Chapter 23
23
Jake
Kit swallows. She wants it. The way those nipples bead, hard and swollen and bright red from her own fingers, the way her mouth hangs slightly open, the blown-out black of her pupils, eating up those whiskey eyes. All of it tells me she’s turned all the way on.
But she’s stubborn as hell—so damn appealing—and that means it’ll take more than an invitation to coax her mouth to my body.
And hell, when I said taste, it didn’t have to be my cock. She can sample any part of me she wants. The lengths I’d go to in order to get her to cave on one more little rule.
“I…I don’t know.”
Instead of words, which seem to get her back up, I use my hand and my cock to convince, twisting at the top, squeezing on the way down, so tight my scarred knuckles go white. To stop my other hand from reaching for her, I slide it down, over abs that have gone tense with want, to cradle my aching balls.
The noise she makes urges me to look up at her again, but that, I intuit, would be a mistake. No direct eye contact. No more mention of that fucking contract.
Then again, now that we’ve gotten past the first few rules, I magnanimously don’t mind the contract quite as much. If the idea of it makes her feel safe enough to stand there half naked watching me get my dick hard in order to breed her. Probably more than anyone, I get that some rules are meant to be smashed through with an iron fist.
I’ve never once regretted breaking most rules. Not the other night. Not today. Not back when I thought I could make a difference to the person who mattered most.
What’s one more set of restrictions to bust through, right?
I weigh my balls the way she hefted those big, beautiful tits, and let the pleasure ooze out of my mouth into the quiet room.
“Would it…” Christ, listen to her panting. “Would it help ?” I glance up to see her indicating my cock and hell if that doesn’t make another thick drop of pre-come gather at the tip. “If I…”
I give a pained nod. Not quite a lie, although help in this case is relative. Will I blow in her mouth? No. No, it’ll be tough, but I can manage to hold on until I’ve slid inside her. I can do that.
“If you sucked me?”
She gulps, nodding a quick response. “I mean, if you need it, you know, to get ready?”
It’s almost comical how ready I am right now. Which she can damn well see. But my Kitty’s finally letting her libido bend her own rules.
“I’m pretty fucking hard already.” Well, look who went and grew a moral code. I’m an idiot.
“Oh.” Is that disappointment?
What the hell is wrong with me that I can’t lie to her in a moment like this? Lead her on, play her own game? Let her think I need her mouth to do the job I was more than ready to do the moment she came on my hand?
“Maybe I could use a little help,” I finally say, feeling so fucking dirty as the words come out. “Might be good to see your tongue on it.”
“Yeah,” she whispers and I swear she doesn’t believe in this myth any more than I do, but who cares?
I think we both know there’s more fantasy than reality in this dialogue.
Slowly, I kick off my boxers and stand, legs wide, dick held tightly in one fist.
“Sit down.” I step back so she can take the spot I just vacated.
The way she obeys, a good student following instructions to the letter, makes my guts twist up tight. I sink into the sensation, point my cock toward her waiting mouth, and nudge it down. Then, because this whole thing’s rewriting my permanent fantasy playbook in real time, I give in to my dirtiest urge, reach out, and gently grasp the bottom half of her face.
“Open up, Kit. Get this dick good and hard now so it can breed you.”
Her bottom jaw drops. In any other situation, I’d bend and take her mouth with mine, show her with my tongue what I want her to do to my cock. Without that option, I grab my dick at the base and move straight into her space.
What happens next—fuck, I’ll remember it ’til the day I die. Kit’s pink tongue peeking out to lick the drop of precum glistening at my tip. She opens wider at my hand’s urging and I flex my hips and then the whole head of my cock’s inside.
My eyes roll to the back of my head at the shock of pleasure, the absolute soul-drenching bliss of her hot, hot mouth, so soft and slick and…
I’m humming low, electric and just…alive.
For a handful of seconds, there’s only that—warm mouth, achingly hard cock, the flick of her soft tongue at my slit. And then, Christ, with a moan that’s too low to hear, but I feel clear to my toes, she eases forward another inch, shuts her eyes, and reaches up to grab her own tits.
The sight of her—deep in the throes of the kind of bliss I’ve only ever imagined on her face—flicks a switch inside me. My fingers twine into long, silky hair and go tight, preparing to take this deeper, harder, faster.
Her eyes open, vague and lost, so goddamn beautiful, and a warning light goes off in the far reaches of my brain: Get out or go feral.
For a suspended handful of seconds with her head in my hands and my dick sitting on her tongue, the possibility remains. I could take her like this. I could make this rough and wild, get off and get her off and turn it into something she never asked for.
Though she kind of did ask, in a way, didn’t she, when she took me into her mouth? Look at how she wants it. Look at how…
Fuck. I can’t. I’ll come and then there won’t be any pretending that this is about knocking her up.
“Let’s go,” I manage, still holding her, cock lodged between those lips for a handful of seconds before I manage to pry myself away and move back. “On the bed.”
“Oh. Was that okay?”
“Did the trick,” I bite out, nudging my chin toward her pillows. “Get up there.”
“Good. Right. Um…” Her hands flutter up to the waistband of her underwear. “Could you just put it in? Like last time?”
“Hell, no.” I mutter, losing parts of my control I hadn’t even felt break away. “We both blew right through that Unnecessary Foreplay rule today. What was that? Rule 4 or 5?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nudity’s what? Rule 6.” Her annoyed hum wipes out every last bit of humor. “Go ahead. Take those off,” I order, hoarse and rough. I want to last. Please make this last. Make it good for her.
“Oh. Okay. Right.” She looks around like she’s never seen the place before, drags her panties all the way down and scrambles up the bed. Despite our age difference, she’s so young in this moment, a little lost. There’s a tenderness to the way I feel that I’ve never experienced.
Better lose that.
“On your back,” I tell her, gruffer than I intend. “Legs spread. Like the first time.” Only better. Because I can see her. Taste her. Touch this gorgeous skin. The rules are dropping around us like flies.
She flips to her back and spreads out. I’ll think about how eager she is later, but right now, I need inside her.
“Good.” I crawl over her. “I’m touching you, Kit. Rule 2 is history.”
“Oh. Oh. Yeah.” She nods quick. “Sure. If it’ll help.”
Help. Right. Christ, this is some fucked-up charade.
I look down at her tits, then hold back a desperate groan as my hand lands on one. Fuck, she’s soft. Big. More than a handful, like her ass and the curved belly she highlights with those fancy dresses she wears to work.
When she arches up to meet my touch, my cock spurts out a fresh dose of lubricant and if I don’t slide inside her quick, this game’ll be over long before it’s even started.
Which, I have to remind myself, again , is absolutely not the point.
The point is getting her pregnant. Which…she could already be.
My body stutters to a halt, I blink down at her, images racing through my mind and they’re not just of her big and pregnant, they’re of a kid that looks like her. Or like me. My dark hair, her warm brown eyes. Both of them on a porch swing out front, laughing. She’s singing. The kid’s?—
No. Fuck.
I focus on her, concentrate.
Make it last. Make it last.
Could be the last time.
Slow, slow, I let my eyes roam over her body, then, because I can, I follow their path with my palm.
She goes a bright, pinkish red, the color crawling from her chest and up to crest atop her cheeks. “Fuck, Kit, look at you.” Hip, waist, breast, throat, shoulder, I shove the tenderness back and stroke and measure and knead all of her, eating up the way her body responds—like a live wire.
Make it last.
“You ready? Wet enough?”
“Oh…oh, maybe.” Her hands hover like she wants to touch me but doesn’t quite dare.
“Should I…” I clear my throat, shut my eyes against the pleasure, and decide to push the button again. “Maybe check you? Make sure I’ll slide right in?”
With a shiver and a dry sounding swallow, she nods quick and eager. “Probably.”
“Yeah.” Easing my weight onto one arm, I slip one finger through her lips. She’s soaking. No surprise. I slide it inside her. “That okay?” At her quick nod, I let another finger join the first. I ease them deep, curve them toward me, and enjoy how blissed out she looks when her eyes go to that half-mast point and her mouth drops open. “That still fine?”
No words, but her response is good enough for me. A quick series of gasps to punctuate each press of fingers to G-spot.
“See? Foreplay’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Y-yes.”
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Look at you.”
Her face scrunches at the compliment. Discomfort warring with pleasure on features I wish I were an artist just to paint. I’d put her on a fucking chapel ceiling and share this devastating beauty with the world.
My insides go weird at how I’m being. All the thoughts taking over my head. Beauty and painting and how I don’t, for one second, plan to let this moment end. To let any of this end, not now, right here in her bed on a bright Thursday afternoon. Or the next time.
’Cause there’d better be a next time.
Fuck, I want this.
“Your cunt’s so tight. You clamping down on my fingers like this. Makes me so excited to fuck you again, harder this time. Can’t stop thinking about it. How you feel around my bare cock.”
“I don’t…”
“Never fucked anyone else bare, Kit. You know that?” My fingers play with her, slowly. I go deep and then ease out, use her wetness to slide up and stroke her clit, then down again.
“You want it again?”
She doesn’t respond, although I can’t tell at this point if it’s because she can’t or some vestige of modesty is telling her not to.
Fuck that. I’ll bust right through the modesty, the hesitation. Over and over again, if I have to.
I’ll make this body—this woman—crave me the way I crave her.
Painfully, inevitably.
Hell, I’d stop if I could.
No. No, that’s a lie. Because it’s gone too far, now. Or maybe it was already too far the second I saw her, met her, told her I’d give her what she wants.
I look down at her face—flushed and lost and so fucking beautiful I am crushed beneath the weight of wanting her—and admit to myself that I’ve badly miscalculated…well, just about everything.