14. Nova #2
His voice drops lower and lower until it’s barely a sound at all. That’s how I know he’s close — when the words stop and it’s just breath and my name and his hand in my hair holding on.
I press my fingers harder against myself. I’m close too. From this. From sucking him off with his hand in my hair and his voice falling apart above me. I’ve never come from this alone before and I’m going to in about ten seconds and I can’t say anything because my mouth is stuffed full.
I double down. My hand twisting at his base while my mouth works the head, my own fingers pressing circles between my legs.
“I’m gonna come,” he gasps. “Nova — baby — I’m—”
I don’t pull off. Press down. Hum around him.
He grunts out a raw broken sound and his hips buck off the couch and his cock pulses and he’s flooding my mouth — and I come.
I come on my own hand with his cock in my throat. A muffled sound against him, my thighs locking around my hand, the orgasm sharp and shocking and wholly mine.
He feels it through me — the vibration, the way my throat works around him while I shake — and his hand fists in my hair like he’s holding on to his last breath.
I swallow him down and stay with him through it, riding out every wave until he collapses back, spent.
I sit back on my heels. Look up.
He’s looking down at me with his mouth open and his chest heaving and an expression that is not a normal expression for Jax Mercer.
“Are you…did you—”
“Yeah.”
“While you—”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus, Nova.”
He gets his hands under my arms and pulls me up off the floor, hard, almost rough. Onto his lap. Holds me there with my legs straddling his thighs and his arms around my back and his face pressed against my throat.
“Give me a second.”
“Take it.”
His breath is hot against my collarbone. His heart hammering against my chest. I can feel him still semi-hard between my thighs and I am going to be insane about this man.
After a second his hands move. Slide up my back. One unhooks my bra and pulls it off. The other comes up to my jaw and tilts my face down to his and he kisses me hard. I make a sound into him.
“My turn,” he says.
“Jax—”
“My turn, Nova.”
He stands up — picks me up like it’s nothing — and lays me back on the couch. Stands over me for a second, looking down. Pulls his shirt over his head. Kicks his jeans off. Bare. Scars at the hip from old gear. The line of him I’ve memorized in photographs from before I ever touched him.
“Off,” he says.
“What?”
“All of it. Off.”
I shimmy out of my leggings. My underwear is still on — soaked through from when I came, sticking to me, and I see him register it the second I hook my thumbs in the waistband.
“Wait.” His voice. “Slow.”
I slow. He watches me pull the wet fabric down my thighs. His jaw works.
“Christ, Nova.”
I drop them on the floor.
I’m naked on my couch in the middle of the day with the Florida light coming through the window and a man who has just had his words destroyed in front of me looking at me like he plans to even the score immediately.
He gets on his knees on the floor. Hands on my thighs. Looks up.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Stay with me.”
My eyes water and I don’t know why. He sees that too. Doesn’t comment on it. Just keeps his hands on my thighs, his eyes on mine, and waits.
“I’m here,” I say.
“Good.”
He kisses my hip first. Then the inside of my knee. Works his way up — slow, deliberate, the man who has never been in a hurry with me taking his time on purpose — and my hands fist in the couch cushion because I don’t know what else to do with them.
He pauses with his mouth two inches from where I want him. Looks up at me.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Your mouth.”
“Where.”
“Jax.”
“Where, Nova.”
“On me. Please.”
He laps my slit. I make a sound I have never made for him before.
He works me — slow first, the flat of his tongue, the press of his mouth, finding the rhythm my body wants and giving it back to me on his own time. One hand on my hip holding me down. The other sliding up, splaying across my stomach, holding me to him.
“Jax—”
“Mhm.”
“That’s — fuck —”
He hums against me and the vibration goes through me like a current.
He slides a finger inside me. I’m so wet for him I can feel it on my thighs.
He curls his fingers up and finds the spot and presses and works it and I am gone — gone — my hips coming up off the couch, my hand fisting in his hair, the sounds coming out of me unfiltered.
“Jax — I’m—”
“I got you.”
“Don’t stop—”
“Wasn’t going to.”
He adds a second finger. Curls them. Closes his mouth around me and sucks.
I come. Hard. Moaning his name. His mouth doesn’t pull off and his fingers keep working me through it until I’m too sensitive — and even then he eases off slow, kisses my inner thigh, my hip, my stomach.
He doesn’t stop.
He gets one hand on my hip and turns me onto my knees like he already knows exactly where he wants me. Rough enough to make my breath catch. Certain enough that my body follows before my brain can make an argument.
My forearms hit the cushion. My hips lift. I feel him behind me — big hands, warm skin, the heat of his body lining up with mine — and the room goes strangely quiet for a second. Not empty quiet. Loaded quiet. The kind that happens right before something changes.
His palm slides up my spine, slow, all the way to the back of my neck, then down again like he is taking the shape of me in this position and making himself remember it.
I press back against him. That’s all the answer he needs. His hand tightens at my hip.
“Christ, you’re beautiful, Nova.”
My fingers dig into the cushion.
He lines himself up but he doesn’t rush.
That’s what makes it worse. The patience.
The control. The way he wants me badly enough that I can feel it in every inch of him, but still takes his time like this part deserves to be remembered.
The first thrust steals the air out of my lungs.
I go still. Not because I want him to stop.
Because he is big, hot and right there, stretching me open from behind in a way that makes every thought scatter.
He feels me clench around him and makes this low sound that goes straight through my spine.
“There,” he says, voice wrecked against the back of my neck. “Just like that.”
He gives me another inch. Slow. Deep. Deliberate.
My arms shake.
“Jax.”
“I know, baby. You got this.”
He knows exactly. That’s the problem. He knows when to hold back and when not to. Knows how to make me feel every second of him like he’s not just getting inside my body — he’s putting himself somewhere I’m going to feel tomorrow.