Chapter 17 #3
His hands find the clasp of my bra and it’s gone in seconds, joining our shirts somewhere on the floor.
Then his mouth is on my breasts and I gasp, the sound loud even over the music still pounding through the walls.
My hands fly to his hair, holding him there, and he makes this satisfied sound like my desperation is exactly what he wants.
He makes quick work of my jeans and underwear, pushing them down my hips in one smooth motion. The fabric pools at my feet. I step out of them awkwardly, almost tripping because my legs are already shaky, and kick everything aside.
For a split second I feel exposed standing here completely naked while he’s still partially clothed.
But Jack’s looking at me like I’m the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.
His gaze travels slowly down my body, taking his time, and everywhere his eyes touch feels like a physical caress.
My skin heats under his inspection, flushing from my chest up to my cheeks.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice coming out rough and reverent at the same time. “Every part of you, Lark.”
Before I can respond, he presses against me and he’s everywhere. Like nothing else exists in the universe except this moment, except us. I can feel every hard inch of him through his jeans and the friction makes me gasp, makes me roll my hips against him desperately seeking more contact.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says against my ear, his breath hot on my skin, his voice wrecked. “How crazy you make me. How much I’ve wanted this.”
Oh my God. The way he says it makes my knees actually weak.
I reach for his jeans with frantic hands, fumbling with the button. Button popped. Zipper dragged down. He shoves his jeans and boxer briefs down and then—
Oh.
His cock is huge. Bigger than any man I’ve ever been with, and part of me is wondering how that’s going to fit. I can see pre-cum glistening at the tip, evidence of how much he wants this, wants me.
Before I can wonder much longer about the logistics, he’s grabbing me and pressing me back against the door, capturing my mouth with his and kissing me so hard and desperately that I moan into his mouth without caring who might hear.
Then he’s lifting me, his hands gripping my ass like I weigh nothing.
He carries me across the room toward where I vaguely remember seeing that desk, and when we reach it he sets me on the edge and sweeps his arm across the surface.
Papers and pens and supplies scatter to the floor with a loud clatter that makes me laugh breathlessly.
His mouth finds my breast again and I lean back on my hands. Some small corner of my mind remembers there’s no lock on the door, that if someone came in right now they would see both of us, me spread out on this desk like an offering while Jack Midnight devours me whole.
And I don’t care.
Any bit of shyness I had has transformed completely into exhilaration. It’s like the fear I get before performing, but the thrill is too fucking good to stop, too intoxicating to resist.
His mouth moves lower, kissing down my stomach, my hip bones, teeth grazing skin, and lower still until he steps back slightly to look at me, fully naked and spread before him. His hands run up my thighs slowly, deliberately, pushing them apart wider, opening me up to his gaze.
“Fuck, Lark,” he breathes, staring with such raw intensity it makes me shiver, makes me feel seen and wanted in a way I’ve never experienced before. “Look at this perfect pussy. Already so wet for me.”
I’m panting, chest heaving, but I can’t even find it in me to be embarrassed. He looks up at me, lips hovering just above where I desperately need him, eyes questioning and hungry, looking at me like a predator through those dark lashes.
And I like it. I like the way he’s looking at me. I like feeling wanted and desired and powerful all at once.
“Lark, are you sure?” he asks, giving me one more out. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes, please, yes I want this so much,” I sound whiny and desperate and I don’t even care. I’m panting, wriggling closer to him on the desk.
He grins like the devil himself. “First I want you to beg for it.”
He punctuates this by slowly kissing my pussy, sending shivers and waves of pleasure through me but not giving me what I really need, teasing. I’ve never had a man talk to me like this before, but my body responds instantly.
“Please,” I gasp. “Jack please, I’m begging you. I need your mouth on me.” Fuck. I’ve never been so turned on in my entire life.
“As you wish.” His mouth is on me properly and I cry out. The sensation of his lips and tongue on me makes my whole body arch. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can only feel. My hands fly to his hair, gripping tight, and a broken sound escapes my throat that I don’t even recognize as my own.
“Fuck yes,” he growls. “I’ve been dying to taste this pussy. Been thinking about it all goddamn night.”
He licks me, slow and deliberate, and I whimper. My thighs start to shake. I can hear how aroused I am, the sound embarrassingly loud even over the music pounding through the walls.
“God you’re so fucking wet,” he says, and I can hear the satisfaction clear in his voice. “All for me?”
Heat floods my face even as pleasure floods everywhere else. Part of me wants to hide from how obvious my need is, how desperately my body is responding to him. “Yes,” I manage to gasp out. “All for you.”
He slides one finger inside me, then two, and I gasp at the stretch and the fullness. The music pounds through the walls relentlessly, people talking and laughing on the other side, but I don’t even care. Maybe I even like the thrill of it.
“More,” I beg, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Jack, please.”
He adds a third finger and I groan at the stretch, at how full I feel.
“Oh God, right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop—” I moan.
His mouth works me with dedication, alternating between fast and slow, building me up.
I can barely hold on. He devours me like he’s starving.
My vision goes blurry and part of me feels boneless, untethered.
No man has ever done this to me like this before.
Not with this intensity, this dedication to my pleasure.
I call out loudly and embarrassment washes over me automatically, a trained response I can’t quite shake. Instinctively I clap my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound, to contain myself, to be quieter, to be less.
Jack stops immediately. His fingers still inside me, and he pulls back to look at me, concern replacing the hunger in his eyes. “Hey,” he says, his free hand catching my wrist and pulling my hand away from my mouth with gentle firmness. “Don’t you dare.”
“It’s just…” I gasp, shame flooding hot through me despite the pleasure still humming through my body. “I’m being so loud, it’s too much and—”
“So fucking what?” He stares at me, and then something almost feral takes over his expression. “I want them to hear you. I want everyone in this entire building to know exactly how good I’m making you feel.”
My throat feels tight. “Jack…”
He strokes my cheekbone tenderly with one hand, his thumb brushing my skin like I’m something precious, while his other hand thrusts hard inside me, curling upward, fingers working me relentlessly.
“You’re not too much,” he says, and his voice is so certain, so absolutely sure, it makes my chest ache. Like he can see straight through me to all the places Brandon carved out, all the spaces where I learned to make myself smaller. “You’re never too much. Not for me.”
His hand moves to cup my jaw, holding me in place, forcing me to keep eye contact as he moves inside me.
I’m panting, struggling to catch my breath, and his eyes are locked on mine, watching every reaction, every gasp.
The gentleness of his grip on my face while he’s so rough with the rest of me—it’s too much.
I whimper, trembling. I arch off the desk with a broken moan, my whole body trembling.
I bite my lip hard, trying to hold back, and then his fingers hit that spot and my eyes roll back at the immediate rush of pleasure, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt.
I cry out, the sound loud and unrestrained and uninhibited, and the satisfaction that flashes across his face is almost as intoxicating as what his fingers are doing.
“That’s it,” he growls, and there’s approval in his voice, pride even. “Don’t you dare hold back. I want every sound, every moan. I want to know exactly what I’m doing to you.” His eyes hold mine, dark and hungry and focused on me.
The intensity in his eyes, the raw desire, the way he’s looking at me like my pleasure is the most important thing in the entire world, like making me feel good is his only goal—it breaks something open in my chest that’s been locked down tight for years.
Breaks through every wall I built, every lesson I learned about making myself smaller, quieter, less.
“Tell me you won’t hide from me,” he commands, his fingers moving faster now, more deliberately, and I can feel myself getting closer, tension coiling tighter. “Tell me you’ll give me everything.”
“I won’t hide from you,” I gasp out, meaning it more than I’ve ever meant anything. “I’ll give you everything. I promise.”
“That’s it, Lark.” There’s approval in his voice, pride even. “Just like that. You’re perfect. Every sound you make. Every moan. Every gasp.” His eyes hold mine, dark and hungry and completely focused on me. “So you’re not going to hold back anymore. You understand me?”
“Yes, Jack, yes,” I manage.
“Say it,” he commands, his fingers moving faster now, more deliberately, and I can feel myself getting closer, tension coiling tighter. “Say you won’t hide from me. Say you’ll let me hear everything.”
“I won’t hide from you,” I gasp out, meaning it more than I’ve meant anything. “I’ll let you hear everything. I promise.”