Chapter 10
Ten
Jace
I watch her face change.
Mischief and heat becoming more. Becoming need and urgency. The emotions in her expression burn with such intensity that I swear I get caught in the crosshairs of their flames.
And I don’t give a fuck.
Because she’s lifting up.
And sliding down.
And lifting up.
And sliding down.
And—
“Fuck!” I groan.
She does something with her hips that— holy shit —has red hazing at the edges of my vision, has sweat breaking out on my spine. Something that has my pleasure ratcheting dangerously high. A flex of graceful movement, a tightening of that sweet cunt, a swivel of her pelvis.
“Like that?” she asks breathlessly.
I clamp my hands onto her waist, thrusting up as she strokes down. “Almost as much as you do, cookie.”
Her eyes flare, her rhythm falters, her pussy flutters around me.
Close.
But not close enough.
And I don’t have time to continue fucking around, don’t have time to learn all the little things that make her moan, that slowly undo her.
I’m too close to the edge.
So, I ask, “What do you need?”
Green eyes filled with questions.
I hold her tighter, keep driving up into her relentlessly. “What do you need to come apart?”
Molten emeralds. A convulsing pussy.
Then she takes my hand and draws it in across her stomach, down between her legs, pressing my fingers to her clit. “Here,” she murmurs, rubbing it in a tight circle. “Right here. And don’t stop.”
I circle that hard bud of nerves, rubbing like she showed me.
Not stopping like she told me.
“Oh, God,” she whispers, her head falling back. “Oh, my God. Yes.”
“Come for me gorgeous,” I order, taking advantage of her swaying toward me to capture one hard nipple in my mouth and suck deep.
She gasps, rhythm faltering.
But only for a moment.
Because then she’s grinding faster, grinding harder.
Fingers and flesh. Tongues and bouncing tits. A tight pussy. Rounded hips. Slender waist. A flash of blazing green eyes before her head drops back, a moan filling the air, her pelvis bucking, taking me deeper, so deep that I bump against her womb. But she doesn’t freeze in pain, doesn’t stop fucking me.
So I don’t either.
I work her clit.
I suck at her nipples.
I thrust up into her.
And—
She cries out, clamping around me, and I’m able to get a glimpse of her orgasm sliding across her face before mine is on top of me.
It explodes inside of me, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.
My vision goes black on the edges, and every nerve in my body is on fire for one long moment.
Then everything melts. My limbs go lax. My brain goes hazy and I’m only distantly aware of us continuing to move together as we seek out the dredges of our orgasms.
It may be minutes or hours later before I’m able to open my eyes.
But it’s longer still before I’m able to lift an arm, to lightly stroke my hand down her back. “Christ, cookie,” I mutter, gathering my strength to get us out of this chair, knowing that I’m never going to look at it the same way again.
“What?” she says lazily.
“You’re a fucking wildcat, aren’t you?”
She chuckles and it’s just as lazy. “Truthfully, I’m not feeling much of anything right now.”
“I know the feeling,” I say dryly.
She sighs. “That was good, wasn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm.” I tangle my fingers in her hair. “ Really good.”
Like the best fucking ever.
Another aggrieved sigh, her body slumping against mine.
“Want to tell me my you’re acting like that’s the worst thing in the world?” I ask, grunting as I haul us both out of the chair and start moving toward my bedroom. After an orgasm like that, I need to get horizontal and stay there for a good ten hours.
“Because we live down the hall from each other.”
“And?”
“And”—she waves a lazy hand as I settle her on the mattress and step back—“you’re not the kind of man who does connections.”
My brow furrows.
Because that’s true. Normally .
It’s just with this woman that connection doesn’t automatically seem like a dirty four-letter word.
“And now I have to live down the hall,” she says, “knowing that you’re packing what you’re packing—and worse, that you know how to fucking use it—all while knowing that it can never be more than a one-time thing.”
My dick’s still wet from being inside her and she’s talking about a one-time thing?
Jesus Christ.
She’s worse than I am.
“Who’s saying it can only be once?”
She sniffs, stretching out on the mattress and tugging the blanket over her. “A man like you? A man like you who looks like that, who’s packing”—a wave of her hand toward my cock—“ that ? Yeah, it can only ever be a once. I’m not the kind of girl who gets off on a broken heart.”
I shake my head, moving to the bathroom so I can take care of the condom. “No,” I call, “you’re the one who gets off on giving them.”
Her laughter is answer enough.
I wash my hands, stride over to the bed, and yank the blankets back, ignoring her gasp as I climb over the top of her.
“What are you do?—?”
I reach for the nightstand drawer, pull out a string of condoms.
“Well, if I only have one night?—”
“I said one time ?— ”
“—I’m going to make it count.”
She starts sputtering.
But I just bend my head and kiss her…then take my time making sure the next three times count.
And when my lids feel heavy and sleep is barreling toward me, I tug her limp body into my arms and let it come, hoping that she’s all bluster.
But in the morning I find out she’s not.
Because in the morning?—
I wake up and she’s gone.