Chapter 3 #4
My walls clench around him, my muscles tightening, pulling him in, holding him there as the pleasure surges and vibrates through me. My breath shatters, my body quaking, my nails digging into his skin as he fucks me through it, relentless and unyielding.
I curse, I whimper, I fight back the overwhelming sensation as he slams into me over and over, until all I can do is surrender. I let it take me, let him take me, until I’m boneless, trembling, completely wrecked beneath him.
Wow.
Before I can recover, he moves beneath me, shifting my body like I weigh nothing. He bends me over the arm of the couch, pressing my chest against the cushion.
A sharp slap lands on my ass.
Then another.
The sting spreads through me, making me gasp, making me ache for more. Then he grips my hips and drives into me again, burying himself to the hilt, stretching me all over again.
His hand tangles in my hair, fisting at the roots, pulling my head back, exposing my throat.
It’s exquisite torture.
I roll my hips to meet his thrusts, pushing back against him, matching his rhythm, grinding into him as deeply as I can. His breathing turns ragged, his grip on me tightening, his movements becoming more erratic.
His rhythm starts to falter.
His fingers flex against my hips, digging in.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he grits out, his voice low and raw.
He’s close.
"Turn around," he commands, punctuating it with one last sharp slap to my ass.
I obey, spinning to face him just as he yanks off the condom, his cock slick and throbbing in his grip. His dark eyes burn into mine, his jaw tight, his breath uneven. "I want to come in that filthy little mouth of yo—"
Before he can finish, my lips sink over him.
His head falls back instantly, a strangled moan escaping his throat, his hands flying to my hair, gripping tight.
One thrust.
Two.
On the third, I take him as deep as I can, swallowing around him, feeling him pulse against my tongue.
A harsh, broken groan rips from his throat as he shudders, spilling down the back of my throat, his body tensing, his muscles flexing, as he lets go completely.
It’s the rawest, most wrecked sound I’ve ever heard a man make.
His jaw flexes as he looks down at me, still breathing hard, his hands still tangled in my hair. "Show me," he whispers.
I stick out my tongue, showing him the remnants of him in my mouth, and his eyes flash, his expression unmistakably hungry.
He drags a hand through his dark hair, his chest rising and falling, as he steps away, walking over to the bed.
He lowers himself onto the edge, his elbows resting on his knees, looking . . . stunned.
Shell-shocked.
The silence between us is heavy, charged, something unspoken hanging in the air.
I reach for my jeans at the same time he speaks.
"Stay." His voice is quiet but firm.
I hesitate, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Almost midnight. My shift starts at four.
“It’s late,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “And I’m serving orgasms and breakfast in bed in the morning.” There’s something different in his voice now. Something softer, less guarded. A flicker of something in his expression—vulnerability, maybe.
But just as quickly as it appears, it vanishes.
“Okay,” I lie.
We slip under the sheets, facing each other.
The bed is warm, the space between us charged with something thick and heavy.
I reach over, flicking off the bedside lamp.
Darkness settles around us, but I can still make out the sharp angles of his face, the way his eyes catch the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the window.
It’s strangely intimate. Hell, the entire night was. For two people who don’t even know each other’s names, this feels like something it shouldn’t. He watches me, a half-smile playing at his lips. Then, slowly, he reaches out, his fingertips and brushes them against my mouth, chin, and jaw.
His touch is featherlight, just barely there, but it sets my skin on fire. His fingers trail lower, down my throat, lingering over my pulse, where my heartbeat pounds wildly beneath his touch.
I wonder if he can feel it. I wonder if he knows what he’s doing to me.
His hand rests there for a moment, still and warm, before his muscles loosen, his body softening beside me.
Exhaustion burns at the edges of my vision, but I fight it.
Every cell in my body is vibrating with the memory of what just happened between us, and I can still feel his touch lingering on my skin.
Trouble's breaths beside me are like a lullaby, but they also remind me of what I have to do next—get out before he asks me to.
I carefully slip out of the bed, trying not to disturb him.
As much as I want to stay, I know it's best if I leave now, before things get too complicated.
This was by far the most mind-blowing sexual experience I've ever had, and part of me wants to cling onto it forever.
But deep down, I know that these intense moments always end in heartache for me.
As I hastily dress and make my way out, my mind races with all the past mistakes I've made in situations like this—all those times where I let myself fall too hard for someone who was never meant to stay. It's humiliating and painful every time, and I refuse to let it happen again.
So, I'll leave now, before he even has to ask me to. Because as much as I want to wake up tangled in his sheets, pretending we have something special, I know it's just temporary bliss that will inevitably end in heartbreak.