CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Hendrix
B efore I have time to think or respond or react, his lips close over mine in a kiss that’s teeming with inspiration and predicated on what feels like anger.
It’s exactly what I both craved and feared it would be. What I knew it to be but stepped into with a knowing eye. It’s hungry and toxic and so fucking addicting.
The scrape of his stubble. The warmth of his tongue as it interlaces with mine. The brush of his fingertips up my cheekbones to cup my face. The muted sighs as we move straight past those to pleading moans.
“Jase.” It’s a whisper to myself. To him. An acknowledgment that I don’t want to think and yet my body has already leaped over the cliff without looking.
“Let me,” he murmurs against my lips and his hands thread through my hair and hold my head in place. “Let me erase him.” His eyes hold mine seconds before he lowers his head to lace a long series of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of my shoulder. “Let me show you.” Another tantalizing kiss on my lips. “Let me.” The slide of his strong hands down my back to the bottom of my tank top and then pulling it up and over my head. His strangled groan when he leans back and takes me in is... everything.
“Fucking hell, Hendrix.” His words are grated restraint. The tensing of the tendons in his neck a visual confirmation of the grip he has on his control.
He runs a hand down the side of my face and over my chest. The subtle roughness of his drumstick-calloused hands a contrast to the smoothness of my skin. But it feels like everywhere he touches catches fire. My nipples harden and ache as his thumbs brush over their peaks. Goosebumps start and are then chased over my skin by the heat he creates.
His mouth leaves mine in a brutal dismissal to travel down my neck. His lips become teeth, his tongue turns merciless as he tastes every inch of skin between my collarbone and my breasts.
It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s both at once and neither separately.
He lowers his head to take each nipple in his mouth. To tease and suck and lick as I arch into him, lost in the sensation and increasingly feeling as if I’ll never find my way back again.
I don’t even want to.
I’m exactly where I want to be.
His hands are on the flimsy fabric of my shorts, tugging them down my legs until I’m bare before him, stripped down both literally and figuratively. I should feel exposed, but instead I feel powerful. Alive .
Especially when he emits a groan that tells me everything I need to know about how he sees me. How he wants me. How he desires me.
“Spread those thighs for me, Hendrix.” His eyes lock on me and then dart back down to my thighs as he pushes down his sweats.
My breath hitches when his cock springs free. It’s thick and hard and my body aches to feel it.
“Let me see you. Let me savor you.” He kisses his way up the inside of my thigh. Each touch another ignition of embers begging to burn hot. Each slide of his tongue like gasoline on the fire he’s stoking.
And then when he gets to the apex of my thighs, he swipes his tongue ever so slowly up and down the seam of my sex. My hips buck as sensations streak like fucking lightning through me. “Jase.” I cry out his name but only as a means to beg him to do it again.
But when I do, he chuckles. He swirls his tongue around my clit before sucking on it. He tucks two fingers and then three into me as my body welcomes every sensation he evokes and controls.
He’s impatient but unhurried. Desperate but controlled. It’s a contradiction that’s uniquely Jase. Just like the relentless determination he has to break through every barrier I put between us.
It’s working.
I never should have doubted that it would.
His mouth is an addiction in and of itself. The way he teases and tastes me. The way he praises me and encourages me.
But it’s when he leans back up on his haunches, when that cocky smirk has his dimples deepening, when he says, “You’re tight as fuck, Hendrix, but I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to take all of me,” that I’m pretty sure I died and went to heaven.
I’m not used to dialogue during sex. To being turned on by words. To being made to feel wonderful because of those words.
“Jase,” I beg.
“No. Not yet.” His lips return to my skin as his fingers continue to work in and out of me, his thumb on my clit adding friction and pleasure. “He’s still on your skin. He’s still in your system. Come for me, Hendrix. Loosen that pussy so when I fuck you, you’ll be able to take all of me. You’ll be so full you won’t remember what anyone feels like but me.”
“Jase,” I whisper again, this time more of a plea. This time hoping that my voice alone will make him snap. Will push him to give me what I want—him. Inside me.
In every part of me.
A knowing smile pulls at his lips, like he’s aware that even though I think I still have control, I’ve already surrendered it to him in full. He keeps a steady pace with his fingers as I moan and writhe beneath him before finally letting one word slip from my lips. “Please.”
His fucking smirk grows. His dimples deepen. “That’s my girl,” he says and then shifts back up my body, positioning himself between the thighs he’s determined to keep spread apart. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
My fingers tangle in his hair as he kisses me again, as he swallows my moans and whispers them right back in an echo of need and want and desire. When I feel the hard press of his cock against my pussy, I ache for more.
He pulls back to look into my eyes, his gaze dark with something that feels both dangerous and thrilling. “You ready?”
I nod before I even realize I have, desperate and needy and so fucking alive. “Yes.” My voice is soft, but the words hang in the air like a challenge.
I bite my bottom lip as he eases into me, his eyes fixed on mine, gauging every reaction. Savoring every whimper. It’s slow at first, torturous and exquisite. Testing of limits. Relishing in sensation.
Pain flirts with pleasure in that way that makes me crave more of both. The stretch he creates. The heat of him. The way he fills me.
“Can you take a little more of me?” he begs as he shifts his hips and pushes even farther into me.
My head dizzies and my nerves sing with a headiness like I’ve never felt before.
When he’s all the way in, when I’m gasping to form some version of coherent thought, he stills with a groan. “Fuck, Hendrix,” he says, and it sounds like a prayer.
He stays like that, so deep inside me, that everything else fades away until all I feel is him. Until all I know is him.
He begins to move. Slowly. Firmly. Stretching me in every way imaginable until it feels like there will never be enough of him inside me because nothing has ever felt this good or this right or this perfect.
“Jase.” It’s only his name on my lips. It’s only his body I feel.
My mind becomes a haze of incomplete thoughts. Of praise I want to say and directions to what I like. Of pleasure like I’ve never felt before.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he begins to pick up speed, as his hips get faster and rougher and more desperate with each thrust. The sound of our skin slapping together barely audible over my pleas for more, for harder, for faster. For simply him .
I cling to him as everything blurs together: my need for air, my desire for more, my want to make this last forever and then the urgency to claim my orgasm.
I’m gone and lost, my body moving with a mind of its own to get closer, to sink deeper into the sensation he’s creating.
The world is reduced to just us: heat and skin and friction. Until it feels like we’re both catching fire. Until it feels like we’re both burning. Scorching. Consumed by each other and how alive we feel.
“Come for me, Hendrix,” he demands just as my vision starts to fade, just as my pulse starts to race even faster than it already is. “Come for me before I lose my fucking mind.”
He works harder—hands and lips and cock and... just everything. So that when my orgasm slams into me, there is no point of return.
There’s no saying I don’t know what good sex feels like anymore.
It’s just him driving me to plummet over the edge without any ability to hold myself back. There’s nothing else in those few euphoric moments but us—panting, grasping, climaxing—tangled together and lost in sensations.
I tremble through the last waves of pleasure as he comes shortly after. My name is a groan on his lips. It’s a promise for more and a plea for this pleasure to never end.
He collapses on top of me, still inside me, and we stay like that, catching our breath as the world slowly comes back into focus around us.
“Jesus,” I breathe, tracing lazy circles on his back. “I think...”
“You’re not supposed to be able to think when I’m done with you. Or walk. Or—”
“You think you’re that good, do you?” I tease.
He nuzzles into my neck, a low chuckle vibrating through his chest. “Are you complaining, wife?”
“No. Definitely not.”