20. Josephine
CHAPTER TWENTY
Josephine
The door clicks shut behind us.
“Josie,” Clay gasps, his eyes flaming with need. “You have no idea how bad I want you.”
He’s already undoing his belt, lips trembling and eyes big, greedy.
This is completely insane, and somehow that only makes me want him more. I push the crutches aside, hear them tumble onto the carpet and click together like dropped bones.
My hands are shaking. I’m wild with wanting. The smell of him—sweat and clean cotton—sets my body ablaze.
He yanks me against him too fast and immediately swears under his breath when his bad leg twists wrong.
I grab his shoulders before he can lose balance completely.
We’re both breathing hard already, him from pain, me from wanting.
I feel the way his veins are standing up under his skin. I feel his teeth nip my jaw, and then his tongue is in my mouth, and it’s all so wet, mean, and perfect.
He’s trembling so hard I wrap one arm around his torso just to hold him still, to stop him from tipping over, but also, I think, to keep myself from floating away.
His skin is cool under my hands, charged tight with tension.
I drop to my knees, mouthwatering with the need to taste him deep before rationality comes back to me. I hook my fingers into his waistband and drag his jeans and briefs down to mid-thigh.
His cock’s already hard. The head flushed, angry, bobbing with his pulse. I breathe hot across the tip and watch it twitch.
“Fuck,” Clay gasps, bracing one hand flat against the wall to keep pressure off his leg.
I flatten my tongue against him. Salt, heat, the sharp bite of his skin. I slide my lips down, let him drive into me slow, then all at once.
He bucks forward once, then hisses when the movement jars his leg.
“Jeez,” he mutters, laughing breathlessly at himself. “Worth it.”
I steady us. There’s no artistry, no teasing, just hunger, his and mine, braided together at the root.
He grabs my hair and moans, all garbled vowels and consonants, a language built from pain and want. Each thrust sets a tremor running up my jaw, each pull at my scalp, this raw, primal feedback loop.
His body is so big, so much denser than mine, but against my tongue I can feel the tremble, the surrender. I’m already past shame, past hesitation. I want every drop of it, want to turn roughness into worship and let him splinter apart in my throat.
“Josie,” he gasps as he tucks his hands under my armpits. “Too fast. I want to devour you too.”
“Then do it,” I tell him, and sink my teeth into his thigh, savage, helpless with wanting.
I know I shouldn’t, but I want to leave a mark. To claim a patch of him that’ll ache under wool slacks tomorrow, a badge of my hunger in a world where mine is always the one that must be hidden, regulated, denied. I want him as messy as me.
He grips my biceps and tries to haul me upward, but the second he puts too much weight on the bad leg, his face tightens.
“Wait,” I gasp, catching him before he can push through it.
For one awkward second, we’re tangled together, breathless and half laughing while he tries to maneuver us toward the bed without eating carpet.
“Romantic,” he mutters.
“Extremely.”
He peels my dress off, quick, a little rough, then strokes my ruined lace panties down my thighs, careful, almost tender, as if he’s reading my mind and wants to prove that being greedy with me doesn’t mean careless.
He curves his body over mine, hot skin to my back, breath gusting behind my ear. My knees sink into the mattress. My hands grip the duvet.
He grinds his cock between my legs, and I yelp, from the shock of longing, the friction, the filthy yes of it.
“You want it like this?” he whispers, guttural, a cave echo full of echoing promises and threats. “Tell me how you want it.”
I shouldn’t say. I shouldn’t even know. But the words are lined up, ravenous, behind my teeth.
“I want your tongue, Clay.”
He fists a handful of my hair and flips me, my back flat on the bed, legs dangling off the side. He kneels on the carpet, eye level with my pussy.
He spreads me open with two gentle thumbs, like he’s opening a rare book and afraid the pages will crumble. His eyes flick up, locking with mine, and then his mouth is pressed against me, and I dissolve.
The first lick is slow, a tasting, the deliberate drag of his tongue from perineum to clit, like he wants to map every nerve ending.
His mouth is burning hot. Every touch is greedy and careful, the way you break apart a fortune cookie so you don’t lose a single crumb.
He grinds his mouth into me. There’s nothing careful about it now. He face fucks me with obsessive intensity.
When his teeth graze my clit, I see stars; the white hot spike of it shoots up my spine, nerves fusing pleasure and pain until I can’t breathe, can’t even make a sound.
I fist both hands in his hair, shoving him closer, anchoring myself to the world by that single point of contact.
This is the world ending; this is us lighting ourselves from within and letting the fire eat all the parts we aren’t supposed to want. I’m gasping, legs shaking so hard you’d think I’d never stood before.
His face is slick with me, and he’s smiling, a crooked, animal smile, like he’s proud of how far gone I am.
He shoves two fingers inside, ruthless, and my body opens for him, so needy it makes me sick with the purity of it. I grab his wrist and fuck myself on his hand, desperate, a beast rutting onto the dirt, and the juddering spasms take me so hard I let out a sound between a sob and a scream.
He keeps going. Just finger fucks me while his face is buried in my pussy. Like a machine built for nothing but this. Like he could die here and it’d be worth it.
He doesn't let up. His focus never wavers, his attention fixed entirely on me as he keeps me balanced on the edge, refusing to rush, refusing to give me a second to catch my breath. Every time I think the intensity has peaked, he drags me higher, pulling another helpless sound from my throat.
It feels relentless, like this is the only thing that exists for him. Like the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving nothing but the space between us and the desperate need to keep me coming apart.
The pressure keeps building until I can barely think through it. My muscles tighten, my pulse pounds in my ears, and every nerve in my body strains toward the inevitable.
When it finally hits, it tears through me.
I come again, hard enough to steal the air from my lungs, stars bursting behind my eyelids as the sensation rolls through my entire body.
My throat is raw. I must have howled, but it feels like I blacked out.
I’m so loose and spent that I sag back, limbs all jelly, chest shuddering, spit pooling on my tongue.
He wipes his mouth, dazed, looking bewildered and proud and a little bit terrified.
“Holy shit,” he whispers. “You’re fucking incredible.”
I laugh, wild and giddy. “Now get inside me.”
I drag him on top of me by the shoulders, like I’m hauling myself out of a pit.
He stumbles, pants halfway down, cock leaking onto the pale mound of my stomach.
“Jeez fuck, Josie.”
His whole body is trembling. He gets a knee up on the bed and for a weird second his face changes. He makes a clumsy swipe at his eyes, like he’s stunned he can even feel this much.
Then he’s kissing me again, and the taste of me on his tongue is so filthy and right I dig my nails into his shoulder to keep from melting through the mattress.
“I want it so bad,” he grits.
He lines up, rocks the tip against me, not quite pushing in.
“Please, just fuck me,” I whine, humiliated at how far gone I am, how I’m begging him in a voice I barely recognize.
He pushes in, more than I even thought I could take, filling me with this sick, mindless gratitude. Each thrust is violent, necessary; he pounds into me like he’s chiseling away the last layer between us, the final resistance.
But it’s still not enough.
I push gently at his chest until he gets the message, rolling carefully onto his back with a strained curse when his leg catches wrong against the mattress.
“Easy,” I murmur automatically.
He grabs my waist. “Don’t start being nice to me now.”
His eyes go black as oil. He grabs my hips and guides me down, gingerly at first, and then our bodies just click. A slick socket, perfect fit. The fullness is maddening, an ache that begs to be stoked, so I do, grinding down and rolling my pelvis, greedy for another crash of pleasure.
My hair falls forward, curtaining him, and he just stares up at me, helpless, awed.
I’m shaking, skin oversensitized. His cock hits spots inside me that make my vision pop white, like a migraine set to ecstasy.
I ride him hard, palms pressed to his chest, the muscle relentless under my fingers, and he surrenders to me, lets me use him, rock myself raw against him.
He keeps his hands on my ass, kneading, sometimes trailing up my sides just to worship the bones, the flex, the animal of me.
He starts talking, words coming out in a blur.
“So fucking beautiful, Josie. You’re unreal. You’re fire, you’re…” he breaks off, biting his own skin at the bicep, like he can’t stand it.
Each thrust is a punch of pleasure, and I’m soaking him, soaking myself, bare nerves exposed to the world.
We crash together, chaos and need and sweat and the staccato slap of skin. I look down at him, his face slack with wanting, chest heaving, collarbone sharp as a blade. Everything I am is connected to him through this one sweet, grinding axis.
He’s close. I can feel it in the way his abs seize, the way his cock pulses and swells inside me.
I want him to lose it, nothing between us except heat and panic and the need to finish so brutally it erases everything else.
He starts to break, all hoarse, digging his nails into my hips like he’ll leave permanent crescents. I want that. I want him to mark me, cut me out of symmetry, make me feel this later on.
He tenses beneath me, one hand gripping my hip hard while the muscles in his injured leg visibly spasm from the strain of holding himself together, but I dig in, riding him harder. I want to break him open. I want to force him to let go.
It’s so fucked and greedy, so perfect. I clamp down and move in a way that I know will push him over, and his face contorts, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a silent scream.
His cock throbs, then he’s coming, flooding me, spasming so violently I almost fall off him. I grind through it, milking him, savor every shudder, letting the wildness shake us apart. There’s so much of it it leaks out around him, down our thighs, a mess I want to stay tangled in forever.
I topple forward, both of us panting, sweat slick and faintly trembling. My forehead lands on his shoulder, the perfect pillow. A stunned, battered silence settles in, like the room’s still ringing from a gunshot no one heard but us.
He strokes my back, clumsy and delicate, as if I’m precious or newly hatched.
“Holy fuck, Josie,” he whispers. “I thought I was gonna black out.”
I can’t even speak, just nuzzle into his chest, my body humming, half electrocuted. My heart is doing dangerous things, like it knows it’s not supposed to belong to anyone, least of all this beautiful, impossible boy.