Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jason
It Starts in the Kitchen, Ends in Her Soul.
Her pulse is still racing under my tongue when I lift my head.
Her legs are trembling around my shoulders, hands in my hair, chest heaving like I’ve just rewritten her biology.
Her skin’s flushed. Damp. Her lips are parted and kiss-swollen, and if I weren’t already hard, this would be the moment that ruined me.
But I’ve been hard. For hours. Days. Fuck, maybe since prom.
And now?
Now, I need to be inside her.
“Jason.” Her voice is wrecked—half gasp, half accusation. “I can’t even feel my legs.”
I press a kiss to her inner thigh, slow and smug. “Then I’m doing something right.”
She groans, tries to sit up, and I reach for her—palming her ass as I lift her off the counter and into my arms. She’s still breathless, legs wrapping instinctively around my waist, arms around my neck like she doesn’t trust her body not to collapse.
Good. She shouldn’t.
I’m not done with her yet.
“Bedroom,” she says, her breath tickling my throat, her lips brushing my jaw like a taunt. “Now.”
I don’t answer. Just carry her through the apartment like I’ve done it a thousand times in my head for the last couple of days. Her skin is warm against mine, and my cock’s pressed tight against her center through my sweats, throbbing, leaking, barely restrained.
The second we hit the bedroom, I toss her onto the bed like I’ve got zero chill left. Which, fair—because I don’t.
She lands with a soft bounce, legs sprawled, hair fanned out like the mess she’s about to become. One bra strap slips off her shoulder, and her skirt is still hiked up around her waist like an invitation I didn’t need but will absolutely RSVP to.
Her eyes lock on mine, dark and wild, a challenge and a dare, and something a little bit dangerous.
I strip.
Fast? No. But not slow either. Let’s call it just enough time for her to lose her mind over it.
First, the hoodie—off with a shrug and a smirk.
Then the T-shirt—tugged over my head and tossed somewhere behind me, not that I’m looking. Her gaze drops like gravity’s in love with me. Like she’s starving, and I’m what’s on the menu. I push my sweats down, and, yeah—I’ve got nothing on underneath.
Didn’t bother.
Didn’t need to.
My cock bounces up the second I’m free, flushed and leaking, already slick with precum like it’s been waiting all fucking day for this.
Spoiler: it has.
Her breath catches. Her thighs twitch. She bites her lip like she’s trying not to pounce.
“Jason,” she mutters, voice wrecked. “You walk around like that all the time?”
I grin, cocky as hell, because I can’t help it. “Only when I’m planning to ruin someone as gorgeous as you.”
I crawl onto the bed over her. Knees on either side of her hips, dick brushing her stomach as I lean in, hands braced beside her shoulders. She makes a sound—somewhere between a moan and a whimper—and arches into me like she wants to feel everything.
She will.
She’s about to.
I drag my hand down, slow, fingers trailing along the swell of her breast, down her ribs, over her stomach. She shivers, hips bucking up against me.
“Still want the Tate Special?” I murmur, voice rough against her lips.
“Only if it comes with the full package.”
I chuckle. “Oh, it does. No refunds. No mercy.”
Then I kiss her again—filthy and hot, tongue deep, my cock pressing against her belly like it knows exactly where it wants to be.
And I’m not waiting long to get it there.
She’s spread out beneath me, pupils blown wide, that flirty smirk playing on her lips like she already knows I’m hanging on by a fucking thread.
I’m not above begging.
I brace my weight on one arm and reach toward the nightstand. The drawer slides open with a soft scrape.
“Looking for something?” she teases, eyes tracking every flex of muscle like I’m the main act and the encore.
“Condom,” I mutter, rifling through a shamefully large collection. “Don’t judge the stash.”
She bites her lip, then shifts on her elbows, hips nudging mine, her voice all heat and trouble. “Let me.”
I freeze. Blink. Swear I forget how to breathe.
“You sure?” My voice cracks like a teen boy in a locker room.
Her smile turns lethal.
“Scientific curiosity,” she says and pushes gently at my chest until I roll onto my back, breath catching as she crawls over me.
She straddles my thighs, and for one terrifying second, I think I might come just from the way she looks at me—like she’s already decided how I’m going to fall apart for her.
She grabs the condom, but she doesn’t open it right away.
Oh, no. First, her fingers wrap around the base of my cock like she owns it.
Then—fuck me—her tongue flicks out and licks the head. Just once. Just enough to make my hips twitch and my brain glitch.
“Fuck, Scottie,” I groan, head hitting the pillow. “You trying to kill me?”
She hums like this is casual. Like she hasn’t just made me see my ancestors. Her mouth closes around the tip, tongue swirling slow, lips tight, teasing me with the kind of evil that makes a man question every life decision he’s ever made.
“Oh my God, you’re—” I gasp, knuckles white against the sheets. “You’re mean.”
She pulls back with a pop and a grin that makes my stomach twist.
“Just making sure you’re still alive.”
Then, finally, she tears the foil and rolls the condom on—slow, her fingers dragging down the length of me, eyes locked on mine like she knows exactly what it’s doing to me.
I flip us before I combust.
Her back hits the mattress, and I settle between her thighs, forehead pressed to hers as I line myself up. I kiss her once—deep, soft, laced with every filthy promise I’m about to keep.
Then I push in.
Inch by inch.
Fucking slow.
She gasps. Her nails dig into my back. Her legs wrap around my waist like she’s trying to drag me deeper. Her walls clench around me, hot and perfect, and, fuck. It takes everything in me not to lose it.
“You okay?” I whisper, voice shredded.
She nods. Breathless. Eyes glassy. “More than.”
I pull back, thrust forward again—slow enough to feel every inch, every reaction, every tremble in her legs.
“You feel—” I press my lips to her throat, hips rolling into her, smooth and deep. “Like sin.”
Her laugh turns into a moan. “Ruin me, Jason.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I groan, picking up the pace. “You have no idea.”
“I could live here,” I breathe, voice cracking as her body clenches around me again. “Inside you. Every day. Wake up hard and fuck you before breakfast.”
She gasps, pupils blown wide.
“You like that?” I whisper, dragging my mouth over her jaw. “Like the idea of being full of me every morning?”
She groans—needy and wrecked—and that’s when she flips me.
I don’t see it coming.
One second, I’m deep inside her, worshipping her body like a man with a holy calling. The next, I’m flat on my back, and she’s straddling me, hair wild, eyes electric, mouth curved in a smug, sinful grin.
My cock twitches inside her, and she moans as she sinks all the way down again, slow and greedy.
“Fuck,” I gasp, palms flying to her hips. “Okay. Yeah. Take what you want, baby.”
She rolls her hips in a slow, maddening circle, grinding down on me like she’s trying to memorize every vein, every twitch.
“I am,” she says, breathless and wicked. “And you’re going to watch me do it.”
And I do.
Oh, I fucking do.
Her hands brace on my chest, nails digging in just enough to sting as she rides me. The pace is torture—deep, slow grinds, her core clenching around me like velvet and sin. Every time I try to thrust up, she plants her weight down harder, pinning me.
“Not yet,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss my jaw. “You stay right there. Be good.”
I groan. I whimper. I—fuck it—I beg.
“Please, baby—please let me come.”
She grins, then drags her lips along my ear. “Not until I say.”
Praise kink? Check.
Power shift? Check.
Me? Ruined.
She’s still riding me—slow, deep, grinding like she’s trying to melt us into the sheets. My hands grip her hips, fingers bruising, but she’s in control now. Every roll of her hips sends lightning through my spine, and I swear to God, I’ve never been this close for this long.
And she knows it.
Her head drops back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open on a gasp as she chases her own high on top of me.
I watch her. Spellbound. Feral. Wrecked.
Then my voice—low and fucked-out—grates out, “Touch your tits for me.”
She blinks down at me. Breathless. Flushed.
“What?”
“You heard me.” My voice dips, gravel and heat. “Put on a show, sweetheart. You’re already riding me like a fucking dream. Finish the picture.”
She moans, slow and drawn-out, like the idea alone almost tips her over.
Then she obeys.
Hands slide up her body, fingers cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples until she gasps and arches. I thrust up once, hard, and she cries out, legs shaking.
“Fuck, that’s it,” I groan, eyes locked on her. “Look at you. You’re perfect like this. My dirty little fantasy.”
I reach between us, fingers slipping where we’re joined—slick and hot and soaked from how badly she wants it.
And, fuck, she’s so wet I almost come on contact.
I find her clit and circle it.
Soft.
Then faster.
She shudders, her entire body trembling above me.
“Jason—” Her voice is a broken prayer now. “I can’t—oh my God, I’m?—”
“Come for me,” I growl, barely holding on. “Fuck, baby, come with me.”
She grinds harder, panting, body coiled so tight I can feel it. I rub tight, fast circles over her clit while she pinches her nipples, bouncing on my cock like she’s seconds from breaking?—
Then she shatters.
She screams my name as her body clamps down around me, spasming in waves so intense I see stars. Her nails dig into my chest. Her thighs quake. Her walls milk my cock like she’s trying to drag every last ounce of come out of me.
I fucking lose it.
I thrust up, once, twice—then I’m spilling inside her, hips jerking, growling her name like she’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning. The orgasm rips through me like a freight train, hot and violent and never-ending.
We lie there, sticky and tangled and completely fucking wrecked.
Her skin’s still flushed, her breathing slow and uneven against my chest. My hand stays between her legs, fingers lazily tracing her slick folds—not for her this time, but for me.
Because I’m not ready to let her go. Not even a little.
She smacks my chest—half-assed, adorable.
“Sadist.”
I grin, press a kiss to her temple. “Somehow, I think you love it.”
She hums. “I might.”
And that’s the moment it hits me.
Not like a sweet, romantic breeze or whatever bullshit poets write about. Nope. It punches me straight in the chest.
I’m fucked.
Not in the ‘wow, that orgasm changed my brain chemistry’ way—though, fair. It did. But in the ‘I’m in deeper than I planned and might not get out’ kind of way.
Because I don’t just want her again—I need her. Not just the sex, though fuck me, the sex is . . . next level.
It’s her.
The way she rolls her eyes at me one second and moans my name the next. The way she doesn’t just take control—she owns the room when she wants it. The way she smiled before she dropped her mouth to my cock like she knew she was about to ruin my life.
I want more.
I want her sprawled across my bed in the morning, stealing my hoodies and mocking my coffee order. I want her legs around my waist again before breakfast, not just because my cock’s hard, but because waking up beside her might actually make me a morning person.
Shit.
I trace slow circles on her hip, pretending I’m not thinking about round two already. Not for the sex, but because I want to see her face when I do it softer. Slower. Not to get her off—though let’s be real, that’s happening—but to memorize the way she looks when she falls apart just for me.
This was supposed to be casual.
One glorious, no-holds-barred, ruin-each-other-and-go-home kind of thing. But I already know I’m not going to let her go. After this is the shower, and then I’ll feed her and . . . I don’t know how I’m going to let her go.
“Hey,” she mumbles, sleepy now, fingers ghosting over my ribs.
“Yeah?”
Her lashes flutter, her smile lazy. “You’re still touching me.”
I shrug. “Just making sure you’re real.”
She laughs softly, already drifting, and I let my hand settle—possessive, gentle, right where it’s been. Right where it belongs.
Fuck, I need help.
I’m not done with her.
Not even close, but how do I convince her to give me a chance for more?