Chapter 30
Tristan
I don’t even know what I’m saying. All I know is that I’m drunk off the feel and taste of my sunshine. That if I don’t feel his hands on more of me, I think I might legitimately die.
Jesse’s low, strangled moan is the only warning I get before he’s flipping us both, pressing my back into the mattress beneath him.
His hands fumble at the front of my joggers, pulling, tugging down the elastic as he kneels between my thighs, and I swear I could fucking sob with relief and aching need.
“I want to touch you everywhere,” he drops down over me, breathing the words against my neck as my cock springs free, slapping up against my stomach, dripping so bad it’s fucking soaking through my shirt.
“You’re so…gorgeous…so perfect—” His breath trembles over my skin as his lips move to suck at the hollow of my collarbone while his hands skim up my bare thighs.
I can’t keep myself still. Can’t stop myself from squirming and arching up into him as sweat slicks my back and the burning heat he’s built in me blazes down my spine.
Can’t stop the whimper his ragged words and the feel of his mouth drag from my throat.
Because holy shit does hearing him say things like that do it for me.
And then his hand—fuuck, ohhhfucking yess—his warm, soft, big hand closes around my shaft, and I moan helplessly, fucking up into his grip, shamelessly crying out when his palm closes over my tip, squeezing, sliding back down, all slick and wet now with my precum.
His other hand works up my shirt, stroking over my stomach where my muscles pull tight as I teeter on the edge. Fuck, I want him to do what he said and touch me everywhere. I want every last inch of my body to tingle and burn with the feel of him.
And ohhh god, I want to feel him shake and sweat beneath my hands. Want to pull more words of praise from him as he falls the fuck apart the same way he’s so totally wrecking me.
“Want to—mmngh—wanna touch you too.” My hands fist the material at the sides of his sweater with the effort of trying not to just reach down now, touch him before he says he’s ready. “I’ve gotta feel you, sunshine. Please— C-can I?”
“Jesus, fuck,” he pants, giving his hips a long thrust that drags his still-covered cock hard and slow against my thigh as his head falls forward onto my shoulder. “Yes, Tris. Touch me. God yes—”
Maybe it’s not what he meant, and it’s sure as fuck not what I’d meant, but next thing I know, I’m tugging at his sweater, dragging it up over his chest, trying to pull it free, ‘cause I need to feel his skin beneath my hands. Not just his cock but all of him.
With a breathless laugh, he lets go of me to push up on to his knees, yanking himself free of his sweater.
And fuuuck, but I’m right about wanting to get my hands on every last inch of him.
Jesse’s the perfect combination of soft and a little chunky, with the outline of thick muscle underneath. And ohhh, but I was right— That gorgeous, fucking edible blush of his reaches down over the swell of his pecs, down across his slightly padded stomach, disappearing beneath his jeans.
Still such a fucking tease.
“Yours too,” he rasps. “Let me see you.”
I’m not gonna lie. I legitimately love the way I can feel his stare burning into me as I sit up, coming chest to chest with him as I pull my shirt up and off over my head.
My lips tingle with the desire to kiss him again, but instead I just lie back, drinking in the sight of his slow, hard swallow. The way his eyes trace down the pattern of my tattoos, over my chest, down to where my cock lies twitching and dripping against my abs.
Another hard swallow bobs his throat, and ohhhfuuck, now all I can think about is how it would feel if he did that around my cock, those plush, pink lips of his wrapped around its base.
“Like what you see?” I grin up at him.
“So fucking much,” he whispers, voice low and thick.
“Me too, sunshine.”
Propping up on one elbow, I reach for him, brushing my thumb over his lips, running my fingers down his neck. His eyes flicker shut for a moment before snapping wide, still glued to my body like he can’t make himself look away.
Oh, sunshine, I know the feeling.
His chest is lightly dusted with blonde hair that glints gold, and I can feel the heat of the pink flush lighting his skin as I trail my hand down it, flicking my thumb over one of his rosy, pebbled nipples. And ohhh fucking yess, that little whimpery moan he gives…
Another swipe of my thumb over the tight bud pulls another delicious sound from his parted lips, and it’s all I can take, ‘cause now my eyes have gotten stuck lower, on the hard, twitching bulge between his legs.
My hands are shaking with need and something else I have no interest whatsoever in looking at too closely as I lie back, reaching up to fumble at the button of his jeans.
Because this—with Jesse—is so totally unlike anything I’ve ever done. Fuck, so totally unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
Totally different, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t hide from it.
Jesse’s eyes catch mine, holding as the button snaps free, and the blaze of heat in them washes over me just the same as the tight glide of his hand that’s working slowly over my shaft again, making my skin hum as pleasure sparks from my scalp all the way down to my toes.
There’s something soft and warm and too damn big in that look, but I can’t make myself break away.
With a low moan, he settles over me again, lifting his hips as I tug his jeans down, taking his boxers with them. And fucking god, his eyes never leave mine.
The moment his jeans are low enough, my hands are at the backs of his thick thighs, dragging him down against me.
Solid weight pins me into the mattress, and there’s nothing but skin on skin and the hard, sticky-slick heat of his naked cock pressed against my hip, so perfect that it has me gasping, every muscle in my body shuddering and straining with the need to rut up into his hand.
For a moment, he’s totally still. Even his hand on my shaft that’s trapped between our bodies freezes. His eyes, still locked on mine, go wide as his lips fall slack, trembling with his heaving breaths. Like he can’t really believe this is actually happening.
Fuck— That look— There’s something about it that makes that soft, warm, too-big feeling swell in my chest, getting all mixed up with the crackling heat and throbbing tension he’s built in me.
“Tris—”
My name is a desperate groan that vibrates through his chest into mine as my fingers dig convulsively into the firm softness of his thighs just below his ass. And then he’s pulling back, and his hand is gone from around my cock.
No—
There’s no time for my miserable whimper though, ‘cause the next moment, the hard, hot press of his length against mine turns the sound into a needy moan that he swallows in a fierce kiss as his hands tangle in my hair again.
Fuuuck. Ohhh, fucking yesss—
My hips stutter up to meet his at the same moment as he grinds down against me, the drag of his cock along mine all heat and slick pleasure from how we’re leaking all over each other. It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my life, and all I want is more.
My hands are on his ass now, pulling at the tight strain and flex of his muscles, tugging him against me as I arch into his every thrust.
Sweat beads between us, and my head is spinning with the feel of him. Our shuddering gasps and quiet moans fill my ears, the most fucking erotic thing I think I’ve ever heard, and I swear, even if he stopped grinding against me now, I might still come from the sound of it alone.
Thank fuck he doesn’t stop.
The way he’s rutting against me is sloppy and desperate, and beneath my hands, I can feel the building tremble of his muscles. And I’m right there with him, wound so fucking tight that another few seconds are all it’s gonna take.
“Tris—” He doesn’t lift his lips away from mine, panting my name into my mouth with the choppy gasp of his breath as his thrusts speed up. “So good— mmmngh, fuck— God, Tris, you feel so good. Gonna make me come— Can’t…ohhh I can’t help it—”
Every inch of my body tightens at his words and the way his grip tenses around my shoulders as his forehead falls to mine, and I surge up to catch his grunting moan, tugging his lower lip between my teeth.
His body shudders against me, shaking as his hips stutter.
And fuuuck, the way he gasps and whimpers into my mouth as pulse after pulse of his cum paints my stomach has my cock thickening against his, twitching and throbbing.
His hot cum spills over my shaft, turning my next thrust up along him slippery as my muscles tense, so tight my back bows off the bed.
“S-sunshine, yesss— Ohhhfuuuck yess, Jesse—”
And then I’m coming. Gasping and arching up into him in dizzy waves of pleasure, my own spurts of cum mixing with his between us, hot and sticky and filthy, and I fucking love it.
My body’s still rippling with aftershocks when he flops down on me, and holy shit but I could live forever in the warmth of his heavy body, drinking in the cinnamon-y citrus and faintly sweaty scent of him.
“Jesus fuck, Tris.”
Jesse’s breathless laugh vibrates through me as he presses up on an elbow propped by the side of my head to grin down at me.
It’s a sloppy, totally wrecked grin, with his always-mussed-up-hair even more mussed than ever, a few strands sticking to his damp forehead, and his face still all sunset and scorching pink.
My heart skips, and out of nowhere, my stomach’s full of those damn butterflies again.
Holy fuck, he’s beautiful.
“That was,” he shakes his head, huffing out another laugh. “You’re amazing.”
A fresh aftershock buzzes through me, making my spent cock twitch between us.
Fucking hell, what it does to me when he says that kind of shit.
And then I don’t know what to do with myself because his hand is in my hair, fingers threading through it, gently pushing it back from my own sweat-damp forehead before he lowers his lips to mine.
He kisses me like I’m the air he needs to live, all sweet and tender and soft, but every last bit as desperate and greedy as just before he’d come.
Why this should throw me so totally off balance, I don’t have a fucking clue, only it does. So completely that, for a moment, I think that that big, terrifying thing that’s apparently set up a permanent spot in my chest might just drown me.
So what that we’ve cuddled and kissed, and that in every last one of his touches, I can feel his too-perfect-to-be-real Jesse-goodness radiating out from him.
This, right now, the way he’s kissing me and touching me like he still can’t get enough?
And, fuck, like he wants me to know it? It’s like instead of pushing me away and being done with me now that he’s gotten what he wanted, even if it’s just for now, he’s somehow found a way to pull me closer.
Well, he’s just gone and made my heart get all fluttery-skippy, and ‘cause I really just have to, and ‘cause his warm, soft body feels too damn good not to, I let myself snuggle closer in his arms, tucking my head onto the comfy spot where his shoulder meets his chest.
My hand splays out on his soft pec that isn’t taken up with my cheek, and without really meaning to, my fingers start running through the golden-brown curls that dust over his skin, just sorta stroking and feeling their silky-course texture.
With my face and ear cuddled against him, I can hear his heart beating away, and maybe I’m totally imagining shit, but it sounds just as skippy and excited as the thumping rhythm in my own chest.
It’s all too mushy. I know this, only fuck me, ‘cause I can’t do a damn thing to stop myself from eating up every sweet, cozy moment of it.
It would be so easy to pull back instead of giving in.
To protect myself and run as far the hell away as I can from the warm glow of happiness spreading through me as he snuggles into me, not really kissing anymore, just holding me, brushing those soft, sweet lips of his against my skin and over my hair as our breathing slows.
Because how the hell could I deserve this?
The thing is, even though maybe I don’t, oh my fucking god do I want to. I want it so bad that that alone should send me running.
I want his scorching sunset blushes and ugly-ass sweaters.
I want his brilliant, sexy AF mind and all the random things he knows about his honestly borderline-disturbing witch hunt shit and everything else in history that no one else bothers to remember.
I want the way he talks to me, all wound up and excited and not dumbed down for the benefit of pretty, dumb me.
Fuck, I want the way he doesn’t think I’m dumb.
I want his plunked out, sorta robotic sounding piano playing and the way he shuffles and stares down at those freakishly mismatched socks of his when he gets extra shy.
That look he gets when I play my music for him, like he doesn’t think it’s a waste of time, but something worth stopping and noticing.
The legitimately amazing dinners he cooks.
Shit, I’ll even share his boring-ass oats with him. If I have to…
Because I want his quiet laugh and the way he never lets me get cold. The sweet, patient kindness you can straight up feel hovering around him. That hidden confidence that had him taking charge and having his way with me just now.
And, fuck, I want this. Him. His warm, big, kinda squishy-strong body wrapped tight around me. The way he looks into my eyes and somehow makes me feel like he knows me, like he sees me, even though there’s so much I’ve never told him.
Fuck. I just want him.
Except I’m scared to fucking death that want might not be the word I actually mean.