What if's with Caleb

[R18] What if he calls you a Brat?

"Shh." His thumb traced your lower lip. "I want to see what kind of sounds my brat makes when she stops pretending."

He dipped his head, and the first hot drag of his tongue over your breast had your back arching off the couch. He lingered, sucking one nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips jump. He switched to the other, tongue circling lazily while his hand slid down, lower, lower, until his fingers grazed your soaked folds.

The touch jolted you. Your thighs tried to close again, but his knee wedged them apart, merciless. His smirk brushed your skin as his fingers slid through slick heat, gathering it, testing how ready you already were.

"Already wet?," he whispered, as though to himself. "All this from me calling you a little brat? You really do like being scolded."

"Shut up," you gasped, face burning.

"Mm, no." His thumb found your clit, rubbing in slow, taunting circles that had you twisting under him. "I think I'll say it more. My little brat."

"Shut up."

He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, stretching you open. The intrusion stole your breath, your hips bucked, clenching hard around him. He groaned, forehead pressing to your temple.

"Fuck—so tight. Gripping me already. You'll milk me dry the second I'm inside."

His hand worked you mercilessly, curling his fingers against that spot that made your vision blur. His thumb kept steady pressure on your clit, every circle dragging you closer to the edge. You bit your lip to hold back, but the pleasure built too high, too fast.

"Say it," he growled, fucking you harder with his fingers. "Say you're my brat."

Your pride slowly cracking. "N-No!"

He smirked, pulling his fingers free and lifting them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, eyes locked on yours as he groaned low at the taste.

"Oh you will.."

He unzipped with one hand, tugging himself free. Your eyes widened—thick, flushed, the tip glistening. He stroked once, twice, lining up at your entrance. The blunt head pressed against your soaked folds, teasing, spreading you open.

"Beg," he said softly, a commander's order disguised as a lover's request.

You swallowed, desperation burning through the last of your shame.

"I-I- Please just.... Just fill me up already!."

He pushed forward, slow at first, stretching you inch by inch until the thick length of him was seated fully inside you. The raw fullness made you gasp, walls fluttering desperately around him.

"Fuck," he hissed, voice strained. "You feel—so damn good, clenching like you don't want me to ever leave."

He pulled back, the drag of his cock scraping every sensitive spot, then slammed back in hard. The couch creaked under the force. You cried out, back arching, nails clawing the cushion. He set a rhythm—deep, punishing thrusts, each one dragging a moan from your lips you couldn't swallow.

"Louder," he ordered, thumb catching your jaw to keep your face turned to his. "Let me hear you."

You obeyed without thinking, voice spilling broken cries of his name, the slap of skin-on-skin filling the room. Each thrust drove him deeper, hitting that spot that made your vision go white.

"You love this," he growled, hips snapping. "Being fucked raw. Getting filled with me. Tell me."

"Yes!" you sobbed. "Yes—I love it!"