Chapter 24 Nolan #3
I collapse back against the bench, chest heaving, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. My entire body feels like it’s been rewired. Like every cell is humming with aftershocks.
“I’m so sorry,” I rasp, voice hoarse. “That was—too fast—I didn’t mean—”
She crawls back up my body, knees bracketing my hips again, settling her slick warmth right over my still-twitching cock. The contact makes me jolt—too much, too soon—but also… already stirring.
“Nolan,” she says softly, cupping my face, thumbs brushing my flushed cheeks. “Don’t apologize for showing me how much you want me.”
“Apparently I want you… a lot,” I manage, half-dazed, half-shocked. “Because I think I’m—uh—almost ready for round two.”
Her grin is slow and devastating. “Is that so?”
“Pretty sure,” I croak, trying for confidence and landing somewhere between proud and mortified. “I don’t know how it works this fast but—clearly my body didn’t think one was enough.”
She bites her bottom lip to hide a smile, but it slips through anyway—soft, warm, and wicked. “Maybe,” she says, fingers brushing my jaw, “it’s not just your body.”
My pulse skips. “I want you,” I say. “I don’t think that part is confusing anymore.”
She leans in slowly, giving me a chance to retreat. As if I could.
“Then show me,” she whispers.
I kiss her—deeper this time. Tasting myself on her tongue only makes me hungrier, makes me bolder.
My fingers find the button of her pants, trembling but determined.
I pretend they’re my own stupid jeans I’ve undone a thousand times alone in my room.
The zipper parts under my thumb with a soft rasp that sounds obscenely loud in the quiet tower.
“Is this okay?” I ask, voice barely above a breath as I nudge the fabric down her hips.
“It’s perfect.”
She shifts her weight, helping me peel the pants and underwear off in one slow slide without ever fully leaving my lap.
The moment the last scrap of fabric is gone, her bare heat settles directly over me—slick, scalding, soft folds kissing the length of my cock where it throbs against my stomach.
I suck air through my nose, eyes slamming shut.
Nothing in the world has ever felt this intimate. This dangerous. This necessary.
My hands find her hips again, thumbs brushing the sharp dip above her pelvis like I’m memorizing a new spell by touch alone.
She reaches between us, fingers wrapping around my base—cool against my fever-hot skin—and angles me upward.
The blunt, swollen head of me nudges her entrance, enough to make my brain short-circuit.
Then she sinks down onto me.
The first inch is…impossible.
Hot. Wet. So tight it borders on resistance, like sliding into molten silk that’s decided to strangle me in the sweetest way.
My crown presses in and her inner walls immediately flutter around me—alive, pulsing, gripping as though they’re trying to pull me deeper. I choke on a sound I don’t recognize.
“Lindsay—” Her name is half plea, half prayer.
She doesn’t stop. Another slow, deliberate inch.
The stretch of her around my thickness is overwhelming—every ridge and vein of me dragging against soft heat.
I can feel the exact shape of her molding to me, clinging, fluttering with tiny involuntary contractions that shoot lightning straight up my spine.
Wetness coats me, easing the way, but the friction is still exquisite torture.
My hips jerk without permission, sinking me another fraction deeper, and she gasps—a sharp, breathy sound that makes my balls tighten painfully.
I’m inside her.
Actually inside her.
The rest happens in fragments of sensation that blur together, expanding and contracting with the seconds that pass.
The slick glide as she takes me to the hilt, her ass settling flush against my thighs. The obscene, wet sound of our bodies finally locked together. The way her clit brushes my pubic bone on that last roll of her hips, making her shiver and clench hard around my entire length. I feel it everywhere.
I can’t breathe right. My hands dig into her hips hard enough I’m probably leaving marks, but she only moans and rocks forward, grinding down in a slow circle that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
Every tiny movement milks me—her walls rippling, squeezing, dragging along every sensitive inch until I’m shaking under her.
“I can feel you throbbing inside me,” she breathes against my mouth. “So deep…so full…”
That does it.
The coil at the base of my spine snaps without warning.
Heat surges, white-hot and unstoppable. My hips snap up once—twice—burying myself as far as physics allows, and then I’m coming with a broken groan that echoes off the stone walls.
Pulse after pulse of release floods her, each one wringing another shudder from me as her body flutters and grips like it’s drinking me down.
I feel the warm rush of my own cum mixing with her slickness, leaking out around where we’re joined, and the sheer filth of it—combined with how perfect she feels—nearly blacks me out.
When the aftershocks finally ease, I’m trembling, spent, still buried inside her.
Softening slowly while her walls give these tiny, lazy flutters around me like afterthoughts.
She curls forward, cheek pressed to my pounding heart, blue hair spilling across my chest like spilled ink.
I wrap both arms around her, holding on like she might vanish if I let go.
I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.
“Round two,” she murmurs teasingly, tracing lazy circles on my ribs. “You survived.”
“Barely,” I say hoarsely.
She laughs softly.
I stare up at the old carved ceiling of this forgotten tower, and I think—I’ll remember every inch of this place for the rest of my life.
Especially now.