To Love a Man by Carolyn Faulkner

body tried to come to grips with the pole-like length it was impaled on, and she winced with each one.
    And then he began to move, and from the first time he withdrew entirely then carefully pressed himself back into her, she wiggled beneath him and caught his eye. “Harder.”
    Cal’s eyebrow went up. “You’re sure?”
    “Yes, please. If you hurt me, I’ll tell you.” And he lost it entirely when her voice went all high pitched and plaintive, “Please, Cal – harder?”
    She would have sworn that she heard him growl as he plunged back into her, and suddenly he collapsed down on top of her, capturing her hands again and putting them into the same helpless position as they had been before while his hips pistoned against her.
    He tried to listen for any signs that she was in pain, but his body was too intent on its own pleasure – and besides, all he could hear from her were moans of increasing intensity and length, until she began to writhe beneath him, finding her own strength and rocking her hips up to meet his downward strokes, and making them both groan loudly.
    At the end, he could tell she was close and he did his best to hold off as she chanted, “Oh my God!” under her breath. Just when he was on the verge of losing it, she went stiff beneath him, her hips thrusting up to meet his; her body spasming around him as well as the somewhat surprised look on her face sending him reeling over the edge, fucking her even harder those last few times as he spurted deep within her, groaning loudly next to her ear.
    The both of them panted heavily in each other’s arms, and Cal had to admit that he truly enjoyed the way she stroked her hand up and down his back.
    “I should get off,” he said, trying to lever up and away from her.
    Her grin was mischievous. “I thought you just did.”
    As he got up, her phone rang, the sound harsh and almost unreal, somehow after the bliss they’d experienced together, and he busied himself hunting down her clothes, then heading to the bathroom to clean up. He – as always – did his best not to eavesdrop, but, as had happened before, when she was signing off the call, she called him by his name.
    Carter.
    The first time that had happened, he had called and had a talk with his brother, who was four years younger than he was. They had been very close while they were growing up, but long about the time Carter went off to college and Cal was home trying to gently assume the reins of the business from their elderly and failing father, they somehow lost track of each other. He wasn’t interested in assigning blame – as far as he was concerned they were both at fault; neither bothered to take the time to keep their connection up.
    But it seemed now that every time he tried to reach out to Carter, the young man was, at best, evasive and vague, never seeming to have the time or the interest in seeing him.
    And now he had to admit to himself that he saw his brother was a rival for the woman he had – seconds ago – claimed as his, who was not supposed to be seeing anyone else.
    This was, however, a delicate situation. Despite her reassurances, it was hard for him to believe that she and Carter were just friends. His younger brother was suave and smooth and had been a chick magnet all his life; he’d always had many more female friends than male, all through school and, Cal assumed, college.
    But this... he didn’t think he was going to handle this very well at all, and it worried him because, having acknowledged that, he knew he could very well be putting his relationship with Elise in jeopardy. She was allowed to have friends – as far as he knew, though, his brother was the only male friend she had. He prided himself on not being that kind of a guy, who cloistered a girl and forced her to jettison her friends and family in order to spend all of her time with him.
    And yet that was pretty much what he could feel himself drifting towards doing in regards to his brother and the