37. Blakely
THIRTY-SEVEN
Blakely
I think I love him.
Those are the only thoughts flowing through my brain as his tongue swirls around mine. That I love him, and it’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt. That in a world of superficial, he’s my authenticity.
The feeling wraps around me like a cocoon and I burrow myself inside of his embrace, hoping he never lets me go. Hoping that maybe, if I stay here long enough, he’ll transform me into something beautiful.
His arms tighten around my waist, and even through the fabric of our clothes, the way his erection presses against my core has tingles lancing through my body.
I’ve never had anyone who made me feel so drunk on lust. Maybe that’s why I’ve held on to my virginity for as long as I have—because there’s never been someone around who’s made me want to give it up. There’s been guys before, I’m not completely innocent, but I learned young that the majority of people are only in my life for what they can get, and my virginity was something I could hold on to, make sure it was one thing they couldn’t have.
I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather give it to than Jackson.
Lifting up my leg, I throw it over his waist, grinding my pelvis into him. He groans, his hips speeding up as they roll against mine.
A rush of power shoots through my body. It’s me making him this way. I’m the one taking up his heart, body, and soul in this moment. But I have no clue what the hell I’m doing. Insecurity spills into my excitement as I think back to all of the times I used to thrive by pushing his buttons, watching him war with himself as I made dirty comments and flirtatious advances. Like everything else in my life, it was just for show. I never would have expected it to turn into this, and I hope he’s not disappointed.
Sucking his bottom lip into my mouth, my hand travels down his stomach until I reach the thick outline of him through his jeans.
“I want to taste you,” I moan.
His fingers flex against my waist. “ Jesus , Blake.”
Surging forward, I push until he’s lying flat on the couch while I hover over his body. I lave kisses along his neck, my hands skimming the hem of his shirt. His chest rises and falls against my breasts, his palms tracing the length of my spine.
Slowly, I lift his shirt until it’s off, throwing it to the side. The silver metal of his necklace glints as it jostles against his chest and I lean in, noticing for the first time that they’re dog tags. My heart squeezes, realizing they’re his father’s.
A rush of warmth expands in my chest when I think about how open he was. How much trust he put in me—in us—when he cut himself open and showed me his past.
My lips dive back in, working their way down his chest. His abs contort when my mouth brushes over them and my core clenches, satisfaction blasting its way through me at how his body responds to my touch.
It’s a heady feeling, having the person who is your pillar of strength be at your mercy.
I go to work on his belt, the metal buckle cold against my fingers.
“Blake, you don’t have to?—”
Smirking, I glance up at him. His eyes are fierce, a dark haze swirling through the kaleidoscope of greens, lust pouring from his gaze.
“Of course, I don’t have to. I want to, Jackson.” His hips lift so I can slide his jeans down his thighs.
His erection tents his boxers and my stomach buzzes with nerves, suddenly worried I won’t be good enough to please him.
Swallowing around the insecurity, my fingers wrap around the base of him, using the fabric of his boxers to create friction against his skin. His cock jerks in my hand, making a wave of desire roll through me.
His head falls back against the couch. “Fuck.”
There’s a wet spot forming on his boxers and I lean in, pressing my lips to the cloth, a hint of his taste teasing my mouth. My fingers slip into the waistband, pulling them down, his dick bobbing straight into the air. My heart jumps into my throat before dropping back down, settling into a faster rhythm.
I’ve always been fascinated by the male anatomy, and although I don’t have much experience with men, the few I’ve seen don’t even come close to comparing to Jackson’s. My stomach tightens as I take him in.
I’ve never felt so wanton before. Never thought the dirty fantasies that play through my mind alone at night would bleed over into real life, but as I sit and stare at Jackson’s rigid cock, my clit swells and desire stirs low in my gut.
There’s a thick vein running along the underside of his shaft. I close my eyes, imagining the way it will pulse with his cum. Maybe in my mouth. Maybe inside me . My pussy throbs at the vision, my stomach flipping.
My hand reaches out, gripping him firmly at the base and he sucks in a breath. I glide my palm from root to tip, watching as precum oozes from the head. Leaning in, my tongue slips out and sweeps over the liquid, hunger sparking in my stomach as I taste him for the first time.
Jackson groans.
My body buzzes and my hand repeats the motion, trying to squeeze out another drop. It works, and this time when I lean in to taste him, my mouth closes around his tip, sucking.
He moans again, his hands flying down to grip the back of my head.
I glance up at him from under my lashes, suddenly nervous that I won’t be good enough. My chest tightens when I think about all the other women who I’m sure have been in my position, my brain starting to spiral, but I pull myself back from the brink. I don’t want to overthink this. I just want to be what he needs. “Tell me what to do, Jackson.”
His eyes flare, his hips rising slightly, the head of his dick brushing against my lips. “Put your mouth on it.” His voice is low. Deep.
My thighs press together to try and ease the ache throbbing between them.
I follow my instincts, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock, before swirling my tongue around him, lowering my head as my mouth slides down his length inch by inch.
His hands gather my hair into a ponytail, tugging slightly, sending a shiver down my spine.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I marvel at what it feels like to have him between my lips. At the way his salty essence lingers on my taste buds, and how with every pass of my tongue, his cock grows harder.
I continue working my way down slowly until his head meets resistance, my gut cramping at the thought that I can’t take him all the way in.
His finger traces along my jaw. “Breathe through your nose, princess.”
Relief from his instruction untangles the nerves, total and complete trust taking its place. My eyes water when his dick pushes into the back of my throat.
“Yeah, fuck . Like that,” he rasps. “Relax your tongue.”
I do.
His hips start to thrust in small movements and even though the physical act is uncomfortable—my jaw aching from being stretched and my breath stuttered from his girth—the rush it shoots through me is so erotic that arousal drips into my panties, my womb spasming.
I’ve never been this turned on.
Saliva dribbles from the corners of my mouth, glossing down his cock every time he retreats. His free hand reaches out, grabbing mine and wrapping it around the base of him, the drool making my hand slick as his length pumps through it.
“You take over now.” He tugs on my hair. “Like this.” Urging me back down, his palm stays on top of mine as he shows me how to twist and stroke in tandem with the bobbing of my head, creating a rhythm. After a few minutes, I grow comfortable—more confident—and his hand falls away, his grip growing lax from where it holds my hair back.
I can feel the moment he gets close, his cock growing in my mouth, his legs starting to tremble around my sides. Suddenly, he tugs sharply on my strands, the sting making me gasp, allowing him to slip free from my mouth.
“Is this… Was it not okay?” I ask, my stomach tensing.
He cups my jaw and leans in, breathing his words against my lips. “Perfect. You’re absolutely perfect. But you’re about to make me come, and I’m not done with you yet. Let’s move to the bedroom.”
My stomach flips, excitement darting around the deepest chambers of my heart. But as he leads me down the hall and into his room, the self-doubt creeps back in, souring the moment.
Will I be what he’s expecting?
What if I’m not any good?
What if he doesn’t like what he sees?
It’s the last thought that gives me pause, my feet faltering as we hit his bed.
He turns, completely at ease with his naked body, and a pang of envy prickles against my skin at his confidence. His brows draw in as he watches me and his hands come up, pushing my hair behind my ears and framing my face. This is his move, I’ve realized. He likes to touch me—likes to grab my face and force my eyes to stay on his.
“Are you still with me?” he asks.
Nodding, my teeth gnaw on my lip. “Yeah, I just…” I sigh. “I’m a little nervous.”
He nods. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
“No, I’m definitely ready.”
“Are you sure?” He tilts his head, his arms wrapping around my waist.
A bit of bravado pushes its way forward, his reassurances calming the panic that’s wanting to take root inside of me.
I know if I act like I’m unsure, he’ll stop, and I don’t want him to stop. I want to know what it feels like when he lets go completely. Want him to lose himself inside me and never find his way out.
Rising up on my toes, my lips skim his ear. “Jackson, if you don’t, I’ll go find someone who will.”
His hands tighten around my waist, his grip bruising. He bends, his lips skating along the rim of my ear and sending frissons of excitement tingling down my back.
“The only man that will touch anything on you is me, princess.”