Chapter 30 Gracie #3
His words are lightning down my spine. I dip two fingers inside myself, eager to please, before holding them up for him.
“Christ,” he swears, grabbing my wrist none-too-gently.
When he pulls my fingers into his hot mouth, tongue sliding between them as he sucks me clean, I nearly fall off the bench.
I nearly fall off Earth itself. It’s instinct to rise higher on my knees.
To seek friction against him as I pull my fingers free.
“Yes,” he grunts, grabbing my ass to work me against him. I brace myself on his wet cheekbone. His unshaven jaw, and the strong cleft of his chin. He’s so beautiful, so caring, it could break my heart to a thousand pieces. Tears slip down my cheeks as I choke back gasps.
I’m clumsy, hands shaking, and I don’t mean to—not exactly—but the fat head of his cock slips lower, pressing against my opening. His eyes are wild on me. “Condom,” he blurts.
“Do we have to?” I whine, hips fretful. “I’m on birth control.”
His eyes squeeze shut. “You’re going to kill me, Gracie. No. We don’t have to. I’m clean.”
I believe him. If he told me he’d rather eat his own foot than harm me, I’d believe that, too. And so, I lower myself on him. Or at least, I try. With a tight push, the first few inches slip in and his eyes roll back.
“Jude,” I pant, gripping his shoulders like I mean to keep him from passing out. “Please. You’re not—” I press harder. “It’s not working.”
My voice is edged with panic, and with effort, he opens his eyes. Beads of condensation roll down his neck, over his fluttering pulse. “It’s okay,” he rasps. “I’ll teach you how to take me.”
His hand slides down, almost lazy in his haze of pleasure. When his fingers find my clit, his touch is so gentle that the lack of friction is all I can focus on. My wide eyes lock with his.
“Jude—”
“I know, angel,” he pants. “Relax for me.”
I take a shuddering breath and begin to move, desperately searching for more than his skimming touch. But he’s barely touching me, torturing me with fleeting grazes, until a frustrated whine breaks from my throat. He’s doing it on purpose.
“You’re almost there,” he promises.
“Liar,” I breathe, rocking him deeper as pleasure begins eclipsing discomfort.
He shakes his head with a half-smile, chest muscles bunching with every labored breath.
“You can take a little more,” he promises, and somehow, he’s right.
With a needy roll of my hips, he slips deeper with a whispered curse.
When he lightly smacks my clit, soothing it with his thumb and soft words of encouragement, the building pleasure landslides into desperation.
“That’s— Yes,” he groans. “So proud of you, baby. Keep taking it.”
I gulp down his praise like water, unable to stop moving on him. Rising and falling until my thighs are burning. I’m not going to last, and he knows it.
“I can’t,” I cry, tears mingling with the water on my flushed face. But his hands are so steady, so adoring, I know he has me. If he makes me shatter, it’s only because he wants to put me back together again, and again, and again.
“You can,” he rumbles, mouth dragging down my neck. “You take me better than anyone else, Gracie. All my bullshit. All my walls. You knock them down faster than I can build them.”
My eyes squeeze shut as the ache for him reaches a peak that’s almost violent in its intensity.
Not just for his body, but for everything he keeps from me.
Until I wish I could crack open his chest and force myself inside.
“It’s not enough. You never give me enough,” I hiccup, gulping down my cries as my whole body begins to shake. “I want everything, Jude.”
The curse he aims at the ceiling is guttural. “Lean back for me.”
He guides my hands to his knees, and the change in angle is devastating.
I feel him flex hard behind my belly button, so deep and thick I can’t breathe.
Can’t move. But then his hips lift into me as his fingers finally give my clit the pressure it needs, and I’ve exited my body.
When I’m finally able to swallow enough air to make a sound, it’s his name—long, desperate, and punctuated by the thrust of his hips.
“F-fuck, I’m losing it, Gracie,” he warns me, lashes trembling as his thighs flex hard and fast below me.
“Please,” I beg him. “Please.”
He scoops me forward, till I’m crushed against him.
I burrow my face into his straining neck as he cries out, his powerful hips unrelenting beneath me.
We’re so tangled up, dripping with water, sweat, and our own need for each other, it’s hard to tell where one of us begins and the other ends.
And it’s fine. More than fine. Because I never want to be untangled from him again.
Never want to live a life that doesn’t include the salt of his skin in my mouth, or the bruising grip of his hands again.
I never want to live without him at all, and if he doesn’t already know it, then he will soon enough.
Because he might not want to keep me as a secret, but the truth is that I’d let him keep me any way at all.