Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Jace
Ihave never let anyone touch me the way Lola does.
Not this way, as if she’s trying to learn me instead of just using me for whatever the fuck she needs. I have always been the one in control, deciding how rough it gets, when to speed up, and when to slam on the brakes. But this… is different.
Lola is under the sheet, and I can feel every inch of her even when she’s not visible. The mattress dips as she shifts closer. The fabric brushes against my bare skin, and my body reacts before I can think to stop it, lock down the response, and pretend I’m unaffected.
Her hand moves over my stomach first, gentle and curious. Her fingers slide lower, tracing the muscles as if she’s memorizing something she wants to remember it forever, storing it away for reasons I can’t understand and probably shouldn’t desire.
I suck in a deep breath.
“Bells,” I warn, but there’s no real threat behind it.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, her fingers slide lower, brushing over the waistband of my boxers. When she traces the outline of my hard cock through the thin fabric between us, I hiss.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, half curse, half prayer to a god I stopped believing in years ago.
She does it again, this time more slowly, and I’m beginning to think she knows exactly how she’s affecting me.
My head falls back against the pillow, jaw clenched so tight I might crack a molar.
Every muscle in my body is strung too tight, coiled and ready to snap.
I’ve never been good at surrendering this much control because it is what kept me safe, kept me from getting too attached, too fucked up over someone who’d eventually leave anyway.
But with Bells, I don’t pull away. I don’t grab her wrist and flip the script.
Her fingers curl slightly, wrapping around my cock through the fabric, and I close my eyes. For once I allow myself to experience it. The gentle pressure.
Her hand gives my cock a slow, experimental stroke, and I grit my teeth hard enough to hurt.
Fuck.
Every drag of her touch is intentional. It feels dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with the way she’s peeling something back inside me. Something I can’t shove back into place once it’s exposed.
Her hair brushes my stomach as she moves lower, and I clutch the sheet in one hand, knuckles turning white, trying to hold onto something steady.
Because it’s not entirely about my cock reacting under her touch.
It’s not solely the body’s mechanical response that knows what it wants.
It’s about the way she crawled into my bed tonight because she couldn’t breathe alone.
Because the walls of her own room were closing in and she needed somewhere safe to land, and for some fucked up reason, she chose me.
It’s about the way she pressed her hand over my heart earlier, palm flat against my chest, fingers splayed wide as if she needed proof that something was still beating steady in her life. As if my heartbeat could anchor her when everything else was spinning out of control.
It’s about the fact that when this blows up, and it will because everything I touch eventually goes to shit, it’s going to hurt in a way I’ve never let it hurt before.
Her hand moves again, more confidently now, and I bite back a curse as heat floods through me, pooling low in my gut. My body betrays every wall I’ve carefully built over the years.
Lola hooks her fingers into the waistband of my boxers and tugs, and I brace myself for what’s about to happen. My cock is hard, throbbing, aching for whatever the fuck she wants to do with it. I close my eyes and try to get lost in the sensation as she frees me from my underwear.
Her fingers trace the underside of my cock, featherlight, and I hiss through my teeth, before her tongue swirls around the tip and I moan out loud.
I never fucking moan. Not ever. But here I am, making noises I don’t recognize, and she hasn’t even done anything yet. It’s the anticipation of what’s about to happen has me unraveling.
Lola makes me lose my fucking mind and my dick isn’t even in anything warm yet. It’s the touch of her tongue and I’m lost to the sensation, drowning in it.
She licks me again, slowly dragging from base to tip, and I hiss.
She does it again, taking her time, and I have the impression she honestly loves the way she has me on a leash, the invisible one where I’m at her beck and call, and all I can think about is her warm mouth wrapped around my cock.
I move my hands up above my head, fists clenched in the pillow, knuckles white, fighting the urge to take control. From grabbing her hair and fucking her mouth the way I want to, the way I’ve done with others. Fast, rough and mindless.
She sucks around the tip, just the head, her lips tight and perfect, and I almost lose my fucking mind.
“Jesus,” I grind out, voice wrecked.
She releases me with a loud pop that echoes through the quiet room.
She blows warm breath on me, and the wet saliva makes it cold, almost sharp. It’s a different sensation, but not at all the one I’m desperate for. Not even close.
My balls hurt. My cock throbs so intensely it’s nearly painful. I can’t take it anymore.
I move my hand down and lift the sheet off her, throwing it over her head and to the side. Her hair moves into a crazy mess, strands sticking out at odd angles, and the sight of her between my legs, mouth so close to my cock, lips wet and swollen, is enough to make me groan.
Through the pale light coming through the window, I can see the faint smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, and I know with absolute certainty that she loves teasing and having this much power over me. And the fucked-up part is that I’m letting her have it.
“Open your mouth,” I rasp out, my control finally splintering at the edges, fraying like a rope pulled too tight for too long.
“Quit teasing me, Bells.” My voice drops lower, rougher, that familiar commanding tone I’ve used a hundred times before bleeding through despite my best efforts to keep it locked down.
“Open your mouth and suck my cock. Let me ruin that pretty little mouth of yours.”
She pauses, her breath still ghosting over my throbbing cock, and I notice it—the smirk curling across her lips.
Fuck.
The real me is trying to claw its way back to the surface like the desperate bastard I’ve always been. The fuckboy who knows exactly what to say to get what he wants. Who has perfected the art of dirty talk, control, and making girls do exactly what he tells them to.
She lifts her eyes to meet mine.
“No,” she says simply.
My brain short circuits and fucking flatlines.
My jaw goes slack for half a second before I manage to narrow my eyes. My hips shift beneath her involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking anything.
“Bells—”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. “I’m in charge this time.”
She runs her tongue in a long, torturous stroke from the base to the tip of my shaft, and I almost lose it right there.
Every muscle in my body locks tight as I fight for control. My cock throbs against her tongue, pulsing with need, pre-cum beading at the tip. The wet heat of her mouth is so close, right fucking there, and she’s deliberately withholding it.
She circles the head with her tongue again, tracing the ridge. The pleasure is almost painful in its intensity, because it’s not enough. Not nearly fucking enough.
“Fuck,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
She hums against me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine, and she pulls back enough that I lose even that minimal contact. My cock jerks in the air, aching, desperate for her warmth.
And for once, I, Jace Cooper, the guy who’s dirty-talked his way into getting his cock into more mouths than I can count, who’s always known exactly what to say to make girls melt, submit, and do whatever the fuck I want, has nothing to say. No clever words. No commands.
Just her, between my legs, holding all the power while my body betrays me with every throb of my cock, every ragged breath, every pathetic sound I can’t quite swallow back.
She leans down, and I think finally, yes, but she doesn’t take me in her mouth. Instead, she presses a soft kiss to my hip bone, nowhere near my aching cock that’s straining toward her like it has a mind of its own.
“Bells,” I grit out.
She completely ignores me. Her tongue traces a slow, torturous line along the V of my hip, following the muscle there. Her breath ghosts over heated skin, and her mouth is so close to my cock I can feel its warmth.
She drags her lips over to the other side, pressing another kiss to my other hip. Taking her sweet, fucking time like I’m not dying here.
“Jesus Christ,” I choke out, my hips lifting slightly without permission, seeking her mouth to find relief from this exquisite torture.
She places one hand flat on my stomach, pressing me back down against the mattress with surprising firmness.
“Stay still,” she murmurs against my skin, her breath making me shudder.
I’m about to lose my fucking mind. The pain in my balls is almost unbearable, a deep throb that pulses with my racing heartbeat.
“Please,” the word slips from my mouth before I can swallow it back and pretend I still have some shred of dignity left. I don’t even recognize my own voice. It’s stripped of every defense I’ve ever had. “Bells, please, I—”
I can’t even finish the sentence because my brain has shut down, every thought centered on her and her mouth, with the desperate need tightening more and more in my gut.
And for the first time in my life, I’m reduced to begging for a girl who has me completely at her mercy. And she fucking knows it.
She finally wraps her hand around my cock, her fingers gripping my shaft, and the sound that escapes from my throat is inhuman.