in the moment, when Martin crosses my mind, I'm not even sorry, becaue here is no more room for emotions. There's only this, the now, the bliss, the pain, the explosion of energy inside me so great I scream.

When he cums I scream again, because nothing is as perfect as him, heating me up from the inside.

And then, after we lay still for a while, staring at each other, the bliss starts receding, leaving only the pain. Because I know that I love him, and he will always be incapable of feeling the same way.

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