Chapter 17 #2
She’s not smooth. She’s not practiced. She’s perfect.
Every awkward bob of her head, every time she pulls off to catch her breath, her lips glistening, her eyes flicking up to check my reaction…
it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I tangle my fingers in her hair, not to guide her, just to feel her.
“I don’t stand a chance with you,” I say under my breath.
She moans around me, the vibration sending a jolt straight to my balls. I’m close, too close, and I don’t want to finish like this. Not yet. I gently pull her off, my cock wet and throbbing.
“Enough,” I rasp. “I need to be inside you.”
She doesn’t argue. I drop onto the mattress, roll on one of the condoms from the nightstand, then pull her onto my lap, her legs straddling my hips.
The head of my cock presses against her, and she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Jack, I—”
“You’re in charge.” I grip her hips, lifting her just enough to line myself up. “Sink down, Ava. Nice and slow.”
She does, her breath stuttering as I stretch her open.
The heat of her is unbearable, tight and slick, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from thrusting up into her.
She takes me inch by inch, her forehead pressed to mine, her body trembling with the effort.
When she finally bottoms out, her hips flush against mine, she lets out a shuddering sigh.
“Fuck,” I groan. “You feel incredible.”
She rocks experimentally, and we both moan.
I let her set the pace at first, her movements shy and uncoordinated, but the friction is maddening.
I can’t take it. I grip her arse and start moving her, guiding her up and down my cock, each slide deeper than the last. Her small tits bounce with the motion, her nails raking down my chest.
“Harder,” she gasps. “Please, Jack—”
I flip us in one motion, pinning her beneath me.
The change in angle makes her cry out, her back arching off the bed.
I slam into her, my hips snapping against hers, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.
She’s so tight, so wet, her pussy clenching around me with every thrust. I can feel her building again, her muscles tensing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Come for me,” I demand, my voice rough. “Now, Ava.”
She shatters, her orgasm ripping through her, her walls milking my cock. I follow her over the edge with a groan, burying myself deep, my release so intense my vision whites out for a second.
We collapse together, a sweaty, breathless mess. Her legs are still wrapped around me, her heart pounding against my chest. I press a kiss to her temple, then another to her shoulder, her skin salty under my lips.
Her breathing slowly settles against me. Mine follows a moment later.
For a while neither of us says anything. Just that quiet, heavy warmth after. Her fingers drawing absent patterns on my chest like she doesn’t quite realise she’s doing it. My hand resting at the small of her back, not wanting to let go yet.
This part might be my favourite.
Not the fireworks. This. The staying.
I kiss her temple again. Then give her right nipple a little lick. She smells like hotel soap and Ava and something that is quickly becoming dangerously familiar.
I get off the bed to dispose of the condom and come back with a warm, wet towel. I give her a gentle wipe down and then pull her against me.
She’s drifting when she suddenly says, very quietly,
“Maybe I shouldn’t write the article.”
That gets my attention.
“Why?”
She doesn’t look up immediately. Just keeps tracing more small shapes against my skin.
“Because Chloe nearly lost her job when things between her and Tom became… personal.” She hesitates. “And she actually had a point to defend. Professional integrity and all that. I don’t think I do.”
I frown slightly. “You always have integrity. It’s practically your defining feature.”
That earns me a small huff of laughter, but she still looks serious.
“It just feels…” She searches for the word. “Cleaner if someone else writes it. No confusion. No questions about whether I went easy on you because…” Her fingers press lightly into my chest. “…because this is happening.”
I tilt my head slightly. “And what is happening here?”
She freezes slightly, then lets out a small nervous laugh.
“I’m not very experienced at dating,” she admits. “But even I know as a woman you’re never supposed to be the one who says first where something is heading.”
I can’t help it. I smile.
“I think that rule applies to dating twenty-year-old twerps who think relationships are some sort of chess match.”
She finally looks up at me.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I brush a strand of hair away from her face. She watches me like she’s trying to read something important there.
“I think when you’re our age,” I continue, “you either say what you mean or you waste a lot of time pretending you don’t care when you do.”
She swallows slightly.
“And?”
And there it is. The real question.
I hadn’t planned to say it tonight. Hadn’t planned anything beyond wanting to be near her again. But it feels stupid not to say it now.
“I’m falling for you,” I tell her simply.
Her fingers still against my chest.
“I didn’t plan it,” I admit. “Honestly I was just hoping you’d like me enough to keep talking to me after this week.”
That gets the smallest smile.
“But I am,” I continue. “Falling for you. And I’d like to see where this goes. Properly. If you’re interested.”
I don’t push. Don’t fill the silence. Just let her think.
She looks at me like I’ve just handed her something fragile.
“You make that sound very simple,” she says.
“I’m forty-three,” I reply. “I don’t have the energy for dramatic declarations anymore.”
“And you’re sure?” she asks, a grin tugging at her lips. “This isn’t just… convenient?”
I slide my hand gently up her back until she is properly tucked against me.
“If this was just convenient,” I say quietly, “I wouldn’t be lying here wanting to know what makes you laugh when you’re not trying to be polite. Or what Alfie will say tomorrow that makes you look at him like he’s the most interesting person in the room.”
Her eyes soften at that.
“And I definitely wouldn’t have booked you a room hoping you’d say yes.”
That earns me a quiet, breathy laugh.
“You did ambush me a bit with that.”
“I was optimistic.”
She studies me for another long second.
Then she nods. Small. Certain.
“I’m interested,” she says.
That does something steady and solid inside my chest.
“Good,” I murmur.
She presses a soft kiss just below my collarbone, like she isn’t quite done believing this yet.
We stay like that for a while longer.
No rush.
No pretending.
Just her in my arms and the very new, very real feeling that this might be the start of something.