19. Chapter 19
nineteen
Noel
M y back knocks against the railing at the top of the loft, then the dresser. Jamie laughs against my breast. “I’d tell you to be careful, but that’s your line.”
“I don’t want to be careful.”
I want wildness, abandon. I want rough hands and filthy words. I’m halfway to mauling him, but he straightens, taking my face in his hands to slow our frantic kissing to small pecks along my cheekbone, my jaw, my neck.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, and God it’s impossible to have any coherent thoughts at all with his body against mine, shirtless, jeans bent out of shape in the front, and so low on his hips I can see exactly how far that trail of hair on his belly extends.
“I’m wondering what this will be like between us,” I say honestly.
This connection, this unexplainable string.
I feel it pull tighter with every new place he touches me.
A sailor’s knot, cinching. I want to know how it will manifest when there’s nothing left between us.
I want to know how much more I’ll feel when he’s inside of me.
“It will be good,” he says, mouth moving against my skin. “It will be so good.”
I shiver from this drafty house and from the anticipation. Whatever else it will be, I’ve already seen how good it is. “What about you?” I ask, suddenly breathless. “What are you thinking?”
He pulls away and his smile pings up on one side. Mischief. “I’m thinking about the multiple times you told me not to touch you.”
A laugh bursts free, and I push at his shoulder. “Yes, I’ve clearly lifted that ban.”
“Good. Let’s keep touching.”
“Let’s.” I run my fingers down his stomach, cup him over his pants, and the deep groan he makes causes something in my chest to jump.
This boldness is unfamiliar to me, but there’s no reason to pretend, to be tentative.
He watches me unbutton and unzip, then slide my hand inside.
He’s warm and pulsing in my palm, and I run my thumb over the wet tip of him.
“So hot,” he says. “Fuck. You feel so good.”
“So do you.” His hips buck before he can get a hold of himself, and the heat of him, the gentle tug of his fingers in my hair while he tries not to thrust into my hand, it sets me on fire.
“Okay, okay,” he says, laughing. He gently tips my chin and I pull my hand free. “Too soon. I’m going to come in my pants.”
“Take them off, then.”
Together, we shove them over his hips, along with his boxers. His cock springs free between us, and like a scandalized virgin, I gasp.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Do we need to slow down?”
I shake my head furiously. “No. I’m not… I’m just excited.”
He groans at that, taking himself in his fist, stroking once, then he lets go and walks me backward toward the bed. My childhood bed. I suppose this should feel weird but instead it feels exactly right to be here with him.
The backs of my legs hit the mattress, and Jamie gently presses my shoulder, seating me on the edge.
My entire world has shrunk to the expanse of skin in front of me.
I’m obsessed with his flat stomach, the soft hair on his chest. His never ending torso that seems from this angle to stretch to the sky.
And then he drops to his knees and my view changes: the top of his head, dark hair, wild from my fingers.
He parts my thighs, not bothering to take off my shorts, just pushing the loose fabric to the side, and I feel his breath there, then his open mouth, chin, and nose all pressed against my most sensitive parts.
I’m practically begging for his tongue but instead he takes a deep breath in.
“God damn.” He pauses to catch his breath, eyes locked between my legs. “This is, like, highest tier fantasy shit.”
I chuckle nervously. “You didn’t fantasize about me.”
His smile curls and his fingers dip inside of me. I gasp at the ceiling.
And then they’re gone.
Wide-eyed and a little annoyed, I look down to see Jamie run his tongue over his fore and middle fingers, licking like an ice cream cone.
“Let’s make a deal,” he says. “I promise not to lie to you, and you promise to believe me when I say I’ve woken up more than once with my hand wrapped around my cock because I was dreaming of tasting you. ”
Heat rushes down my spine and I whimper a tiny, nearly imperceptible, “When?”
This timeline feels crucial. I have to know when these dominoes fell into place. This thing is a constant moving puzzle. I don’t understand it. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to.
Jamie’s laugh drips with guilt. “If I told you since that night on the roof, I’d be kind of an asshole, right? Considering I was there with someone else. A long time, either way, now let me.”
He dives back in, hungry and desperate bursts before he gains control and slows the stroke of his tongue to precise, measured movements that blur my vision.
My body turns to a puddle of liquid and bones.
All I’m capable of in this moment is taking, and I do, rocking my hips, holding the back of his head.
“Fuck, Noe. I could eat this pretty little pussy for every meal.”
“Such a dirty mouth.” I laugh at the ceiling. “I knew it would be.”
His fingers tighten on my hip at that. “So I’m not the only one who’s played this out in my head?”
“Definitely not.” I’m the only one who’s seen it, though. “Come here.” I tug his hair until he looks up at me. “I want to look at you.”
He moves us to the center of the bed, gazing down at me with hooded eyes. His hair is a disaster, one lock laying across his forehead, the rest sticking up every which way.
It’s the same , I think with a full-body shudder. It’s exactly the same as I saw it.
“Tell me you have a condom,” I say.
“In my wallet.” His thumb presses my lip. “Are you sure?”
I nod. I’m already squirming, hips lifting toward air, wanting him back with a need I’m not accustomed to.
Thankfully, he’s quick, gone and back in seconds, stalking toward me with all of that long-legged swagger. The mattress presses on either side of me, shifting with his movement as he covers himself.
He dips his head, covering my nipple with his soft lips while his fingers brush between my legs, testing, lining us up, and then he’s there, pushing forward.
We pull in matching breaths, and my eyes flutter closed at the slow, tight fit, the way he takes deep, steadying breaths, and when he hits at the hilt, it’s like something that had been spinning around us clicks into place. Like time stops altogether.
He looks down at me wide-eyed and I know he feels it too, the slowing down. I feel my blood drain and fill back up with liquid affection as we lie there eyes-locked, letting it wash over us.
“Fuck, this is intense,” he says, reading my mind.
“For me too.” His hand wraps around my wrist on the pillow as he starts to move, slowly at first until he finds a perfect rhythm that makes my head tip back and my vision blur.
Inside my chest, a balloon of emotion expands painfully against my ribs.
I pull his mouth to mine, clutching him closer, and it’s with a hazy, back-of-my-brain realization that I know it’s never been like this before.
Pleasure and affection braided so tightly together that I can’t decipher where one ends and the other begins.
Even if I’d never seen this play out in a premonition, I’d know by the feeling in my chest how important he is.
And I probably would have run from it.
Now, I roll my hips up to meet him. He pulls my thigh over his waist and I arch into him, putting pressure in a place so perfect that I can’t help but I cry out. My nails dig into his skin, and he hisses.
“Sorry,” I breathe.
“Don’t be. Look at you,” he says, propped on his hand, his other hand holding me at the waist while he watches.
His hips are a careful, even rhythm, and the way I grip the sheet and grind against him looks jerky and uncontrolled in comparison.
Who knew this would be the place where our roles reversed?
I cry out again on the next stroke. It’s too much. I can’t hold back. My hands are frantic between us, running over his skin, threading through the light hair on his chest.
“I wondered what it would take to get you like this,” he says. “Wild.”
“It’s you.”
His stroke slips ever so slightly and his eyes go soft. “Yeah?”
“You get me like this. You’re the only one.”
His grip on me tightens and his hips pump harder. “Look at me, Noe. It’s so fucking good when you look at me.”
My heavy eyes drag up to his, and he’s right. I hold his gaze as my free hand slips between us, touching myself. Another thing I’ve never dared to do with anyone else, and he’s encouraging me, whispering yes, and cursing with his lip between his teeth, while heat builds at the base of my spine.
Jamie hikes my leg up higher, and the wooden headboard slams against the wall. I squeak in surprise, and he laughs.
It’s that. Not where his hips pin my fingers in the perfect spot, not the drag of him against that valley of nerves inside me—it’s that sound I’ve come to love so much, that beautiful smile that sends heat rushing down my legs and arches my back.
I go taut with a cry, then boneless, my mind full of exploding stars, my body full of him and the pulses of pleasure he’s coaxing from me. With his name on my lips, something cracks so wide open that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to close it again.
He’s right behind me, dropping his weight, and burying his face in my neck with a muffled groan of release.
We lie there like that, Jamie’s chest rising and falling against mine, heavy but even, as I shiver with aftershock beneath him. His arm is bent, fingers tangled with mine. “That was…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, trailing off into a full-body shiver that I translate perfectly.
“Me too.” I’ve barely come down but I’m immediately warm again. “Jamie?”
He lifts his head to look at me, eyes sex-drunk and lazy, mouth smiling. “Yeah, baby?”
“Let’s do it again.”