Count with me
Synopsis: Caleb makes you learn how to count. Count how many orgasms he can pull from you in the spawn of one morning, how many people can hear you scream in pleasure in the women's lockers at the gym and how many streetlights you gotta pass until you're finally home and he's balls deep inside you.
or in other words: you join Caleb at the gym one morning and a little bit of cardio turns into marathon sex.
Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, gym sex, semi-public sex, car sex, multiple orgasms, marathon sex, caleb being a bit rough, marking, rough sex, caleb is insane and makes you cum like 5 times, he got you in a headlock, too;)
Pairings: Caleb x reader
Word count: 4.5k
You’re pretending to stretch by the squats machine, but your eyes keep sliding to Caleb. He’s on the mats doing push ups like gravity’s a suggestion for him. Every dip of his chest makes the veins in his arms pop, sweat catching the low light. You swallow hard, thighs pressing together under your loose shorts.
You pretend to scroll your phone after, leaning against a squat rack, but your eyes keep drifting.
God, the way his back ripples. Every rep is smooth, controlled, like he could do a hundred and still have breath left to tease you. You catch the flex of his triceps, the shift of muscle under skin when he locks out at the top. Heat crawls up your neck. You shift your weight, thighs brushing, and hope the flush isn’t obvious.
Caleb doesn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth lifts just enough to suggest that he knows you’re checking him out shamelessly while trying to play it cool.
Fifty reps later he flips to his back for crunches. You drift closer, pretending to hunt for a forgotten hair tie on the floor. His abs tighten, release, tighten again, and you bite the inside of your cheek. A bead of sweat slides down the groove between his pecs, vanishes beneath the waistband of his shorts. Your stomach flips.
He sits up in one motion, wipes his face with the hem of a towel, and finally meets your eyes. “Spot me?” he asks, voice low, amused.
You nod too fast.
He lies back, hooks his fingers behind his head, and you straddle the bench behind him, knees brushing his ears. He starts crunching again, slower now, letting you feel every controlled breath against your bare legs. His abs flex, release, flex again, skin gleaming. You want to lick the sweat off the line between his pecs.
He catches your wrist mid reach. “Eyes up here, pips.”
Your cheeks burn. “Wasn’t looking.”
“Liar.” he sits up in one fluid move, his breath warm against your stomach.
Before you can slide off the bench he’s standing. One second you’re vertical, the next you’re upside down over his shoulder.
“Caleb!” It’s half protest, half giggle.
He smacks your ass lightly. “Locker room. Now.”
The women’s side is empty, lights dimmed to half power. He shoulders through the door, sets you down on the narrow bench between the lockers. The metal is cold against your thighs.
You reach for him but he catches both your wrists in one hand, pins them above your head against the lockers. The clank echoes.
“Been staring at me all morning,” he says, voice raspy and teasing. “Thought you were subtle.”
“I was subtle.”
“Lying doesn't look good on ya’ pips.” he leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “Tell me what you want.”
Your pulse is loud in your ears. “You.”
He chuckles, dark and pleased. The hand not trapping your wrists slides down your stomach, hooks into the waistband of your shorts. One tug and they’re halfway down your thighs, panties caught with them. Cool air kisses your skin and you shiver.
He turns you around, palms sliding under your tank to shove it up. Cool air hits your nipples and they tighten instantly.
“Hands on the bench, baby. Bend for me.” he murmurs, voice rough and honey-like.
You fold forward, palms slapping cool vinyl. Ass up, legs spread just enough that the lace pulls tight between your cheeks. You hear the soft rustle of fabric, but he still doesn’t touch you. Instead he drags one knuckle up the back of your thigh, stopping a whisper from your pussy.
“Look at ya’ pips,” he breathes. “The lace is fucking see through. Can see how swollen you are, baby.” He blows a cool stream of air across the wet spot, making your hips jerk. “Sensitive already. Knew you’d be.” he chuckles lowly when you whimper slightly at his touches.
A low chuckle. “Bet I could make you drip on the floor without laying a finger on you.”
He proves it. He keeps that knuckle hovering, tracing lazy figures in the air, close enough that you feel the heat of his skin, far enough that every nerve ending screams for more. Your thighs tremble. A bead of wetness slips free, rolls slow down the inside of your leg. He watches it travel. “Awe, making a mess, baby?”
Only then does he make contact, one broad thumb pressing the lace right against your clit, rubbing in tiny, maddening circles. The friction is perfect and not enough at once. You push back and he pulls the thumb away.
“Greeeedy.” He hooks a finger under the waistband of your panties and snaps it against your hip. “These stay on a little longer.”
He drops to a crouch behind you. You feel his breath first, warm against the backs of your thighs, then the flat of his tongue dragging up the wet trail he just watched form. He stops just below the lace, sucks a gentle mark into the soft skin there. Your knees nearly buckle.
“Caleb—” you moan, biting the inside of your cheek.
“Shh. Count for me.”
He slides one thick finger under the edge of the lace, not inside you, just resting against your entrance, feeling you flutter. Another finger joins it, scissoring the fabric aside so cool air kisses your bare lips. He spreads you open with his thumbs as he murmurs, “Count the seconds ‘till I let you cum. Out loud.”
“One,” you choke.
He blows another cool breath; your hips chase it.
“Two.”
He leans in, lips brushing your clit through the lace, a ghost of a kiss.
“Three.”
You’re shaking so hard the bench creaks. He finally slips the panties down to mid thigh, trapping your legs together. The lace bands your skin and then his mouth is on you, no teasing now, open mouthed and filthy, licking a hot stripe from your clit to your entrance. You cry out, the sound ricochets off lockers.
He pulls back just enough to speak against you, lips moving over slick skin. “Keep counting.”
“F-four—”
He spears his tongue inside, curls it, withdraws. Repeats. Your thighs clamp around his ears but he wedges them wider with his shoulders.
“Five—ahh…”
Two fingers replace his tongue, sliding in to the knuckle, crooking hard against that spot that makes you see stars. His thumb finds your clit again, slick circles, relentless. You’re dripping down his wrist.
“Six…oh god…”
He adds a third finger, stretching you open, pumping slowly while his mouth latches onto your clit and sucks. The wet sounds are obscene. Your countdown dissolves into broken whimpers.
He stops everything. Fingers gone, mouth gone. You sob at the loss.
“Turn around.”
You spin, back hitting the lockers, panties still tangled at your thighs. He rises, towering, cock jutting thick and flushed from his open shorts. A bead of precum pearls at the tip. He fists himself once, twice, eyes locked on your parted lips.
“On your knees, baby.”
The tile is cold. You sink down, mouth watering. He taps the head against your bottom lip, smearing wetness.
“Open up.”
You do. He feeds you the first inch, lets you swirl your tongue, taste salt and skin. Then he cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.
“Hands behind your back.”
You lace your fingers. He slides deeper, slow, controlled, until your lips meet the base of his thumb. Your eyes water and he groans at the sight. “That’s it. Take me juust like that, very good.”
He fucks your mouth in shallow thrusts, never rough, just enough to feel owned. Every time you moan around him, his hips stutter. After a dozen strokes he pulls out, cock glistening.
“Stand up and turn around.”
You scramble upright. He spins you, kicks your feet apart as far as the panties allow. One arm bands across your chest, pinioning your arms. His cock nudges your entrance, slides through your folds, coating himself.
“Beg.”
“Please, Caleb, please fuck me, I need—nghhh…”
He sinks in one smooth thrust, bottoming out. Your back arches; his arm tightens, holding you flush against him.
“Feel that?” he rolls his hips, grinding deep. “That’s what you do to me.”
He sets a brutal pace, every stroke dragging over that spot inside. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll feel me allll day,” he whispers against your ear.
He starts moving, deep, punishing strokes that rock the bench. Every thrust shoves a soft cry from your throat. The arm around your throat flexes, guiding your head back until your spine arches. His free hand splays over your belly, fingers spread wide, holding you pinned while he starts to move.
Each stroke is deep, deliberate, the kind that drags over every sensitive spot inside you and leaves sparks behind your eyelids. Your fingers scrabble for purchase on the bench; he lets you find none. The headlock keeps you right where he wants you, cheek pressed to his forearm, his pulse thudding against your temple.
“Look at ya’,” he murmurs, hips snapping harder. “Taking it so pretty. My strong girl, huh? Letting me fold you in half whenever I want.”
You try to answer but it comes out a broken moan. He laughs again, soft, and the sound vibrates through his chest into yours.
“Shh. I feel you, baby. Clenching like you’re trying to keep me inside forever.” he angles his hips, hitting that spot that whites out your vision. “Go ahead. Milk me dry, won't ya? Show me how much you looove this.”
Your thighs shake. His rhythm never falters, long and punishing strokes that bottom out and drag back slow enough to make you whine for the next one. The arm around your throat loosens just enough for you to gulp air, then tightens again, possessive.
Sweat beads between your shoulder blades; his tank shirt sticks to both of you. You can smell him, salt and cedar and the faint trace of the gym’s disinfectant. Every sense narrows to the stretch of him inside you, the flex of his arm, the low rasp of his voice.
His free hand slips between your legs, fingers rolling your clit in tight circles. Pleasure coils sharp and bright, and you’re dripping down your own thighs. “Caleb, please…”
“Please what? Want me to choke you harder while I split this pussy open?”
You clench around him involuntarily. He laughs, a dark and filthy sound that turns you on so much more. “Yeahhh, you do.”
He tightens his arm just enough to make stars spark behind your eyelids. His free hand slips between your legs, fingers pinching your clit, rolling it in time with his thrusts. You’re so close your legs shake.
“Cum whenever you want,” he growls softly against your ear. “But when you do, I want you to scream my name so loudly the janitor hears it in the hallway.”
Your orgasm is so close, your thighs shaking, pussy pulsing so hard he has to pin your hips to keep you still.
Two more thrusts and you’re gone, clenching hard around him, crying his name as the orgasm slams through you, walls fluttering wildly around his cock. He slams deep, holds, spills hot inside you with a ragged groan.
You stay locked together, panting. He eases out slowly, watches his cum drip down your thighs, then swipes it up with two fingers and paints it across your lower lip.
“Taste us, baby.”
You lick him clean, still dizzy. He kisses you after, slow and filthy, sharing the taste.
He sets you on your feet just long enough to tug your shorts up your thighs slowly, like he’s savoring the way the fabric clings to the mess between your legs. He’s already balled the soaked lace in his fist, thumb rubbing the damp spot like it’s a trophy.
“These are mine now,” he says, voice low, tucking them into the pocket of his sweatpants. The outline of the lace presses against his cock when he pulls the pants back up. “The whole ride home as you sit in the car, you’ll feel what I did to you.”
Your laugh comes out shaky. “People are gonna notice.”
“Let ’em wonder.” he cups your jaw, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. “But nobody gets to see this pussy except me.”
He shoulders both your bags, then scoops you up again, this time over one shoulder like you weigh nothing. Your shorts ride high, cool air kisses your bare lips with every step. You squeak, clutching his back.
“Caleb!”
“Quiet, baby. Back exit.”
He carries you past the rows of lockers, past the humming vending machine, to the service corridor nobody uses. The emergency light glows red above the push door. He shoulders it open. Dawn is just starting to bleed pink across the employee lot; his car sits alone under a flickering streetlamp.
He doesn’t set you down until you’re at the passenger door. Then he spins you, presses your back to the cool metal, and kisses you slow and filthy, tasting both of you on your tongue. One thick thigh nudges between yours, pinning you open. You’re dripping again, you can feel it sliding down the inside of your leg.
“Spread,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You do. He drags two fingers through your folds, gathers the slick, then paints it across your lower lip like gloss.
“Keep that there ‘till we get home.”
He opens the door and lifts you onto the seat. The leather is cold against your bare skin, making you hiss. He buckles you in, knuckles brushing your nipple through the tank top, then leans in to whisper, “Take the shorts off, and then hands on the dash. Don’t move them. If you’re good, I’ll let you come on my tongue as soon as we get home.”
You obey instantly, pulling the shorts down and out, throwing them in the back seat, your palms flat against the dash, thighs trembling. He circles the car, slides into the driver’s seat, and fishes the ruined panties from his pocket. He drapes them over the rearview mirror like a flag.
“Evidence,” he says, smirking, and starts the engine.
The car rumbles to life. He backs out slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other sliding up your thigh to cup your bare pussy possessively. His middle finger slips just inside, a lazy tease.
“Count the streetlights,” he orders. “Every one we pass, I add a finger. By the time we hit your exit, you’ll be stuffed full and begging.”
You’re already breathless. “Yes, sir.”
He pulls onto the empty road, city still asleep, your soaked panties swaying gently above the dash, making you flustered from being both aroused and slightly mortified.
The first streetlight slides across the windshield like a slow strobe. Caleb’s middle finger sinks inside to the second knuckle, curls once, and stills.
“One,” you whisper. Your palms sweat against the dash.
He hums and eases onto the access road. The car’s suspension rocks you gently, every bump nudges his finger deeper. You clench around him on instinct and he clicks his tongue.
“Relaaax, baby. You squeeze too early and I stop counting.”
Second light. He adds his ring finger, scissoring slowly, stretching you open. The wet sound is obscene over the engine’s purr. You bite your lip to keep quiet.
“Two.”
Third light. Thumb on your clit in lazy circles. Your hips try to chase it; the seatbelt locks you in place. He chuckles darkly and fond.
“Greedy girl. Three.”
By the fourth light you’re dripping onto the leather, thighs trembling. He crooks both fingers, rubs that spot that makes your vision blur, then pulls them out completely. You whine in a high, broken moan.
“Hands stay put,” he reminds you, bringing slick fingers to his mouth. He licks them clean while the light turns green, eyes on the road like he’s not driving you insane right this second.
Fifth light. He reaches across, pops the glove box open and pulls out a little silicone bullet you didn’t know he kept there. The click of it switching on is soft, evil. He wedges it between your folds, right against your clit, but doesn’t turn the speed past a whisper.
“Five. Hold it there. If it slips, we start over.”
Your thighs clamp, the vibrator buzzes faintly, maddening. You’re panting fog onto the windshield.
Sixth light. He cranks the toy one notch higher and slides three fingers back inside in one slick push. Your back arches hard enough the seatbelt bites your collarbone.
“Six—fuck…Caleb…”
“Language,” he teases, pumping slowly. “We’ve got twelve more lights to go.”
Seventh. He angles his wrist, thumb pressing the toy harder. Your toes curl against the floor mat. You’re so close your legs shake.
“Eyes on the mirror,” he orders.
You look up. Your ruined panties sway with every turn, the lace catching dashes of pink sunrise.
Eighth light. He turns off the vibrator and yanks it away. Cold air rushes in, making you sob at the loss.
“Nine more to earn it back.”
He drives one handed now, knuckles white on the wheel, the other hand tormenting you—two fingers, three, none, thumb, no thumb—matching the rhythm of the lights like a fucked up metronome. Your thighs are slick to the knee. The car smells like sex and leather and him.
Tenth light. He finally cranks the vibrator to medium and shoves it inside you alongside his fingers, stretching you impossibly full. The stretch burns sweet, making you unable to stop moaning.
“Ten. You’re gonna cum on eleven, baby. Not before. Count with me.”
Eleventh light. He twists the toy, curls his fingers, and presses the heel of his hand hard against your clit. The orgasm barrels down your spine. You scream his name, walls spasming so hard the toy nearly shoots out, but he pins it deep with two fingers.
“Good fucking girl,” he growls, riding you through it, drawing it out until you’re limp and whimpering.
He doesn’t stop. He clicks the toy to pulse, slow fucks you with it while the twelfth light turns green.
“Home stretch,” he says, voice rougher now. “When we hit your exit, you’re gonna get this pretty girl ready to ride my cock ‘till I paint your insides again. Gonna make her niiiice and wet for me, keep her warm, understood?”
You can’t speak, just nod frantically, forehead against the cool window. Another light flicks overhead. He adds a fourth finger, stretching you open, prepping you for what’s coming. The panties on the mirror twist in the AC breeze and you’re counting streetlights, every single one a prayer that this ride never ends.
The toy is still pulsing low inside you when the exit sign finally glows ahead. Caleb kills the engine rumble to a purr and turns onto your street. He eases his fingers out slowly, letting the toy slip free with a wet sound.
You whimper at the emptiness. He pockets the toy, licks his fingers clean again, eyes on the road like he’s not destroying you.
“Touch me,” he says, voice rough.
Your seatbelt clicks open. You twist toward him, knees on the warm leather, and palm the thick bulge straining his sweats. He’s rock hard again, cock jerking under the fabric the second your hand cups him. A dark spot of precum has already bled through.
“Still?” you breathe, awed.
“Been hard since the locker room, pips.” he mutters. “You think one round’s enough when you look fucked out like that?”
You tug the waistband down. His cock springs free, still flushed and heavy, a bead of precum pearling at the slit. You wrap your fingers around the base, thumb swiping over the head, spreading slick. He hisses, hips flexing.
The car rolls slowly past the buildings. You lean down, tongue flicking out to taste him, salt and skin and the faint trace of you from earlier. He groans, one hand leaving the wheel to tangle in your hair.
“Whole mouth, baby. Take me deeep.”
You do. Slide down until your lips kiss your own fingers, throat fluttering around him. The angle’s awkward, seatbelt digging into your hip, but you don’t care. You hollow your cheeks, suck hard, and he swears under his breath.
“Fuck…slow, we’re almost—”
You pull off with a wet pop, lick a stripe up the underside, then sink back down. His thigh tenses under your palm. You bob faster, hand twisting at the base, tongue swirling. His hips start to chase your mouth, shallow thrusts that bump the back of your throat. You moan around him, the vibration of it making him throb inside your mouth.
“Close,” he warns, voice shredded.
You take him all the way, nose pressed to the trimmed hair at his base, and swallow. He slams the car into park, engine still idling, and comes with a guttural curse. Hot pulses flood your tongue; you swallow every drop, milking him until he’s twitching and oversensitive.
When you pull off, a thin string of spit and cum connects your lip to his tip. You break it with a slow lick, then tuck him gently back into his sweats. He’s breathing like he just deadlifted a house.
He kills the engine. Silence rushes in, broken only by the soft tick of cooling metal and your own heartbeat.
“Garage door’s closing,” he says, voice hoarse as he reaches to the backseat and hands you your ruined shorts. “Get out. Walk ahead of me. I want to watch my cum drip down your legs while you climb the steps.”
You get dressed and open the door on shaky knees. You can feel the slick mess sliding with every step, thighs brushing, shorts riding higher. Behind you, his footsteps are slow, and you know exactly where his eyes are fixated.
At the front door he catches your wrist, “Keys,” he murmurs against your neck.
You fumble them from his pocket, and he unlocks the door, kicks it open, and scoops you up again.
“Bed’s too far,” he decides, carrying you straight to the kitchen island. He sets you on the cold marble, yanks your shorts off in one motion, and spreads you wide.
“Round three,” he says, dropping to his knees. “Then I’m carrying you upstairs and keeping you there ‘till noon.”
You thread your fingers through his damp hair, arch your back, and let the morning light pour over both of you while his tongue writes new promises between your thighs.
The marble is ice against your bare back, but Caleb’s mouth is fire. He spreads you with two thumbs, licks a slow, filthy stripe from your entrance to your clit, and groans like he’s starving.
Your hips jerk, and he pins them flat with one forearm across your pelvis, the other hand sliding two fingers back inside you, curling hard.
“Still so wet,” he rasps, lips shiny. “Taste like both of us.”
You whimper, fingers tightening in his hair. He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking fast, fingers scissoring wide. The stretch burns sweet; you’re still swollen from the way he mercilessly teased you at the gym and in his care, and still dripping his last release. Every thrust of his fingers pushes his cum deeper, making you feel claimed down to the bone.
He pulls back just enough to watch his fingers disappear into you. “Look at that pretty pussy tryin’ to keep me inside.” he adds a third finger, twists, and you cry out. “Gonna wreck you again, baby. Gonna make you forget every room in this house except the one I’m fucking you in.”
Your thighs shake. He stands, shoves his sweats down just enough to free his cock again. He drags the head through your folds, coating himself, teasing your clit until you’re babbling.
“Please, inside Caleb…wanna feel you, baby…”
He sinks in one brutal thrust. Your back bows off the counter; the edge bites into your spine, but you don’t care. He bottoms out, grinds deep, then pulls back and slams home again. The island creaks under the force.
“Legs around me,” he growls.
You hook your ankles at the small of his back. He lifts you clean off the marble, hands under your ass, and starts fucking you standing—deep, punishing strokes that make you see stars with every upthrust. Your arms loop around his neck; you cling, nails raking his shoulders.
He grabs and manhandles you backward until your spine meets the fridge again. Magnets clatter to the floor. He pins you there, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding up to collar your throat, just enough pressure to make your pulse spike.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he demands, hips snapping.
“You,” you gasp. “Only you—fuck, Caleb…”
“That’s right.” he angles his hips, hits that spot dead on, and you shatter again, clenching so hard he has to fight to keep moving. Your orgasm rips a broken sob from your throat and he swallows it in a messy kiss, teeth clashing, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his cock.
He follows seconds later, burying himself to the root and pulsing hot inside you. You feel every spurt, every throb, until he’s spent and trembling against you.
For a minute you just breathe together, sweat slick skin stuck, hearts hammering in sync. Then he scoops you up bridal style, your legs still wrapped around his waist, his cock softening inside you but refusing to slip out.
“Shower,” he murmurs against your temple. “Then bed. You’re not walking straight ‘till dinner, pips.”
You laugh, breathless, and nip his earlobe. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart, baby. I’ve got sixteen hours of workout recovery to make up for, and every rep’s gonna be inside you.”
After the very welcomed warm shower, he shoulders into the bedroom, kicks the door shut, and tosses you onto the unmade bed. The sheets still smell like last night’s sex.
He crawls over you, eyes dark, possessive, tender. “Spread for me,” he says softly.
You do. He slides home again, slower this time, like he’s memorizing every inch of your gummy walls. Your sigh is half moan, half plea.
Outside, the neighborhood wakes up, sprinklers hissing, a dog barking, someone’s garage door rumbling. Inside, the only sounds are wet drag of skin, your breath hitching, his low growls of mine, mine, mine.
By the time the sun is high enough to stripe the bed in warm bars, you’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you cum. You’re boneless, marked, dripping and grinning like an idiot against his chest.
He kisses your hair, fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip. “Nap,” he decides. “Then lunch on the counter. Then round five, ‘cause I just knoow you’ll be begging for it by tonight.”
You hum, already drifting off. “You’re insane, Caleb.”
He pulls the duvet over both of you, tucks you against his side, and palms your bare ass like he’s making sure you’re still there.
You’re sticky, sore, and stupidly happy, falling asleep to the steady thump of his heartbeat and the quiet, possessive whisper against your temple, “Love you, pips.”
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