Chapter 11 #2
I run my hands down his chest, his abs, feeling them tense under my touch.
He takes his time removing the dress. The red thong follows, sliding down my legs and disappearing somewhere on the floor. When I'm finally bare beneath him, he sits back on his heels and just... looks.
“Stop staring.”
“Can't help it.” His voice is rough. “You're perfect.”
“I'm not—”
“You are.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to my stomach, my hip, the inside of my thigh. “Perfect, and mine.”
“Possessive.”
“Always.” Another kiss, higher this time, making me shiver. His breath is hot against my core and I squirm, wanting more.
His tongue drags up my inner thigh and I shudder. “You know, I used to lie awake thinking about this. What you'd taste like. What sounds you'd make.”
“Jay...”
“The reality is so much better.” He presses a soft kiss right where I need him most, barely a tease, and I whimper. “But I want more.”
“More?”
He pulls back, and I nearly sob at the loss of contact. But then he's shifting, lying back against my pillows, arranging himself like he's settling in for a feast.
“Come here,” he says.
I crawl the rest of the way up his body, my thighs shaking, my face burning. He guides me into position with his hands on my hips, and I hover above him uncertainly, my knees on either side of his head.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his breath hot against me. “I've got you. Just let me—”
He pulls me down onto his mouth.
I cry out, my hands flying to the headboard for balance. His tongue drags through me, one long, slow lick from my entrance to my clit, and my thighs clench around his head involuntarily.
“Oh my god.”
He groans against me, the vibration making me jolt, and then his tongue is everywhere—flat and broad against my clit, then pointed, flicking, then circling in tight little patterns that make my hips jerk.
He's learning me, figuring out what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes my thighs shake.
“Jay—” I'm panting, and without meaning to, I roll my hips against his face.
He groans again, deeper this time, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise. Encouraging me.
So I do it again. And again. Finding a rhythm, grinding down against his mouth while his tongue works me relentlessly. It's filthy and desperate and I've never felt anything like it—riding his face while he devours me like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted.
“That's it,” he murmurs against me, the words vibrating through my core. “Use me. Take what you need.”
I whimper and rock harder, chasing the feeling. His tongue pushes inside me, fucking into me in shallow thrusts, and I nearly scream. My hands are white-knuckled on the headboard, my thighs burning from the effort of holding myself up, but I can't stop moving.
“More,” I gasp. “Please, Jay, I need—”
He gives me more. His tongue slides back to my clit, circling and flicking while two fingers push inside me, curling to find that spot that makes my vision blur. I'm riding his face in earnest now, grinding down against his mouth and his hand, lost to everything but the pleasure building inside me.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groans against me. “Could do this forever.”
“I can't—” I'm shaking, right on the edge, my movements getting erratic. “I'm so close—”
His tongue flattens against my clit, giving me something to grind against, and his fingers curl deeper inside me. And then I feel it—his pinky, slick with my arousal, pressing against my other hole. Not just teasing this time.
“Jay—”
He pushes inside, just the tip, just enough to make me feel full, and I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me so hard I see white.
My thighs clamp around his head, my whole body convulsing, and I'm grinding down against his face through it, riding out every wave while he works me with his tongue and his fingers.
I'm sobbing his name, or maybe just sobbing, I can't tell anymore—all I know is that he doesn't stop, doesn't let up, until I'm boneless and trembling and oversensitive.
“Okay,” I gasp, trying to lift myself off him. “Okay, I can't—too much—”
He lets me go, helping me collapse onto the mattress beside him. When I finally manage to turn my head to look at him, his entire lower face is glistening and he's grinning like he just scored the winning goal in overtime.
“That was—”
“Incredible.” He rolls over, caging me beneath him. “Been wanting to do that since the first time you taped my mouth.”
I'm still trying to form words when he shifts, settling himself between my legs. His hands slide up my thighs, spreading me wider, and I watch through hazy eyes as he sits back to undo his belt.
“Wait,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “Let me.”
He freezes, hands stilling on the buckle. “Yeah?”
Instead of answering, I push myself up and reach for him. My fingers are trembling—from the aftershocks or anticipation, I can't tell—but I manage to undo his belt, pop the button on his trousers.
The zipper slides down with a whisper of metal, and I push the fabric down his hips along with his boxer briefs.
His cock springs free, hard and flushed, and I wrap my hand around him, feeling the weight of him, the heat.
The two piercings that form a cross through the head are warm from his body heat.
“Ally—” He catches my wrist gently. “I need to be inside you. Right now.”
He guides me back down to the mattress, settling between my thighs, one hand braced beside my head while the other lines himself up. I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and then he's pushing inside, slow and deep.
I gasp at the stretch, the fullness—I remember this, but somehow it's even better than the first time. Every inch he sinks deeper, I can feel the piercings dragging against my walls, the metal adding texture that makes my back arch off the bed.
“Fuck,” he breathes when he's fully seated inside me. “You feel—”
I don't let him finish. I roll my hips, and we both groan at the sensation. The cross-shaped jewelry shifts inside me, pressure in multiple directions at once, and my thighs tremble around his waist.
“Move,” I gasp. “Please, Jay—”
He does, pulling out slowly before pushing back in, and that's when I really feel it. The drag of those piercings against my front wall, hitting spots I forgot existed, makes me cry out.
“Oh god—” My nails dig into his shoulders as he thrusts again, deeper this time. The vertical bar of the cross catches against something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. “Right there—”
“Here?” He adjusts his angle slightly, and I nearly scream.
“Yes—fuck—yes—”
He sets a rhythm that has me clutching at him desperately, each thrust driving those piercings exactly where I need them. It's overwhelming—the pressure, the friction, the way the metal seems to find every sensitive spot inside me.
“I forgot,” I gasp between thrusts. “I forgot how good—how this feels—”
“I didn't.” His voice is rough against my ear. “Haven't stopped thinking about it. About you.”
He picks up the pace, and I can feel every ridge of metal stroking along my inner walls. My second orgasm is already building, coiling tight and hot in my belly, and when his thumb finds my clit the combination makes my vision blur.
“Jay—I'm—”
“I know.” He drives deeper, the cross hitting that devastating spot inside me. “I can feel you getting tighter. Come for me, baby.”
The orgasm rips through me, my whole body clenching around him. The piercings seem to intensify everything—every pulse, every contraction dragging against the metal—and I'm sobbing his name while he fucks me through it.
“That's it,” he groans, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, Ally—”
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and feel him pulse inside me as he comes. His whole body shudders, his face buried in my neck, and he makes this wrecked sound that I want to remember forever.
We lie there for a moment, both of us breathing hard, our hearts pounding against each other. Then he carefully pulls out, and I wince slightly at the sensitivity.
“Stay there,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
He disappears into Kinsey's side of the room, and I hear the mini fridge open. When he comes back, he's holding a bottle of water and has grabbed the box of tissues from my desk.
“Here.” He hands me the water first, watching as I take a long drink. Then he gently cleans me up with the tissues, his touch careful and tender in a way that makes my chest tight.
“You okay?” he asks softly, his hand stroking down my thigh.
“More than okay.” My voice is hoarse. “That was—”
“Yeah.” He grins, tossing the tissues in the trash before crawling back into bed beside me. “It really was.”
He pulls me against his chest, and I let myself sink into him, my head resting over his heart. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder, and the room is quiet except for our breathing gradually returning to normal.
“So,” he says eventually, his voice lazy and satisfied. “Same time next Friday?”
I laugh, pressing my face into his chest. “You're an idiot.”
“Yeah.” He kisses the top of my head. “But I'm your idiot now. Cross my heart.”
I pull back to look at him. “Did you really just—”
“Cross my Hart?” He grins, looking way too pleased with himself. “Been waiting months to use that one.”
“You're the worst.”
“You love it.”
I do. God help me, I really do.
“No take-backs,” he says.
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
He pulls me closer, and I let myself sink into him—into this, into us, into whatever we're building together.
Three months ago, I walked into that locker room convinced that Jay Cross was going to be the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Turns out I was wrong.
He might just be the best.