Acting The Part

Chapter 22: Megan (chapter 23)

The drive home was a blur. My heart was still racing from what had happened on set, and my mind was spinning with a mix of emotions I couldn't quite put into words.

Fear, relief, confusion, and something else—something deeper that made my chest tighten every time I looked at Caleb.

He'd defended me, standing up for me with a fierceness that both terrified and thrilled me.

I didn't know what to think. One minute, I was trying to calm him down, begging him not to do anything rash, and the next, he was storming across the set, fists flying.

I'd never seen him like that—so out of control, so angry.

It scared me. But at the same time, it made me feel... safe. Like, for once, there was someone in my corner, someone who cared enough to fight for me.

We pulled into the driveway, and before I even had a chance to fully process everything, Caleb was out of the car and opening my door. His eyes were dark, intense, and as soon as I stepped out, he grabbed my hand, pulling me inside the house with an urgency I hadn't expected.

The door barely closed behind us before he was on me.

He kissed me hard, his lips crashing against mine with such force that I gasped. There was no hesitation, no softness, and I could feel the raw, unfiltered need radiating from him.

It wasn't just a kiss—it was a claim, a demand, like he needed to confirm that I was here with him and no one else.

"Caleb—" I tried to speak, but he cut me off, his hands sliding into my hair, gripping tightly as he deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth, and I moaned, my body responding to him without a second thought.

God, the way he kissed me—it was like he was trying to consume me, like he wanted to own every part of me. And at that moment, I didn't care.

I didn't care that this was all happening so fast, that I was still reeling from everything that had happened today. All I wanted was him.

He pulled back, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as he stared down at me, his eyes blazing with something dark and possessive. "I need you," he growled, his voice low and rough. "I need you now."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I looked up at him. His hands were still tangled in my hair, his grip tight, and I could see the tension in his body—the way his muscles were coiled, like he was barely holding himself together.

"Caleb," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

But that wasn't enough for him. I could see it in his eyes—the desperation, the need to claim me, to mark me. He wanted more than just my words. He wanted to own me, to make sure that no one else could ever have me.

Before I could say anything else, he kissed me again, harder this time, his teeth scraping against my bottom lip. I whimpered, my hands clutching at his shirt as he pressed me against the wall, his body pinning mine in place.

His hands roamed over me, rough and demanding, and I could feel the heat building between us, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

He broke the kiss just long enough to yank my shirt over my head, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of me standing there, breathless and exposed.

"Mine," he growled, his hands sliding down to my waist, gripping me tightly. "You're mine, Megan. No one else's."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak, and he didn't wait for any further confirmation. His mouth was on me again, his lips trailing down my neck, his teeth scraping against my skin as he marked me, claimed me.

I could feel the bruises forming, but I didn't care.

All I wanted was him—his touch, his heat, his body pressed against mine.

He lifted me off the ground, his hands gripping my thighs as he carried me to the bedroom, his lips never leaving my skin. I wrapped my legs around him, my nails digging into his shoulders as he lowered me onto the bed, his body covering mine in an instant.

"Caleb," I gasped, my head spinning as his hands tugged at my jeans, pulling them off with a single, forceful motion.

I was completely exposed now, vulnerable, but I didn't feel scared. I felt... wanted. Desired. Like I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

He leaned down, his mouth hovering just above mine as he whispered, "I'm going to make sure everyone knows who you belong to."

I shivered at the intensity in his voice, my body aching for him, and before I could say anything, he was inside me—rough, unrelenting, his movements driven by a need so primal it took my breath away.

He was everywhere, surrounding me, consuming me, and I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything except feel.

He thrust into me with an almost punishing rhythm, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me closer with every movement. I cried out, my nails raking down his back as he took me over and over, his body hard and demanding against mine.

"Say it," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Say who you belong to."

"You," I gasped, my voice breaking as he thrust deeper, harder. "Caleb, I—I belong to you."

He groaned, his grip tightening as he drove into me again, his eyes blazing with satisfaction. "That's right," he said, his voice rough and commanding. "You're mine, Megan. No one else's."

I could feel the heat building inside me, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until I thought I might break. Every thrust sent shockwaves through me, and I was teetering on the edge, my body trembling beneath him as I held on for dear life.

"Caleb," I whimpered, my voice barely a whisper, but he heard me.

"I've got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. "I've got you, baby."

And with one final thrust, I shattered, my body arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through me, my cries filling the room. Caleb followed not long after, his body tensing as he groaned my name, collapsing onto me with a final, shuddering breath.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. We just lay there, tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

I could feel his heart pounding against mine, and I knew that, whatever this was—whatever was happening between us—it was real. It was raw and intense and terrifying.

He rolled off me, his arm sliding around my waist as he pulled me close, his lips brushing against my forehead. "You're mine," he whispered again, his voice soft but firm.

I nodded, too exhausted to speak, and curled into him, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of what we'd just shared.

And as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder what this meant—what we meant. But one thing was certain: I wasn't scared anymore. Not with him by my side.