CRAVING DADDY'S BEST FRIEND

Chapter Thirty Five: The Wash of war

Abigail Macron

The sweep of the headlights across the ceiling was a neon countdown. Below the loggia, the heavy thud of SUV doors and the sharp, clipped commands of my father’s security team cut through the alpine wind.

Caleb didn't flinch. He pulled out of me with a slow, controlled drag that made me shudder against the freezing stone sill. The corporate machine was gone, but the strategist remained. He grabbed my ruined silk blouse and blazer, shoving them into my arms, before pulling his own clothes together with a terrifying, silent efficiency.

"The master suite has a secondary drainage line connected to the lower rock face," he whispered, his voice a low, lethal vibration near my ear as he guided me toward the en-suite bathroom. "The thermal cameras out there are looped on a five-minute ghost feed. But we have to clear the room now."

He pushed the heavy, frosted glass door of the bathroom shut, plunging us into a different kind of darkness.

This room was a solid cavern of dark grey Vals quartzite, cold and clear. Caleb didn't turn on the lights. He reached into the massive open-concept shower stall, twisting the brushed-metal dial. A fraction of a second later, the pipes growled, and a heavy, steaming torrent of boiling water cascaded from the overhead rainfall fixture, instantly filling the stone space with a thick, suffocating cloud of white mist.

The sound of the rushing water drowned out the noise from the driveway, wrapping us in a deafening, humid vacuum.

"Clean the marks," Caleb said gently, though his hands were trembling with a raw, post-adrenaline tremor as he stripped off his dark tactical jacket and trousers.

I stepped beneath the scalding spray, a sharp gasp escaping my lips as the hot water hit my cold, damp skin. The emerald-gala residue, the salt of the mountain wind, and the heavy trace of his touch began to wash down the dark stone drain. But before I could even raise my hands to clear my wet hair from my face, the glass door of the stall slid open.

Caleb stepped into the steam.

In the white mist, his frame looked like a rough-hewn statue. His broad chest was slick with water, the dark hair glistening beneath the downpour, his muscles bunching with an unyielding, territorial hunger. He didn't say a word. He stepped directly into the torrent with me, his large, hands sliding up my wet thighs, over my hips, until he pinned my lower back against the scalding, wet quartzite wall.

The contrast was absolute—the burning stone behind me, the heavy roar of the water above, and the white furnace of his body trapping me completely.

"We don't have five minutes, Caleb," I choked out, my breath hitching as his mouth locked onto my jawline, his teeth nipping his tongue licking at my wet skin.

"Then we make every second a scar," he growled against my throat.

His hand shot down between our bodies, his long fingers finding my entrance, already slick and aching from the threshold outside. The water rushed over his wrist as he opened me up, his rough thumb sliding over my hypersensitive core with a wild punishing friction that had my head falling back against the stone, a loud, echoing sob bouncing off the quartzite walls.

He was entirely rigid again, his seven-inch length pressing white-hot against my lower stomach, a pulsing demand that ignored the ticking clock downstairs. Caleb didn't waste time on a slow descent. He hooked his large hands under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly into the air until my back slid up the wet wall.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, my fingers clawing at his slick shoulders, locking onto the heavy muscles of his neck as he positioned himself. With one upward, brutal surge of his hips, he drove himself entirely into my honey comb, the unmitigated velocity of the thrust hitting the absolute back of my pelvis.

A loud, shattered cry tore from my throat, completely muffled by the heavy roar of the rainfall overhead. The fullness was staggering, enhanced by the slick, streaming heat of the water washing over our point of impact. Caleb immediately set an unyielding pace, his heavy thrusts throwing my body up against the quartzite wall with a rhythmic, deafening thud.

The steam was suffocating, turning the air to liquid fire as he possessed me in the dark. His chest slammed against my breasts with every impact, the wet friction driving a violent spike of electricity straight down my spine. He was panting, a ragged, animal sound in my ear, his teeth catching the skin of my shoulder blade, stamping his name into my body while his best friend cleared the front security doors two floors below.

"Look at me, Abby," he rasped, his dark eyes fracturing through the water streaming down his face. "Know who took the empire from him."

"You," I sobbed, my inner muscles clamping down around his scalding length in tight, violent spasms as the climax began to coil in my lower belly. "Caleb... oh God, now. Please."

The internal tightening broke him. With a low, guttural growl of pure, lawless surrender, Caleb increased the velocity, his long strokes hitting me with a final, desperate force that shook my entire frame. My orgasm hit like a physical fracture, a blinding, breathless convulsion that had me hiding my face in his neck as my body shook beneath the downpour. A fraction of a second later, Caleb stiffened completely inside me, his jaw clenched, his grip on my thighs bruising as he surrendered to his own release, filling me with a heavy, pulsing heat that seemed to burn straight through the rush of the water.

He held me there against the stone for a long, heavy beat, our disorganized breathing matching the roar of the drain.

Then, the heavy, distinctive sound of the master suite’s bedroom door being kicked open echoed through the frosted glass pane of the bathroom.

The water kept rushing, but the war had just

breached the perimeter.