16. Jett
JETT
I didn't have time to think. Didn't have time to process. All I knew was that when she parted those lips, she sucked me down like she'd been waiting eight years to do it.
I grunted as the force of her pulled me closer on the bed.
My hand reached down and gripped her hair as I worked my way down her throat.
I felt her adjust to me. Her spit dripped down my balls and I almost blew right there.
I tilted my head back as she hollowed her cheeks.
I peered down long enough to see a tear cascade down her nose, and I smoothed it away with my thumb before I eased out and slid back into the warmth of her mouth.
"God, you look good like that," I said low as her glistening eyes lifted to mine. "Look at you. Look at the woman you are now."
She could deny it all she wanted, but the way she sucked told me she heard every word I wasn't saying.
I gripped her hair and worked her mouth, and I gave her everything I'd carried in my body for nine years.
The way she'd laughed at me at the lockers.
The way she'd held my eyes from across that goddamn gym like she wanted me to feel it.
The way she'd stood in a green dress with another man's hand on her waist and made me a thing to be left in a parking lot in dress shoes.
All of it. Every ounce of it. Going down her throat on a Saturday night in November in my own bedroom, in a city she'd walked into three weeks ago like she'd never spent a year of my adolescence teaching me I wasn't allowed to exist. She took it.
She took all of it, and she looked up at me while she did it, and I had spent nine years imagining what it would feel like to finally hand her the weight of what she'd done to me, and not once had I imagined she'd take it like a gift.
My orgasm took me by surprise. I felt her swallow.
Gag. Take down every thread of what I'd carried for her as it shot out of me.
The room spun. I let out a sound that came out more cry than grunt before I collapsed onto the bed.
I tossed my arm over my eyes as the room turned on its own axis.
I panted for air, dragging in the heady scent of what we'd made between us.
I felt her shuffle at my side.
"My turn," she huffed.
She shimmied on top of me at lightning speed and staked herself on what I hadn't even realized was still hard.
My jaw unhinged and my back arched as the tight wet heat of her slid down and swallowed me to the root.
Her hands slammed into my chest, her nails curling into my skin.
She bucked her hips, swiveling them, riding me off into the night, and my shaking hands found her hips.
I had to grip tight just to keep my palms from quivering.
"That's it, ride me," I grunted.
"Shut up," she glowered.
Her hand wrapped around my fucking throat.
My eyes went wide as I stared up at her.
Dani. Ashley. Whatever name she'd walked away from in the parking lot of a high school nine years ago.
She was wild. Free. Her head thrown back, her hand around my throat, her hips chasing a high she'd more than earned.
She looked like the devil herself. A succubus sent to drag my soul out through my dick.
Her hair burned in the warm yellow lamplight, and the black-tipped curls of it fluttered against her body as she moved, and the woman who'd spent a year teaching me to make myself small was riding me like she'd been built for the single purpose of taking what she wanted, and what she wanted was me.
I had never seen anything like her in my life.
She kept moving. I kept letting her.
I'd kept my body for myself, in most of the ways that counted, longer than most men I knew.
Longer than most men anyone knew. And I hadn't understood, until this exact moment with her riding me and her hand on my throat, what I'd been keeping it for.
The mega-church that raised me had taught me a lot of things.
To keep certain doors closed. That what you gave away from your body was a thing you didn't get back.
I hadn't believed most of what they taught me by the time I was nineteen.
But that one I'd somehow believed, on some level I'd never figured out how to argue myself out of.
So I'd been careful. With everyone. With the puck bunnies. With the girls in college. With the women at the bars in this city for eight years.
And here I was on a Saturday night in November, with the woman who'd cost me my hometown riding me like she'd been made for it, and my body was choosing to give her what it hadn't given anyone all the way before her, and I did not, in that moment, have the language for what I was choosing.
I figured I'd find the language later.
"Oh god. Come on. You can do it, Dani. Just a bit longer," she whispered to herself.
"You've got this," I growled, coaching her back up toward her high. "Take it. Take what you came here for. You've been chasing it nine years, don't you stop now."
I bucked up hard, meeting her thrust for thrust, just like she'd done with me.
My mind fell blank. My voice, robbed. The feel of her slick dripping down me filled everything in my body back up, and I didn't even know I had a second round in me until it was already coming.
Her hips moved faster. Her hand tightened on my throat.
I choked a little, gasping for air as she hung her head and her hair curtained us off from the rest of the world, and I let her have my air, because she'd taken everything else and she could have that too.
And then I felt her legs stutter against my hips.
"Come for me," I growled, reaching up to smooth her hair back and hold it away from her face so I could watch.
But nothing could've prepared me for what came out of her as her body locked above me.
"I'm so sorry," she choked out, her body shivering as the pleasure ripped through it. She gritted the words out. "I'm sorry for. who I was. back then."
I went very still inside of her.
She swiveled her hips, rendering me silent as I felt the orgasm coil up tight at the base of me. "I'm sorry. for. the girl. I let my dad. turn me. into."
I almost broke.
I almost stopped, right there, with her shuddering on top of me and her hand still loose around my throat and her hair falling around her face.
Because what she was saying was a thing I'd waited nine years to hear and had stopped expecting to hear at any point in those nine years, and to have her say it now, in a voice cracking the way it was cracking, in the middle of an orgasm I'd already given her half of, was a kind of timing I hadn't braced for.
I did not break.
I kept her hips moving.
"And I'm sorry," she choked out as she collapsed against me, "for hurting. you."
The instant she collapsed against me I stopped caring about anything else.
I rolled her over, tossed her legs over my shoulders, and watched the pleasure rip through her face as I fucked another orgasm up through her body.
I gave her no time to breathe. No time to think.
No time to panic. She'd done enough of that in her life and tonight was not the night for any more of it.
"You're going to come again, and you're going to like it," I growled as my body twitched against hers.
When I slipped my fingers between us to play with that swollen nub of hers, it was all she needed.
"Jett."
The force of her orgasm pulled me over with her, and I felt her milking me as I collapsed on top of her. She couldn't move. I couldn't move. All we could do was lie there in my bed, my weight pressed into her softness, her body wringing what was left of me out of me.
For a long moment neither of us moved.
The room was quiet except for both of us breathing.
I thought about the scars I'd seen at the small of her back and the backs of her thighs an hour ago.
I thought about the man in a motel off Boulder Highway who'd given a child those scars.
I thought about the way her body had braced when I flipped her over, the way the woman underneath me had spent her whole life waiting for somebody to flip her over and find them, the way nobody had until tonight.
And I thought, with the small clean cold-blooded clarity I'd always thought through hockey plays with, about the many small efficient ways I was going to make sure that man never had access to her again.
I would not, I'd decided in the kitchen on Friday night, do anything to him she hadn't asked me to do. That was the deal.
But the thinking about it was mine. The thinking about it was free.
I held her.
She started to cry.
It wasn't the small contained crying of a woman who'd cried at her best friend's mother's office that morning, in a chair with a coffee cup in her hands.
This was a different kind. The kind that comes out of a body that hasn't been allowed to cry in front of another body for a long time.
Her shoulders moved. She tried to stammer something out.
Words. I caught the first letter of each one and laid my fingers gently against her mouth to stop them.
"Ssshh," I muttered. "Sh, sh, sh."
She stammered against my fingers.
"You're fine," I said. "You're safe. I've got you."
"I-I-I don't. deserve. to be."
I pressed my fingers to her mouth again, and she went quiet, and her shoulders kept going.
My hand went back to stroking her hair. My knuckles brushed her cheeks, wiping away tears that dried up after a while. Her body shivered and shook like she was running a fever. I pulled the duvet up over both of us and held her against me and let her be in the wreck of it.
I did not say anything she could push back on.
I did not say yes you do.
I did not say don't be sorry.
I did not say you've already apologized enough.