Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jason
I should walk away.
I should walk away, go home, jack off, and then run ten miles.
But I don’t.
I don’t walk away.
Instead, I grab Angie, grip her shoulders almost violently. “Take off your fucking clothes,” I grit out. “Then get on your bed.”
She turns to walk to her bedroom—
“No. Here. Strip. Now.”
Her eyes widen at the command, but after a moment of hesitation, she starts to remove her clothes. This woman, so full of strength and vulnerability all at once, obeys me without question. It is an act of submission, an offer of salvation.
There’s no salvation for me, of course, but Angie is truly good. Truly angelic, like her name.
She peels off her blouse, lets it fall to the floor. Her skin glows in the light of her living room. Then her bra, her gorgeous tits falling against her chest. Already her nipples are hard and taut, just begging for my fingers and mouth.
The sight of her sends a jolt of desire through me so fierce it almost brings me to my knees. I grip the back of a nearby chair, steadying myself as she hooks her thumb into the waistband of her pants and slowly pushes them down.
I swallow hard as she steps out of them, leaving only her panties. Fuck. Simple white cotton panties, and they’re as sexy as the most outrageous lingerie on her.
She reaches for them, slides them over her hips. They puddle at her feet.
I close the distance between us in two strides.
My hands find their way to her waist, my fingers digging into the soft curve of her hips.
I pull her against me—hard—and I kiss her again in a mad rush of desperation and longing.
My lips are harsh against hers, my tongue demanding as I explore the sweet warmth of her mouth.
Her arms snake around my neck, and she tangles her fingers in my hair.
The scent of her skin, the taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against mine—it’s all an intoxication that drowns out the rest of the world.
“I need you, Angie,” I rasp into her ear. “I need you so much it hurts.”
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she nods, clutching me tighter. “Then have me, Jason. Take what you need.”
The desperation in her voice matches mine—a shared agony that shatters any remaining barriers between us.
I grip her shoulders again, this time pushing her onto her knees in front of me. I unbuckle my belt, unzip my jeans, free my aching cock.
I grab the back of Angie’s head and force her onto me. “Suck it, baby. Suck my hard cock. I’m going to fuck that gorgeous mouth of yours. Fuck it until you gag.”
She looks up at me, her eyes wide and glassy. There’s fear there, yes, but also trust. And something more. A raw desire that matches my own. She opens her mouth obediently, taking me in.
The sensation is electrifying, a jolt of white-hot pleasure that sears through every nerve. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to come right here and now.
My grip in her hair tightens as I guide her movements, setting the rhythm I need—fast and merciless. She gags once, twice, but she doesn’t protest. Instead she squeezes her eyes shut and takes me deeper.
“Fuck, Angie…” My voice is a rough growl.
Her answer is a hum around my length that sends tremors of pleasure through me. God, she’s incredible.
When I can’t take it anymore, when the pressure building inside me threatens to explode, I pull away from her hot mouth with an agonized groan.
She looks up at me, her lips glistening. Her eyes are bright with want and submission, and it’s a sight that nearly breaks me.
“Stand up,” I command.
She obeys instantly and rises to her feet. I pull her toward me until there’s barely a breath between us, until I can feel the heat of her radiating against my skin.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” I promise her, my voice low and deadly serious. “I’m going to make you scream my name.”
Her eyes flash with anticipation and arousal. She nods, her lips parting.
With a swift movement, I grip her hips and lift her onto the dining room table behind us, clearing it off with one sweep of my arm.
Angie gasps as she lands on the cool tabletop but doesn’t protest. Instead, she spreads her legs for me and looks up at me with a raw vulnerability that threatens to shatter my self-control.
Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed with lust and submission.
I’m still fully clothed as she lies naked before me, a succulent feast of desire and raw pleasure.
With a low growl, I position myself at her entrance and push inside in one swift thrust.
The sound she makes is half gasp, half moan. I grip her hips hard as I start to move, each stroke driving me deeper into the warmth of her body.
Thrust, thrust, thrust…
Fuck, she’s tight.
I’m already on edge from the oral, but damn, I’m not ready to come yet.
I haven’t gotten all of her.
I haven’t used her up.
With a sharp intake of breath, I slap her tit. She widens her eyes but doesn’t stop me.
The pink blush blooms like a haze on her plump flesh.
And her nipple, so hard, so ready.
I slap the tit again as I thrust, and then I pinch her nipple.
As hard as I fucking can.
She squeals.
I should ask if she’s okay. Ask if she wants to stop.
But I don’t.
I pull out, flip her over onto the table, and thrust back into her from behind.
I set a brutal pace, each thrust making the table jerk and creak beneath us. Her cries echo in the room, filling my ears with sweet sounds of pain and pleasure that stir up the primal beast within me. I reach around her, find her throbbing clit, work it, work it, work it…
She’s writhing beneath me, trying to match my rhythm, desperately seeking her release. She clutches at the edge of the table. I grab her hair, gripping it at the roots and yanking her head back to expose her delicate neck.
“Say my name,” I demand. “Scream it.”
Her eyes meet mine in the nearby mirror, filled with a mixture of pain and pleasure. The need in them is almost tangible.
“Jason,” she breathes out, before it turns into a scream as I thrust harder into her. “Jason!”
The sound of my name on her lips is more drugging than any drink or pill. I spank her creamy ass, hard. The blush on her cheeks erupts like a sunrise.
I smack her again.
Again.
Again.
Her cries turn into a litany of my name, a beautiful scream that sends me barreling toward the edge. I feel the tension in her body rising, feel the muscles under my hands clenching as she approaches her climax.
“Come for me, Angie,” I growl.
Her body seizes, and she clenches around me as her orgasm rips through her. The sight and sensation of her pleasure shatters my control.
With a strangled roar, I follow her over the edge.
Hot pulses of release tear through me, each more intense than the last. My vision blurs with the pleasure of it, with the sweet agony of my orgasm. I collapse on top of her, my breath ragged and uneven against the skin of her back.
The room falls silent but for our heavy breathing. The smell of sweat and sex fills the air, and I inhale deeply, letting it infuse every part of me.
Then I help Angie turn over so she’s lying on her back again, and I pull her into my arms and carry her to her bedroom where I lay her gently down on the soft comforter.
I should ask for her forgiveness.
But I don’t.
I should thank her.
But I don’t.
Words escape me.
Everything escapes me as I gaze down at her naked flesh, at the marks I made on her beautiful breast.
I nearly lost control, and that should frighten me.
But it doesn’t.
I shouldn’t have let it happen. I knew better. I always know better. But knowing doesn’t stop the fire, doesn’t silence the hunger, doesn’t erase the way she looks at me like I’m not broken, like I’m something more than the wreckage I’ve become.
I almost crossed that invisible line I swore I’d never go near.
And I don’t regret it.
I should. I should be drowning in shame, and I am—but it’s tangled with something else, something darker, something I can’t bring myself to name.
Satisfaction? No, it’s more than that. It’s the raw, unfiltered truth of her—the way she moaned my name, the way she trusted me, the way she let me take when I should have been giving.
I didn’t hold back. Not the way I should have.
And now the guilt sets in, thick and suffocating, clawing at my soul like it wants to rip me apart from the inside out.
She doesn’t know how close I was to losing myself. How easily I could have let go, let the weight of everything I’ve been holding inside consume me in her touch, in her body, in the desperate, frantic need to feel something real.
But I did feel it. And that’s the problem.
It should have just been release, a moment of weakness, something I could chalk up to exhaustion or stress or the thousand other excuses I could conjure up.
But it wasn’t.
It was her.
It’s always her.
She’s in my blood now, in my bones, in the parts of me I thought were long dead. And that terrifies me.
The intensity of what I feel for her—what I’ve never felt before—terrifies me.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever come back from it.