Chapter 6 #2
She’s solid against my palms, heat radiating through the thin cotton of her shirt. When she sighs, the sound is low and content, a note of something fitting together just right. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, feeling her lips open in invitation. Not a plea, not a hunger, just pure wanting.
I pull back, just enough to press my forehead to hers. Her breath is featherlight against my lips. Her eyes are closed, lashes soft on her cheeks. My hand settles at her chest and I can feel her heartbeat there, steady and wild, like it’s telling secrets only I get to hear.
“Is this what you want?” My voice is raw but steady, a question that needs asking.
She opens her eyes. They’re blue, shining at the edges, and the sight of them makes something in my chest ache.
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation, just the word, solid and true.
I thread my fingers through hers and squeeze, gentle but sure. We walk down the hall together, her hand hot and sure in mine, every step measured by the pulse between us. We pause at the bedroom door, breathless in the hush, and I can feel the charge in the air.
“Jordan.” She says my name softly, like a promise.
“I’m here.” I don’t flinch. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She smiles, steps back, and draws me inside.
The room is washed in late sunset, gold and pink and soft, the sheets spilled across the bed.
Maddie’s hands go straight to my borrowed shirt, fingers moving with a determined rush that makes me laugh, breathless.
She laughs too, bright and unguarded, the sound filling the room and warming me all the way through.
She works the buttons loose, one by one, and the shirt slips from my shoulders.
Her hands skim over me, tracing the wideness of my body, playing across the edge of my undershirt and binder with gentle, searching touches.
The undershirt is gone in a heartbeat and I help her with the closures on my long-line binder; she tugs the fabric loose and I breathe easier.
Her hand slides to my jeans, tugging, and I catch her wrist, guiding her up until her fingers brush the trail of hair below my belly button.
She makes a sound, small and urgent, that goes right to my core.
“Jordan,” she whispers again, as if she needs to say it twice.
It breaks whatever was holding us still. We crash together, hips and mouths and breath, tangled and reckless, and then we’re on the bed. Her shirt is lost, her knees open under me, and the world narrows down to her skin against mine.
Her hair has come free, white-blonde waves loose across the pillow.
I kiss my way along her jaw, down the column of her neck, tasting the salt and sweetness of her.
One of her hands is a fist in the sheets, the other tight in my hair, holding me close.
I touch every part of her, memorize the lines and softness, the dips and curves, like I’m learning a new language.
She makes an impatient noise when I tease her breasts again, and I finally give in.
I cup her, thumb slow over her nipple until it hardens under my touch.
She arches, a soft cry slipping out, and my other hand trails lower, sliding under her skirt, finding the slickness at the center of her.
She’s open for me, wet and ready. The air is thick with her.
She melts beneath me, arching as I press kisses down her chest. My tongue flicks over her nipples, hot and insistent, and she responds with tight fists in my hair and quick, uneven breaths. I look up, catch the flush on her cheeks, the dazed shimmer in her eyes.
I ease her thighs apart, settling between them, and press my mouth where she’s hottest. She opens for me, her body an offering, and I slip my finger inside her, then another.
I curl them, gentle but relentless, never letting her go.
The first time she shakes, it’s like thunder under my hand.
I taste her, tongue quick and soft on her clit, and she splinters, hips rolling.
“Jor—” She can barely get my name out, voice breaking into desperate syllables. I don’t let up, just watch her face, listen to every sound, every moan, until she’s coming for me, sudden and sharp, body tense and wild. She grabs at my shoulders, nails leaving marks I’ll remember.
She’s gorgeous. Lost beneath me, undone, her voice shattering on my name, over and over. I want to ruin her. I want her to think of this every time she gets undressed, every time she touches herself.
She tightens down on my fingers, shaking, hips chasing every bit of friction. Even when her body trembles, even when her heel digs into my back, I don’t stop. I want to see her break, come apart completely.
I keep the rhythm, tongue and hand, pinning her open for me. She’s gasping, both hands in my hair, pulling me closer, like she can’t breathe without me. Every time I flick my tongue just right, she jerks, torn between running and giving in.
She looks perfect like this. Her hair a halo on the mattress, lips bitten dark, skin streaked with sweat and tears. I could stay here, lost in her, forever. Maddie Weiz, sharp and hungry, coming apart for me.
She’s so sensitive now, every touch nearly too much, but she doesn’t want me to stop. Thighs clamp around my head, keeping me close. I keep going, slow and filthy, loving the way she shudders, hips lifting off the bed, nails scraping wherever they can reach.
“Jordan, fuck, Jordan, I can’t—I can’t again,” she begs, voice all wreckage and want.
“Yeah, you can,” I say, voice thick. “You will.”
I kiss up her stomach, her chest, the hollow at her throat. She’s still shuddering, aftershocks moving through her, but I need her again. Need her always.
I slip my fingers out, slow, making sure she feels it. I touch them to her lips. “Taste.”