Chapter 4 #2
I pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, then higher, teasing the sensitive skin. Her legs fell open, an invitation, and I didn’t hesitate. My tongue found her, slow and deliberate, and she cried out, her fingers clutching the sheets.
Her taste hit me like a punch to the gut—sweet, musky, real—and I groaned against her, my hands gripping her thighs hard enough to leave marks.
She gasped, her back arching off the bed, fingers tangling in my hair like she was trying to pull me closer or push me away, I couldn’t tell which.
Didn’t care. All that mattered was the way she shuddered when my tongue found that perfect spot, the way her breath came in ragged little bursts, the way her hips rolled up to meet my mouth like she was starving for it.
I lapped at her slowly, then faster, learning the way her body tensed when I circled her clit, the way her thighs trembled when I sucked just right.
She tasted like sin and something softer, something that made my chest tighten.
I couldn’t get enough. My cock ached, trapped in my jeans, but I ignored it, focused only on her—on the way her nails dug into my scalp, on the broken little sounds spilling from her lips.
“Fuck, please—” she begged, voice cracking, and I growled in response, the vibration making her whimper. I slid a finger inside her, then another, curling them just right, and her whole body locked up, her walls clenching around me.
“That’s it,” I murmured against her, my breath hot. “Let go.”
She came with a choked cry, her back bowing off the bed, her fingers clutching at me like I was the only thing keeping her from drowning. I didn’t stop, didn’t let up, dragging out every last shudder until she was boneless beneath me, her chest heaving.
I finally pulled back, my lips slick with her, my heart pounding like I’d just gone three rounds in a fight. She stared up at me, dazed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark and glazed.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, and I smirked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Yeah,” I agreed, my voice rough. “You’re fucking incredible.”
She didn’t answer, just reached for me, her hands fumbling with my belt, her touch desperate. I caught her wrists, pinning them to the bed.
My jeans were rough against my thighs as I shoved them down, freeing my cock. It stood thick and heavy, the tip already slick with need. I wrapped my hand around the base, stroking slow, just once, my gaze locked on her.
She was a fucking vision—chest heaving, tits rising and falling with every ragged breath, her skin flushed pink from my mouth.
Her lips were swollen, eyes dark and hungry, watching me touch myself like she wanted to take over.
I tightened my grip, thumb smearing the precum over the head, and her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip.
"Fuck," she whispered, and that was all it took.
I should’ve grabbed a condom. Should’ve had the decency to at least pretend I gave a damn about consequences. But the alcohol hummed in my veins, and the way she looked at me—like she’d let me ruin her—shattered what little restraint I had left.
I shifted between her thighs, the head of my cock brushing against her. She was soaked, hot, ready. Her breath hitched as I pressed in, just the tip, and her nails dug into my shoulders.
"Wait—" she started, but then I pushed deeper, and the word dissolved into a gasp.
"Goddamn," I groaned, my forehead dropping to hers. She was tight—so fucking tight it hurt, her walls clenching around me like she was made to take me. I bottomed out with a thrust, and she arched beneath me, a broken sound tearing from her throat.
"You feel—" Her voice cracked. "Too good."
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My hips rolled, slow at first, letting her adjust, but the way she clenched around me, the way her nails raked down my back—it unraveled me. I snapped my hips harder, deeper, and she took it, her legs locking around my waist, pulling me in.
The bed creaked beneath us, the old springs groaning in protest, but I didn’t care. Nothing existed outside this—the slick heat of her, the way her breath came in sharp little gasps every time I hit that spot inside her, the way her tits bounced with each thrust.
I dropped a hand to her hip, gripping hard enough to bruise, and angled deeper. Her back bowed off the mattress, a cry spilling from her lips.
"Like that?" I growled, my voice rough.
"Yes—fuck, yes—"
I lost it. My control shattered. I fucked her like I was trying to brand her from the inside out, each thrust punishing, each gasp from her lips feeding the fire burning through me. Her nails scored my skin, her legs trembled around me, and I knew she was close.
"Come on, baby," I demanded, my mouth against her ear. "Let go."
She did. Her body locked up, her walls clamping down around me so tight I saw stars. Her cry was raw, desperate, and I swallowed it with a kiss, my hips stuttering as I followed her over the edge.
Pleasure ripped through me, white-hot and brutal, and I buried myself deep, spilling inside her with a groan that tore from my chest. My cock pulsed, my body shuddering with the force of it, and for a second—just a fucking second—I forgot every goddamn thing wrong with me.
Then reality crashed back in.
I collapsed beside her, my chest heaving, my skin slick with sweat. The room was too quiet. The air too thick.
Fuck.
I didn’t even know her name.
Her breathing evened out first, slow and quiet against my ribs.
The room still smelled like rain and sex.
Sheets twisted halfway off the bed, bruises already blooming along my hip where her knee had pressed.
I stayed still, waiting for the usual restlessness to take over, the itch that sent me reaching for a cigarette or the doorknob.
Didn’t come.
Instead, I reached for her. My arm found that narrow dip at her waist and I drew her back against me. She stirred, murmured something that sounded like something sweet—or maybe not. Her hair brushed my mouth, damp strands tasting faintly of salt.
I buried my face there.
Warmth seeped into my chest, unfamiliar, dangerous.
The kind that didn’t belong in nights built on forgetting.
Normally this was where I’d hand over my phone, thumb hovering on the rideshare app, offer her a polite exit and the number she’d never use.
Clean break, no chance of remembering each other in daylight.
But she fit too easily against me, like the space had been waiting.
My hand slid over her stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall, the pulse that matched my own. She reached back—barely awake—and tangled her fingers with mine. Just that small touch, grounding and quiet.
Outside, wind pushed against the window. Somewhere down the street a car door slammed, muffled by distance. I closed my eyes, breathing her in, catching traces of soap, sweat, a ghost of whiskey.
She shifted again, this time turning toward me, her thigh hooking over mine. I angled closer, and the last bit of air between us vanished. Her breath warmed my throat.
The ache in my chest eased. For once I didn’t think about tomorrow. I just held her, and we sank together into the dark.