Chapter 29 Collette #2
He kisses me hard, his hands slide under the jersey, gripping my bare waist, my ribs, my breasts.
The jersey stays on, as do the heels. Everything else is his hands and his mouth and the heat building between us so fast it’s dizzying.
He backs me toward the bed and sits me on the edge.
Then he drops to his knees in front of me.
The sight of Justin Crawford on his knees between my legs while I’m wearing his jersey and heels is something I want burned into my memory forever.
“Spread your legs,” he tells me.
I do, the jersey rides up, and he groans at the sight.
His hands grip my thighs, pushing them wider, and his mouth finds me.
No teasing this time. No edging. He’s hungry and direct, and his tongue works me like he’s trying to win another game.
My good hand grips his hair, my head falls back, and I moan so loud his neighbors are definitely going to file a complaint.
“Justin. Oh my god.”
He hums against me, and the vibration makes my thighs shake. His tongue circles my clit, then flattens, licking long and slow before sucking gently. My hips buck against his face, and he holds me down, his fingers digging into my thighs.
“You taste so fucking good.” He groans against me. “I could do this for hours.”
“I won’t last hours.”
“Then I’ll make you come and start again.” He slides two fingers inside me, curling them, hitting that spot while his mouth stays on my clit, and I’m already climbing. It’s fast and desperate, and my body is wound so tight from watching him play all night that it doesn’t take long.
“I’m going to …”
“Do it. Come on my face, Lettie.”
I shatter with his name on my lips, his mouth on me, and his fingers deep inside me. He works me through it until I’m boneless and gasping, and then he reaches for my bag on the floor.
“Now,” he says, pulling out the vibrator with a grin that should be illegal. “Round two.”
“But I just came.”
“And you’re going to come again.” He turns it on. Setting four. The pulse. “Lie back.”
I lie back on the bed, still in the jersey, still in the heels, still trembling from the first orgasm. He climbs over me and pushes the jersey up to my ribs. His mouth finds my breast through the fabric while his hand slides between my legs with the vibrator.
The first contact makes me jolt. I’m still sensitive, every nerve ending buzzing, and the pulsing vibration against my swollen clit is almost too much.
“Too much?” he asks, watching my face.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
He grins and presses harder. The vibrator pulses against me while his mouth works my nipple through the jersey fabric, and the combination is obscene. I’m gripping the sheets with my good hand, my back arching, the heels digging into his mattress.
“I want to be inside you when you come this time,” he says against my breast. He reaches for a condom from his nightstand, rolls it on with one hand while keeping the vibrator steady with the other, and I’m impressed by the coordination.
He pushes inside me in one smooth thrust, and I cry out because the stretch combined with the vibrator is overwhelming.
He starts to move, deep and slow, while holding the vibrator against my clit.
“Look at you,” he breathes out, staring down at me. “In my jersey. In my bed. On my cock. You’re everything, Lettie.”
“Harder,” I beg.
He picks up the pace, the vibrator pulses, his hips slam into mine, the jersey is bunched up around my ribs, I’m in heels on his bed being thoroughly destroyed, and I’ve never felt more beautiful or more wanted in my life.
“You’re mine,” he growls, thrusting deeper. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Justin. All of me.”
“Fuck.” His rhythm falters for a second, and I can tell he’s close.
He increases the vibrator’s speed, clicking it up to five, and the faster pulse pushes me over the edge without warning.
I come hard, clenching around him, screaming into his pillow, my legs locking around his waist, heels digging into his back.
He follows seconds later, burying himself deep, a groan ripped from his chest that sounds like it started in his soul.
We lie there tangled together, breathing hard, the vibrator still buzzing between us until he reaches down and turns it off, the sudden silence is deafening.
“The heels are going to leave marks on my back,” he says, his face buried in my neck.
“Good.”
“I’m keeping this jersey.” He chuckles.
“It’s your jersey.”
“I mean with you in it. I’m keeping this image. Forever.”
I laugh breathlessly and push the hair off his forehead. He looks up at me, blue eyes soft, that crooked grin, and my heart does the thing it always does when he looks at me like this. The thing that tells me I’m in way over my head and I don’t care.
“We should shower,” I say.
“Together?” he asks.
“Obviously.”
“I like this new you,” he says, pulling me off the bed. “The one who shows up at my apartment with a vibrator and lets me put her in my jersey.”
We shower together, and it takes twice as long as it should because his hands are everywhere and so are mine.
The water goes cold before either of us cares.
I borrow another one of his shirts to sleep in because I’m building a collection at this point.
We climb into his bed, and he pulls me against him, my back to his chest, his arm heavy over my waist.
“Lettie?”
“Mm?” I’m half asleep, it’s been a long day.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being brave. For choosing this. For showing up.” He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “I know it’s scary.”
“It is scary.” I lace my fingers through his. “But you’re worth it.”
He tightens his arm around me and buries his face in my hair.
Outside, the city hums. Inside, it’s warm, dark, and quiet.
I’m lying in Justin Crawford’s bed wearing his shirt with his arms around me, his heartbeat against my back, and Fishette is trending on every platform, and we are absolutely, completely, wonderfully fucked.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.