Chapter 37 Jess #2
Watching him lose control. Watching him cum just from tasting me.
It’s the single hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed fucking witnessed.
I feel my own pussy clenching multiple times in want. A mini-orgasm.
When he’s done, breathing hard, he looks up at me with glazed eyes. His cock is still rock hard and pulsing and straining like nothing even happened.
“Sorry,” he pants. “I didn’t mean to. You just. Fuck.”
I’m staring at the mess on my skin. His cum mixing with my wetness. Glistening in the firelight.
And suddenly I’m thinking about that night in his bathroom. When he ate my pussy after I peed. When he proved to me that squirting was different. When he made me feel so safe and cherished and seen.
Turnabout is fair play.
I drag my fingers through the cum on my stomach. Bring them to my mouth.
His eyes go wide.
I lick my fingers clean. Taste him. Salt and something darker.
“Jess.” My name, half growl, sounds like a prayer on his lips. Or a warning. A sound that splits the air halfway between reverence and ruin.
My gaze drops, drawn to his rigid cock. It looks harder than ever. Thick and straining, a vein pulses down its length like a live wire, the skin stretched taut, begging for touch.
I don’t stop. I run my hands through the mess on my thighs. Rub his cum into my skin. Spread it around like lotion. Lick my fingers like I’m tasting sweet dessert.
“What are you doing?” he whimpers.
“Showing you.” My voice is steady even though my hands are shaking. “That I love tasting you, too.”
I drag more of his cum up to my breasts. Rub it over my nipples. Watch his pupils blow wide.
“You remember that night?” I ask. “When you ate me in your bathroom? After I thought I peed on you?”
He nods. Can’t seem to form words.
“You made me feel so safe. So cherished. Like nothing I could do would gross you out or make you love me less.”
Wait.
Did I just say love?
His expression shifts. Something vulnerable breaking through.
But I keep going because I’m already in too deep.
“I want you to feel that, too.” I slide my slick hands down my stomach. Between my legs. Mixing everything together. “Want you to know that I’m not grossed out. That I think it’s hot. That I love how much you want me.”
There it is again.
Love.
Fuck.
“Jess.” He catches my wrists. Gentle but firm. “Stop.”
“Why?” I’m breathless. Turned on beyond belief even though I just came three times.
“Because if you keep doing that I’m going to fuck you on this rug without any control left and you deserve better.”
“What if I don’t want better?” I challenge. “What if I want you exactly like this? Messy and desperate and mine?”
“Mine,” he corrects. Possessive. Final.
“Yours,” I agree. “But you’re mine, too.”
Something in his expression cracks. He hauls me up and kisses me. Deep and desperate and tasting like me and us and everything we’ve been dancing around for weeks.
“Need you,” he breathes against my mouth. “Now.”
“Yes.” Is all I can manage.
He reaches frantically for his discarded jeans. Pulls out his wallet. Extracts a condom.
I vaguely wonder if a condom even matters now, given that his cum is basically all over me.
But I say nothing.
Instead, I watch him roll it on. Watch his hands shake slightly.
And then he’s settling between my legs. Lining himself up.
He pushes in. Slow and steady and so perfectly filling that I forget to breathe.
“Fuck.” The word tears from Marco’s throat like fractured stone, hot and ragged against the damp skin of my neck. His hips stutter, buried to the hilt, as if my body is a vise he can’t escape.
Or won’t.
“You feel...” he moans. “Christ, Jess... you feel like fucking heaven!”
My calves lock behind his back, heels digging into the hard muscle of his ass, pulling him deeper still. A gasp punches from my lungs as he fills every hollow, every secret space.
“Move,” I beg against his jaw, my teeth scraping stubble. “Please. Before I break.”
He obeys with a groan that vibrates through my ribs. Not fast, relentless.
Long, drugging withdrawals followed by hammer-deep thrusts that hit a place inside me that sparks white behind my eyelids.
Each stroke builds a new tension inside me, arching my spine off the rug. I’m languid, oversensitive, and yet starved for more.
A paradox only he understands.
“I’m close...” His warning is gritted between kisses along my collarbone. “Too fucking close to be good for you—”
“Don’t care.” My nails carve half-moons into his shoulders, claiming him as he claims me. “Just. Don’t. Fucking. Stop. Fucking.”
And he doesn’t.
His rhythm suddenly shatters into something primal. Harder, faster, a piston-drive of hips that slams me into the rug. Glues me to the cabin floor.
Firelight gilds the sweat on his chest as he chases his end, yet even now, his gaze pins mine:
You’re with me.
You’re mine.
The duality wrecks me. This beautiful, controlled man becoming utterly undone, yet holding me anchored in the storm.
When his release crashes through him, he buries his face in the curve of my neck. A raw, guttural cry tears free.
“Jess!”
My name like a shattered psalm against my pulse.
I feel his condom grow hotter as he spills inside it, the convulsive jerk of his hips, the tremor in his thighs—
And I detonate, too.
“Marco—!” I choke out, arching violently off the rug as my own release seizes me.
No slow build this time. It’s just pure, frantic unraveling.
My inner walls clamp around him in rapid-fire pulses, milking his cock as he continues to empty himself. The force of it wrings a sudden gush from me, hot and slick between our bodies, just a little spill against his thrusting hips.
“Fuck, yes—” he rasps, feeling it. The clenching, the wet heat.
He grinds deeper, dragging his cock along that swollen spot inside me until I’m sobbing, utterly sobbing, my thighs shaking, my nails scoring his back.
“Give it all to me,” he says. “Every... fucking... drop.”
I shatter again, and a second climax rips through me. Shorter, sharper, but blinding.
White fire fills my eyes as I gush again, just a hot trickle this time. My hips piston against his, chasing the aftershocks while he groans, still pulsing inside me. My convulsions are so powerful, I lift his entire body up an inch each time, despite how heavy he is.
Finally he collapses on me, his breath heaving. One hand fists in my hair.
“Look at you,” he murmurs in wonder. “Taking me so deep... coming apart on my cock... fucking drowning me in your juices. Fuck.”
I tremble, oversensitive and raw. His thumb swipes through the wetness on my thigh, brings it to his mouth. “So good. So... mine.”
In the silence, with our sweat, his cum, and my release cooling on the rug, I feel it.
Chosen.
Not just taken.
Worshiped.
Cherished.
We lie tangled together on the rug in front of the dying fire for the longest time. Sweaty and sated and perfect.
I glance at the hallway door. Still locked.
“You think we woke her?” I ask.
He shakes his head, then stands to dispose of the condom. He comes back with a damp cloth from the kitchen and a spare blanket from a drawer, and cleans us both up with gentle hands.
“Water?” he asks.
“Please.”
He brings me a glass from the kitchen. I drink half. Pass it back. He finishes it.
Then he’s pulling me against his chest. Tucking the blanket around us.
“Sleep,” he murmurs into my hair.
“We should go back to the couch.” Even as I say it, I’m burrowing deeper into his warmth.
“In a minute.”
A minute turns into five. Then ten.
My eyes drift closed. The fire’s glow barely visible. The sounds of the woods outside muted and distant.
Marco’s heartbeat steady under my ear.
This.
This is what safe feels like.
Right before sleep claims me, I feel him shift. Hear the soft clink of metal.
He’s retrieved my bracelet from the lamp knob. Setting it carefully on my folded sweater.
Getting ready for morning.
For whatever comes next.
And I realize, for the first time since we arrived in these terrifying woods, I’m not counting breaths or fighting panic or white-knuckling my way through fear.
I’m just here.
With him.
Exactly where I’m supposed to be.