Chapter 9 #2
"Holy fuck," Jack rasped, his voice breaking. Then his mouth was on her breast, and thought became impossible—swirling heat, wet suction, the flick of his tongue driving her wild.
He was thorough. Maddeningly thorough. Alternating between gentle licks and demanding pulls, learning what made her gasp, what made her arch off the couch, what made her fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescent marks, her moans filling the room.
When his hand moved to the button of her jeans, Clara's breath caught, her hips lifting instinctively.
"Still okay?" Jack asked, his fingers hovering, waiting for her word.
"More than okay," she panted. "Please."
He worked her jeans down her hips with deliberate slowness, taking her underwear with them in one smooth motion, his eyes never leaving hers.
Clara kicked them off, suddenly hyperaware that she was naked on her couch, vulnerable and exposed, while Jack was still half-dressed.
The contrast made her pulse race harder.
She reached for his belt with trembling hands. "These need to go too. Now."
"Bossy," he murmured, but his eyes sparked with approval.
"You like it."
"I really fucking do."
Clara worked his belt free, then his jeans, shoving them down with urgency, and—ohhhh heavens—he definitely wanted this as much as she did, his arousal straining against his boxers, hot and heavy in her hand when she freed him.
Jack settled between her thighs again, skin to skin now, the contact sending shockwaves through her. Clara expected him to surge forward, to claim her fully—but he didn't.
He moved down instead, his hands parting her thighs wider.
"What are you—" Clara started, surprise mixing with a thrill of anticipation.
Jack pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, his stubble scraping deliciously. "Ladies first," he said, his breath ghosting over her most sensitive skin.
Heat flooded her face, her body, everywhere. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." He looked up at her, hazel eyes dark with unfiltered want, his hands stroking her thighs reassuringly. "Unless you don't want me to?"
Did she want—God, yes. Sam had never offered, had dismissed it as "gross" and "taking too long," making her feel selfish for even thinking about it.
But Jack was looking at her like this was a privilege, a feast he craved, not a chore.
"I want you to," Clara whispered, her voice barely audible over her pounding heart.
His smile was devastating—predatory and tender. "Good. Lie back and let me take care of you."
Then his mouth was on her, and Clara forgot how to form words, her world narrowing to the exquisite pressure of his tongue, the way he devoured her with focused pleasure.
He was patient. Attentive. Learning what she liked through every gasp, every twitch of her hips, adjusting his rhythm—slow circles, firm strokes—until her hands were fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, her back bowing off the couch as tension built like a tidal wave.
"Jack—" Her voice came out strangled, pleading. "I'm—close—"
"That's it, baby, I've got you," he murmured against her, the vibration of his words pushing her higher.
And she did. Came apart under his mouth with a shattered cry, waves of blinding pleasure crashing over her, leaving her boneless, gasping, trembling in the aftermath.
Jack pressed a final, gentle kiss to her hipbone, then worked his way back up her body, his own arousal pressing insistently against her thigh. His mouth found hers, and she tasted herself on his lips—salty, intimate, intoxicating.
"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained but steady.
Clara laughed weakly, couldn't help it. "That's what you're asking? After that? I'm... destroyed. In the best way."
"Just checking." He nuzzled her neck, his hand stroking her side soothingly.
She pulled him down for another kiss, deeper now, the heat building anew like embers flaring to life. She reached between them, wrapped her hand around him, stroking firmly, and Jack groaned into her mouth, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"Condom," she managed between kisses. "Nightstand. Bedroom."
They stumbled to the bedroom, laughing breathlessly when Jack nearly tripped over a rumpled floor rug, the moment lightening even as the urgency simmered. Clara dug through her nightstand drawer—please don't let them be expired—and came up with a box, tossing one to him.
Jack took it, tore it open with his teeth, and—
"Hang on. Which way does it—fuck," he muttered, fumbling.
Clara bit back a laugh, reaching to help. "Here. Let me—no, wait, that's—"
"Is it inside out? Shit."
"I think so?"
"Jesus Christ." Jack flipped it, tried again, swore when it didn't unroll smoothly. "I swear I've done this before. It's been... a minute."
"Recently?" she teased, her hands joining his.
"Define recently."
They were both laughing now, the tension breaking into something lighter, more playful, even as the want pulsed between them like a living thing. Finally—finally—Jack got the condom on, sheathing himself with a relieved sigh.
And Clara thought she might combust if she didn't feel him inside her right now—deep, filling, connecting them in a way that chased away every doubt.
Her greedy fingers grasped at his shoulders, pulling him toward her. "Now, Jack," she pleaded, her voice raw as he settled over her, bracing on his forearms.
Clara wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him closer. The first press of him at her entrance made her breath catch—ohhh god, yesss—her body stretching to accommodate him with a delicious burn that bordered on ecstasy.
Jack stilled, waiting for her signal, his muscles taut, smiling down at her with a knowing, heated grin. "That's it, baby," he murmured, low and gravelly, and the sound alone made her dissolve.
Inch by careful inch, he pushed inside her, groaning low and long as he seated himself to the hilt, filling her completely.
He started slow at first, rolling his hips in a teasing rhythm, letting her adjust, building the fire gradually.
But Clara was already wound tight from earlier, already chasing the edge again, her body demanding more, and slow wasn't going to cut it.
"Harder," she demanded, her nails raking down his back.
Jack's eyes went dark, feral. "Yeah? Tell me what you need."
"Yeah. Deeper. Now."
He shifted the angle, drove deeper with a powerful thrust, and Clara's vision whited out for a second. There. Right there—hitting that spot that made stars explode behind her eyelids.
"Like that?" he growled, his pace quickening.
"Yes—ohh my God, yes."
Jack set a relentless rhythm that had Clara clawing at his shoulders, her head thrown back against the pillows, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her core like a spring about to snap.
He was everywhere—inside her, around her, his mouth on her neck sucking marks she'd feel tomorrow, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, his voice rough in her ear telling her how good she felt wrapped around him, how beautiful she was falling apart for him, how he couldn't get enough of her sounds, her taste, her everything.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice a husky order that sent a thrill through her. "I want to feel you cum around me. Squeeze me tight."
Clara's hand moved between them without hesitation, finding that bundle of nerves, circling with practiced pressure, and—
The orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping through her with ferocious intensity. Clara cried out, her body clenching around him in rhythmic waves, pleasure so sharp it was almost painful, leaving her shaking and breathless.
Jack followed seconds later with a guttural groan, his hips stuttering erratically, his face buried in her neck as he came, his body tensing and releasing in powerful surges.
They stayed like that for a long moment, both gasping, hearts racing in sync, sweat-slicked skin sticking together in the afterglow.
Finally, Jack lifted his head, his eyes soft now, sated. "So. That happened."
Clara laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep inside, light and free. "Yeah. That definitely happened."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her lips—tender, lingering. "No regrets?"
"None." Clara searched for words, her body still humming. "I'm really okay. Better than okay. That was... incredible."
"Yeah?" His thumb traced her jawline.
"Really, really good. Mind-blowing good."
Jack's smile was soft, satisfied, a little smug. "Good. That's—good."
He pulled out carefully, dealt with the condom in the bathroom, then returned to pull her against his chest without a word. Clara went willingly, tucking her head under his chin, listening to his heartbeat slow to a steady thrum, his arms wrapping around her like a safe harbor.
This was dangerous. This intimacy. This comfort that seeped into her bones, making her crave more than just one night.
But lying here in Jack's arms, warm and sated and happier than she'd been in years, Clara couldn't quite make herself care about the danger.
Not tonight.
Tonight, she was just going to let herself be happy.
Even if it couldn't last.
Even if it was temporary.
Even if her heart was going to shatter when he left.
Just for tonight, Clara was going to pretend this was real.
And maybe that was enough.