21. Chelsea
CHELSEA
The slide of Jake's tongue against mine becomes my undoing.
The kiss could have ended at just that. It could have just been a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgment that lasted a few seconds because I lost my head.
Because he was sitting too close, and his eyes were too pretty and he smelled too good, notes of amber and cloves in his cologne, with his fresh scent right underneath it.
And his lips feel good, softer than they look yet commanding, coaxing my mouth open as he curls his hand around the back of my neck.
I should have ended it there, and we would have both escaped unfazed.
But then, when I open up for him, and his tongue slides over mine, curling around it, that’s when I know it’s over.
Tremors race through my body, my heart pounding in my ears. I can barely breathe or think past the pulsing in my pussy, the burning hunger in my stomach. It feels like every touch, every teasing look has led toward this. Like we were playing a game with each other, a game he has now won.
Then, without warning, the kiss takes a turn as he pushes me back onto the couch, his body spreading over mine. It becomes hotter, more frantic; his tongue no longer satisfied with teasing. He's devouring me now. His large hand shifts over my throat, his control thorough.
It should be threatening.
I should be alarmed by how fast everything's moving and how intense it all feels.
Instead, I get wetter.
I moan into his mouth at the move and spread my thighs wider, wrapping them around his waist as he pushes his cock down on me.
He does it at the perfect angle to apply pressure to my clit.
I tear my mouth away and gasp, tingles racing over my skin. He drags his lips down my neck, in wet, frantic kisses, his hand pushing down my pajama bottoms and sliding to find the damp skin of my pussy.
Fuck.
There’s no time to think about the repercussions of this, to wonder what the hell we’re doing. I rear into his touch, moving, trying to guide him to the place that needs him the most.
He finds it without my help.
When his fingers locate my clit, swollen for him, I draw in a sharp gasp.
“Oh fuck, baby,” he groans against my shoulder, his teeth scoring my skin, sending a thrill through me. “You’re so fucking wet already. You’re turned on, huh?”
“Uh huh.” It feels like I’ve been turned on for weeks now. Being around them for those damn meetings, sitting close, or across the table from each other, feeling their gazes on me during every presentation, then coming home to masturbate in the shower while thinking about them…
It's become a vicious routine, a cycle I can't break.
Except that masturbation isn’t cutting it anymore.
Sometimes it leaves me more frustrated than before, my flesh aching for something I can't have.
But it's here with me now. The real thing, and I want it badly, inside me, spreading me wide, driving into me again and again and making my body sing. I want it rough, hard, savage.
I grab the buckle of his pants and try to shift him closer, but freeze and choke on air as he plucks my clit in a way that has pleasure spiking so hard that my vision gets hazy.
“You like that, huh?” he whispers in my ear, and sucks my earlobe into his mouth, as he does it again.
My toes curl from the wave of lust that slams into my body, breaking me apart as I scream my release into the silence.
And he’s not done.
While I go over the edge, he keeps playing with my clit, teasing it with light touches before pressing down at the perfect time, extending my release.
The shudders hit me so hard that I think I’m going to black out.
But I don't.
I hold on, biting his shoulder as he groans in my ear.
"That’s right, baby," he says. "Mark me. Make me yours as I make you mine."
My fingers dig into his back when he shifts his hips on an upward motion that angles over my clit. And when he experimentally teases my hole with his finger, I drag the nails down.
He throws his head back, growling at the ceiling.
“Oh fuck yes." His tone drops, and when he looks down at me, a savage heat spreads across his face.
He reaches down and fumbles with his pants, then freezes.
He closes his eyes as his hands shake, and he takes deep breaths.
“Fuck,” he says. “Condom.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, barely knowing what I’m saying. “I’m clean.”
“Me too," he chokes out. "I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
It doesn’t even occur to me in that moment that it could be a lie, how unrealistic it is that someone as hot and uninhibited as him would remain single after our hook-up, but in this very moment, I don’t care. That’s how far gone I am. I just want him inside me.
But he’s the one who hesitates. His head drops onto my shoulders, his hand digging into the couch around my head as he groans in my ear.
"I want you so fucking bad."
"Then take me."
"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispers.
"I don’t care if you hurt me," I say, rearing up to tease him with the embarrassingly damp crotch of my pajama pants. "Please, just come inside me."
His entire body trembles at that, but he still resists.
I tease him, kiss him, beg for more, until a sound drags my gaze toward the door.
Only to see Adam and Sam standing there.