Chapter 19 #2
Somehow—God knows how—I manage to whisper, “Jesse…the key.”
He huffs a laugh against my lips, breath shaking, and presses the card to the lock. When the door clicks, he nudges it open with his foot, but he stops before I can step inside. Reverently, he lifts my chin with two fingers, eyes locked on mine.
“You sure?” he asks softly, voice wrecked, pupils blown, chest rising like he’s catching his breath. He’s unsteady, but there’s still tenderness in the moment, and after all the heat, after everything, the emotion in his eyes hits me so hard it steals the air from my lungs.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’m sure.”
Something raw flickers across his face, and then his mouth is back on mine, and he’s guiding me backward into the room, kicking the door shut behind us without breaking the kiss.
I think I expected Jesse to be dominant in the bedroom, confident and in control, the way he is everywhere else.
But this…this is beyond anything I could ever imagine.
The quiet command in his voice, the way he steers my body with a touch, the way he looks at me like he already knows exactly what I want before I ask for it.
And the truth is… I like giving in. I like being guided, being told, and being wanted with that sharp, certain intention.
The way he leads. The way I like to follow.
It feels like we match up in all the right ways.
I gasp when his hands slide to my thighs, lifting me effortlessly off the ground, pushing my back against the wall just inside the room.
My legs wrap around his waist as his body presses fully against mine, and the sound that escapes me is embarrassingly needy.
He groans into my mouth, head tipping back for a split second like he’s trying to get control before he gives up, diving back in with a hunger that makes my entire body ignite.
“Madeline…” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine, like he’s fighting himself. “I can’t— I can’t stop.”
I don’t want him to.
His body is flush against mine, every hard line pressed into every soft part of me, heat rolling off him like a second skin. My fingers fist his dress shirt, dragging him closer, like I could pull him through me if I tried hard enough.
“Good,” I breathe, nails dragging through his hair, pulling him closer, deeper. “Don’t.”
It’s like his control snaps and then he’s turning, carrying me with him. I cling to him as he walks us backward toward the bed, his lips never leaving mine, kissing me like he’s been starved for weeks and finally gets to eat.
When the backs of his legs hit the mattress, he drops onto it, and I’m suddenly straddling his lap, breathless.
My skin tingles when his hands slide up my back, slow but firm, like he wants to memorize every inch.
I can feel his erection beneath me, hard, thick, and impossible to ignore, and the low sound that rumbles out of him when I shift my hips nearly undoes me.
“Madeline…” he warns, or begs, or both. “Before anything happens, I need you to hear me.”
Jesse’s hands possessively grip my hips in a way that confirms my expectation that he is into taking control in the bedroom.
“If you don’t like something I do,” he says, tone deep and commanding. “You tell me, and it immediately stops. Do you understand me?”
I whimper. Jesse is telling me without saying it what kind of a man he is in the bedroom, and it’s doing devastating things to my body.
I swallow hard, trying to find my voice, but he isn’t finished.
“I’m not gentle when I want someone,” he says. “I take control. I lead.” His breath brushes my lips. “But I only go as far as you want, and I’ll always stop the second you tell me to.”
My entire body sparks. Holy hell. He’s dominant and confident, in control in a way no one has ever been with me. I feel a jolt between my legs knowing I’m about to hand over control to a man who knows exactly what to do with me. It’s something I’ve always wondered about but never experienced.
I look him in the eye. “I understand. I want that too,” I say quietly, giving him permission to take things as far as he wants to take them.
And that’s all it takes.
He kisses me like he’s claiming something, hands moving to my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us. I can feel every inch of him, every line of muscle under my palms as I slide my hands down his chest, over his abdomen, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
After that, it’s like he becomes the focus and I’m the target.
His tongue sweeps inside to meet mine as his hands move to the zipper of my dress.
He pulls my dress down my shoulders, the fabric whispering over my skin, and I swear he growls when I rock against his hard cock.
I tremble when he thrusts his hips up to meet mine.
“Fuck,” he rasps, gripping my waist firmly with his hands, holding me in place while he rolls his hips back and forth against my center. “Making me so hard for you already, Mads, and I haven’t even stripped you out of your clothes.”
His hands skim the newly exposed swell of my breasts before he pushes the fabric down to my waist, exposing my chest. Jesse smiles, lifting me by my ass, before sucking one nipple into his mouth and then the other. His big hands massage and cup my breasts as he licks me.
“You’re…” He can’t seem to finish the sentence, just exhales against my throat. “…God.”
I tug at the buttons of his shirt, one by one, my fingers brushing over warm skin, hard muscle, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under my touch.
When his shirt finally spreads open, I flatten my palms over his chest, hearing his breath catch.
I can’t help but smile before dragging my teeth across my bottom lip, knowing it’s me who is lighting him up right now.
He peels his shirt off, letting it drop to the floor, and I curl my hand against the nape of his neck and guide his mouth to mine.
“Mmm,” he moans against my mouth, as I rut myself over his cock with enough friction to make my clit buzz to life. I arch my back, body reacting to how good it feels as his hands move to my ass, squeezing. “Stand up, baby. Let me get this dress off you.”
I lean in and kiss him again, pulling his bottom lip between mine, and he exhales a broken curse against my mouth before I stand between his parted thighs.
“Turn around,” he commands as he spins me around. “Show me how fucking perfect you are underneath all of your clothes.”
Jesse unzips my dress and the silvery-blue silk falls in a puddle to the ground. I sigh when his fingers curl into the band of my black lace thong and he shifts the material to the side before putting it back in place between my cheeks.
“On the bed, Mads, so I can worship you,” he demands. “I’m going to make you come with my mouth before I make you come with my cock.”
I shiver as I crawl up to the headboard then turn to lie on my back. I watch as Jesse stands at the foot of the bed and hooks his fingers into his belt buckle, yanking it open, and peeling down the zipper of his suit pants.
My body is buzzing, and my clit is pulsing at the thought of him stripping out of his clothes for me. I look at him with pure greed and hunger, unable to drag my gaze away from the man standing at the foot of the bed looking at me like he wants to devour me.
His belt hangs open, the zipper of his pants undone.
I trace every inch of him with my eyes, from his mouth, full and sinful, to the cut of his jaw.
The strong line of his throat. The subtle, sculpted swell of his chest, the lean dips and ridges of muscle running between his ribs down to the top of his stomach.
The dark letters of his tattoo that reads, Without the dark, we’d never see the stars, and I swear I feel those words in my bones.
If I only get Jesse for one night, I want to memorize him. Then I want to devour him.
A quiet hum slips from my throat as his pants fall to the floor, leaving him in black boxer briefs that cling to him too perfectly.
Heat blooms low in my belly when I see the imprint of him.
My thoughts flash to the way he felt beneath me earlier, how he pushed up against me when I straddled him, how that low, guttural sound tore from his chest. The memory hits me like a spark right to the center of my body.
Then Jesse hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, and God…I stop breathing.
He lowers them slowly until the fabric slips past his hips.
The sight of him makes something inside me fracture.
His cock jumps the second he’s free, thick and flushed and so painfully gorgeous that my thighs press together on instinct.
An ache pulses between my legs so sharply that I almost reach for myself without thinking.
I’ve never had an urge so desperate, so consuming.
He has no idea what he’s doing to me. Or maybe he does because he wraps his hand around himself, and I swear I stop breathing.
He’s already so hard and thick, straining up toward his stomach like his body can’t contain how badly he wants this.
How badly he wants me. His hand slides down the length of him in one slow, deliberate stroke, and my breath stutters.
He’s solid beneath his grip, veins standing out, every inch of him reacting to the slightest touch.
And he’s big. Bigger than I’ve ever seen.
His hand moves again, a gentle shuttle from base to tip. He’s not even doing it for his own pleasure—he’s doing it for me. Letting me watch. Letting me see exactly how undone I make him.
I can’t take my eyes off him. Groomed dark hair curls at the base of him, a stark, masculine contrast against the smooth, taut skin above it.
And just beneath his hand, his balls hang tight and drawn up, full, his whole body coiled with the kind of tension that feels like a held breath before a storm.