15. Dani #3
His finger crooked, curling and pumping, and the kind of wet noises came out of me that you only make with another person's hand inside you, and I heard him swallow, heard the low growl roll through his chest like he was the one being fed.
He wrapped his lips around my clit and sucked, slow and then furious, and added a second finger, the stretch of it making me gasp, and I cried out loud enough that my own voice came back to me off his bedroom walls.
I lost every ounce of control over my own movements.
I jolted. His free forearm came down across my hips and pinned me flat to the bed, and he held me there and ruined me with his mouth and soaked his whole face doing it, and rode me right up to the line again, that bright unbearable edge…
"Oh shit. It's coming. It's coming. Jett. Yes. Thank you. Oh, fu. Nooo."
He stopped again.
"No, no, no, no, no," I whispered, reaching down, fingers scrabbling for his hair, his shoulders, anything to drag him back where I needed him.
Before I could even pry my heavy eyes open to figure out where the hell he'd gone, the bed dipped beside me, a warmth at my side I couldn't place through the fog.
Then his hand cupped my breast, full and possessive, and rolled my nipple between two callused fingers, and tugged, until my back arched clean off the mattress and a sound I didn't recognize came out of me.
His palm slid down my stomach, slow, and my muscles jumped and quivered under it like the skin couldn't decide whether to flinch or beg.
"You think you deserve the pleasure I give you?" he said, hot and low against the shell of my ear.
His fingers parted me again, just resting there, and I bucked up into the empty air to chase them. "Jett. Please."
He chuckled against my ear, dark, delighted, a man who had waited nine years for a thing he hadn't even known he was owed. "Who would've thought. The girl who used to stand across that gym laughing at me. Begging me like this."
Tears crested my eyes. The good kind, the kind that come when your whole body's strung so tight it has nowhere left to go. "Jett, it hurts so good. Please. Just one. I won't ask for any more."
"Hmm." He pressed a kiss just below my ear, unbearably gentle, given everything else. "I don't believe you."
"Jett, please," I whimpered.
"Goddamn it. Hearing you beg like that." His fingers found my clit and traced it, faster, tight slick circles right at the edge of too much, while his mouth dragged down the side of my throat. "You want to know how many times I begged you to look away from me at that dance."
"Jett," I breathed.
"How many nights I lay in that town with your face in my head, begging you, in my own head, not to hold my eyes the way you held them.
You held them on purpose. You wanted me to understand.
I understood." His voice had gone rough and low and was somehow the hottest thing he'd done yet.
"Took me nine years to get you on a bed instead.
Took me nine years to learn what your voice sounds like when you want something more than you're scared of it. Say it again."
"I'm so sorry," I choked out, because it was the truest thing in me and it came out before anything else could.
"Don't be sorry." Two fingers slid back inside me and pumped, deep, relentless, until the room went white at the edges and the stars came down behind my eyes. "Be better."
"Oh my god. I'm gonna come."
And just as my spine bowed up off the bed, he ripped his hand away.
I wanted to roll over and sob. This was how I was going to die. Strung out on the edge over and over and absolutely nothing to show for it, ruined by a man who'd turned my own body into a thing he got to grant or deny. Everything moved in a blur as a hand closed warm around my ankle.
"Wait, Jett," I said.
"You'll have your pleasure in time," he said, low, and flipped me over onto my stomach like I weighed nothing.
"Jett, hold on a—"
"But not until I take mine," he said, scrambling up behind me, his hands moving to my hips.
Too late. The instant his palms found me, I knew he saw them.
"Shit," I hissed, scrambling to cover myself.
I wasn't sure what I grabbed. A sheet. A blanket.
I couldn't have told you the texture of it.
All I could do was twist around and stare at his face, hauling the fabric over myself as I turned.
He was on his bed. Perched on his knees.
His hands still hovering where they'd been about to take my hips.
His eyes still fixed on the place my body had just been.
His whole body had gone still.
"Jett?" I asked softly.
"Lay down."
I swallowed hard. "Jett, we don't—"
His eyes snapped to mine. "Lay down on your stomach, or get dressed and get out."
"Jett," I whispered.
He planted his palms on the bed and prowled toward me, slow, lifting his head as he came. The fury in his eyes coupled with the way the lean muscle moved under his skin made him look like something that hunted. Those green eyes hooked into mine and didn't waver, didn't let me look away.
But the anger in his eyes wasn't for me.
I understood that after the first second of looking, with a clarity that surprised me.
The anger wasn't for me. It was for the thing I hadn't yet given him a name for, and which he hadn't yet had to name, because the scars themselves had named it for him, and his body had taken the information in faster than the rest of him had.
I lay back down, sprawled under him, his hard cock dragging hot along the inside of my thigh.
"Jett?" I whispered.
"Turn over, Dani," he said.
There was less demand in his voice now. Not a command. More like a plea. No. Never. Not from someone like him. I swallowed and searched his eyes. They'd gone kinder. Still insistent. Part of me didn't want to. Part of me understood he'd already seen them.
My scars.
I cleared my throat and slowly turned back over, feeling him follow my movement until he had me caged against the bed on my stomach.
I felt him looking at the scars along the backs of my thighs and my lower back.
And then I felt his lips.
They pressed to my lower back, then traced one of the raised scars, slow.
His legs worked between mine, one knee pressing into the crook of mine until he had my leg hiked out to the side.
I shivered, bared to the cool room. His warm, wet mouth kept moving along the streaked expanse of my marked skin, kiss after kiss, unhurried, like there was nowhere in the world he had to be and nothing he would rather do.
"Jett," I whispered, tears in my eyes, a different kind now.
He didn't answer.