38. Jules
CHAPTER 38
Jules
By the time we get home, we’re dirty, sweaty, hot, and so worked up we can’t keep our hands off each other.
Every touch, every breath between us is fire. We get to the bedroom, and he kicks the door closed. I’m already on him, tearing at the fabric of his shirt like the answer to where the Holy Grail is hidden is scrawled across his chest.
“We need a shower,” I breathe between kisses and gasps for air.
“Yes,” he growls, pressing me up against the wall. “We definitely do.”
We stumble into the bathroom, high on laughter and drunk with lust. He turns on the water, and the steam rises around us, thick and hot, filling the small space.
In one swift motion, he tears off my shirt and jeans, leaving me exposed to two darkening eyes and the heat of the moment.
When he peels away my bra, revealing my full breasts and tight nipples, the world seems to stop, suspended in the tension between us .
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Jules,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.
Then he drops to a knee, his breath hot against the fabric of my pink cotton panties. Slowly, achingly slow, he lowers them, his tongue following with a deliberate, tantalizing lick.
All it takes is one thick, deep lick, and my world spins out of control. “Oh, God,” I gasp, my hand gripping his hair as I try to hold on to a shred of control, but it’s impossible.
I’m unraveling like a ball of twine down a winding staircase, and my only option is to let go and ride this glorious fall.
His licks are hungry, ravenous, each one deeper and wetter than the last.
There’s no apology, no hesitation—just raw, desperate need. Brian is relentless, like a man possessed, tearing the orgasm from me as if it belongs to him. And hell, it does.
It’s so good, so ridiculously good, that I’m borderline addicted, craving more by the second.
I’ve wanted this—wanted him —for so long. And for the record, he was worth every second of the wait.
I’ve imagined it a thousand ways, but nothing could prepare me for the moment his fingers slide inside. I’m already widening my legs, the desperate plea tumbling from my lips like a prayer. “Please.”
I’m riding his hand like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. The pressure builds and builds until there’s no choice. I crash headfirst into a brick wall of an orgasm as my entire body shudders from the impact.
A guttural hum vibrates from his chest to his lips. “Mmm.”
Before I can even catch my breath, he’s stripping off his clothes, his mouth claiming mine, my taste still on his lips.
The world tips as I’m lifted up, the rush of hot water cascading along my back.
That’s when it hits me. “Your leg—shouldn’t we?—”
“It’s fine,” he growls, cutting off any protests as his teeth graze my lower lip. He tugs gently, just enough to silence me.
My hands roam across his chest, fingertips tracing every ridge, every groove of his sculpted muscles. He pauses, letting my eyes linger, drinking him in like he’s a masterpiece carved by the gods.
For the first time, I see him—all of him. The water glistens over his skin, exposing every scar and imperfection etched into him like constellations on a canvas, and I drink him in.
There are the parts of him I’ve loved without seeing—these parts—all of him. This man I will love until the day I die.
The moment my eyes lock on to his mouth—those full lips framed by rough stubble—I’m spun around, my back slamming against the cool tile.
Water pours over us as his kiss turns deeper, more demanding, like he’s starved for it. His heart pounds against mine, his tongue teasing, taunting, until we’re both breathless and panting and gasping for air.
“I’ve wanted you for so damn long,” he murmurs, lips grazing the curve of my wet shoulder, the feel of his stubble sending a tingle to my toes.
He locks me in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands cradling my ass as the thick head begins to press at my entrance.
His entire body trembles with barely contained restraint. “If we do this, there’s no going back, Jules. You’re either mine, or you’re not. ”
“I’m yours.”
In one desperate, searing thrust, he shoves in. And he’s so big, so perfectly thick, that I swear I see stars.
There’s too much of him for me to take at once, and he has to work for it, stretching me inch by delicious inch.
Deep.
So. Damn. Deep.
Every breath is for him. Every thrust is pure possession.
I’ve never felt anything like this in my life. He’s everywhere, filling me up until I’m drowning in him—mind, body, and soul. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
Like having him this way will never be enough. I crave more. And the more he gives—faster and harder—the more I need.
And damn, is he giving it to me. A lifetime of pent-up desire, unleashed all at once.
A few more impatient, punishing thrusts, and my world shatters into shards of color and light and breaths and moans.
And him.