Chapter 25 #2
Camden and I trade numbers, and I promise him tickets to an upcoming home game since his team unfortunately ended their season earlier this month.
While they won the Bowl last year, they ran into some bad luck in the divisional round this year.
There was a rumor floating around about Camden retiring soon, but I don’t know him well enough to ask about it.
When the girls return an hour later, apparent friends and a little giggly from the alcohol, Jo and I say our goodbyes and head back to my place.
Gus makes figure eights around our feet when we walk into the room, and Jo immediately picks him up.
He’s becoming more her cat than my own, and I find the digital camera she left here to document it.
I don’t really know how to work the thing, besides click and shoot, but I do it while she nuzzles Gus to her cheek.
After a few clicks, she spins my way. “What are you doing?”
“Taking photos.”
“That’s my job.”
“But when the muse calls…”
She laughs, and I capture that before setting the camera down. Jo immediately puts Gus down to pick it up, clicking away. I lean against the counter, posing. “Is the muse calling?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I remove my coat, tossing it haphazardly over one of the chairs. “How about now?”
She briefly lowers the camera, enough that I can see her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. A spark in her dark eyes. So I keep going.
She positions her camera again, and I strip off the rest of it, staring into the camera lens. By the time I’m completely naked, she’s taken countless photos, yet she’s still not done.
But neither am I. Her quiet intake of breath sends goose bumps racing over my skin when I lower to my hands and knees.
Behind her camera, her skin flushes pink, and each inch of space I cover while crawling to her sets my own skin on fire.
I’m harder than granite by the time I’m kneeling in front of her.
I tip my head up, wrapping my hands around her calves, waiting until she lowers her camera to beg. “Please, Jo, can I fuck you?”
Because this woman deserves nothing less than utter devotion. She licks her lips, nodding once, before repositioning the lens up once again, snapping pictures of me like this.
On my knees.
For her.
I glide my hands up her legs, allowing myself a few moments of squeezing her thighs and ass before I pick her up, carrying her fireman-style to the bedroom, where I lay her down so I can strip off her clothes as well.
With her face still behind the thing that has always given her confidence, it’s a weird yet intimate experiment to allow her to capture these moments.
Kneeling on the bed while tugging her pants off.
Holding myself over her after she put the camera down for a few seconds to take off her shirt, only to bring it back into position, aiming it directly at my face.
“You’re so beautiful,” she tells me, voice awed. “A true work of art.”
My cheeks heat, authentic chagrin causing me to duck my head. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.”
Ignoring her praise, I sink down on the bed, settling between her parted legs to kiss my favorite place.
I tongue her soft flesh, the warmest, tenderest part of her, and she inhales a noisy sound before exhaling my name.
I shift my gaze up her body, once again finding myself staring into her camera lens.
I’m not sure what exactly she’s capturing, but in my mind’s eye, I see it from her point of view. My mouth open on her pussy, hands wrapped around her thighs, eyes full of lust.
I can’t hold it for long, my own pleasure in doing this a little too much to bear, and I shift, moving so I can slip my hand down to wrap around my cock, easing the ache, while I push two fingers inside her, long having learned exactly where and how to pet her. To make her come.
“Oh god, Nico…”
Even her moans are familiar. Her words. The way I know she’ll try to wiggle away before fully giving in, groaning my name again.
Like she does now.
Then she combs her fingers in my hair, the only reason I know she must’ve set her camera down, because I’m too busy drowning in her taste and trying not to come myself to notice if she’s still taking pictures or not.
As expected, her hips lift, chasing her orgasm, and I rub her clit a little harder with my tongue, press a little harder with my fingers. A second later, she releases it all—the coiled tension, the rush of wetness, and the satisfied way she says my name.
Never fails to make me grow harder.
As I kneel between her open legs, I realize that this moment needs to be memorialized too. Jo’s sleepy, sated smile. Her long hair strewn on the pillow, my still-damp fingers kneading her breasts.
I lift her camera to capture it all. Jo lets me take as many pictures as I want, and she doesn’t balk when I direct her to “Look at me, Jojo” or “Put your hand around my cock.” She follows all of my instructions, and I take so many photos, I could fill an entire album titled “Sex Goddess.”
But having her mouth suck on me while she stares up at me for the camera is too much, and I gently nudge her away, so I can set her equipment on the nightstand, only to return to her side.
Rolling us so I’m spooning her, I curl one arm under her neck and the other under her top leg, making room for me.
“This okay?” I ask, and she nods, tilting her head to offer me her mouth.
“It’s perfect.”
Yes, perfect.
It doesn’t take much for me to sink my length into her, easing in and out an inch at a time, achingly slow. It’s too slow, yet I don’t want to speed up.
I want to pause time and live in this excruciatingly perfect moment with her body pliant and whispered words trapped between us.
I kiss her neck, feeling her pulse under my lips, and I tell her so.
She says it always amazes her how well we fit together.
I remind her that she was made for me.
She smiles because she likes that idea then reaches her hand back to wrap around the nape of my neck, keeping me close, my lips on her shoulder, teeth grazing her skin.
Hours pass.
Probably days.
Maybe even a month.
I don’t care.
It’s not enough time.
But we can’t prolong it any longer, and she arches against me while I give in to one final thrust, both of us falling over the edge together.
More words bubble up inside me. Confessions of love and declarations of how I am sure we are fated mates.
That I know it may sound ridiculous, but I’m more sure of that than anything else in my life.
I rehearse the lines over and over, thinking about how to make it less silly, more profound, but in the end, I think honesty is the best policy.
I simply have to tell her the truth. That’s all she’s ever wanted.
I lean up on my elbow. “Jo.”
But she’s already asleep, eyes closed, breaths coming soft and even through parted lips.
I should’ve known. One glass of wine always does her in. My little lightweight.
With a smile, I settle back down on the bed. “Night, Jojo. Love you.”