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Her nails dig into the skin on my back as her body coils around me, pulsing and shaking. She’s close. She’s so fucking close, and it’s like I can feel everything building inside her. The way she wraps her legs around me tighter. The way her eyes roll back every time I hit deep. The way she’s frantic for me to keep going, her hands clawing at my ass, my legs, my back—anything she can get a hold of. Seeing her lose control like this is the biggest turn on. I need to feel her clench around my cock. I need to hear the sound she makes as she falls apart.
“Come for me, Red.” I grit my teeth and pound into her.
Margot turns her head to the side and bites down on her palm to stifle her cry. I tear her hand away, and the sound that leaves her lips is cracked and rough. It’s a sound I’ll never forget and one that makes me come as I bury my face into the curve of her neck. “You’re mine when I’m coming inside you,” I pant and press a kiss to her neck.
We both stay like that, catching our breath. Eventually, I pull out of her before being close to her like this gets me hard again. I roll onto my back. Looking over at her, I see her just staring at the ceiling, her chest still rapidly rising and falling.
“Are you okay?” I ask, putting an arm overhead, so I can shift toward her.
“Yeah,” she says with a nod, only glancing at me briefly before she stares up at the ceiling again. “It’s just . . .” She frowns.
“It’s just what?”
She looks over at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “My ex never made me come during sex like that.”
Her words are enough to get me hard again. Letting out a groan, I reach for the drawer in my nightstand and grab another condom. Holding it up, I ask, “Want to be mine for a little longer?”
She bites her bottom lip, looking from me to the condom, then nods.
Positioning myself over her, I roll it on.
Margot’s breath catches, her hands gripping my hair. “I’m not yours.” She reaches down to guide me into her again. I sink inside her, and her head falls back, a satisfied smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. “But I’ll let you pretend.”
39
margot
Jackson makes me come undone for a second time, and I collapse on top of him, struggling to catch my breath. “Oh, my God,” I groan with my head on his heaving chest, and I barely recognize my own voice.
A throaty laugh leaves him, and the movement of his chest jostles my head, bringing a twinge of a smile to my lips.
I listen to the beats of his heart, unable to bring myself to move. I’ve only ever slept with my ex from high school, and it was never like this. Never before have I been left with my body loose, my mind blank, and my heart free of obligation. I never thought I’d be the type of person to sleep with someone casually, but with Jackson, it doesn’t feel like a random hook-up. Despite wanting to strangle him sometimes, I’m comfortable with him.
His fingers absently comb through my hair. At first, it feels good, sending goosebumps over my skin, but then it feels intimate, like something a boyfriend would do. It almost feels out of character—a side of him I’ve never seen. It’s the touch you give someone you care about, and coming from him, it’s too much.
Sitting up, I reach for my clothes and start getting dressed. “I should go.”
“Yeah.” He rolls off the bed, pulling on his briefs and then his pants. Glancing at me, he adds, “Matt will be back any minute.”
“Wow, thanks for the warning.” I pull my shirt over my head. “The last thing I need is for Matt and Rae to find out about this.”
He lets out a ghost of a laugh. “Worried someone will find out you don’t hate me as much as you say you do?”
“I don’t hate you.” He gives me a dubious look in response, so I add, “I don’t—but no one can know about this.”
Pulling his shirt over his head, his eyebrows furrow. “Why?”
I gape at him. “Because this doesn’t change anything. And if people know about us, it will change everything.” I’m not looking to be the gossip of the dorm. Everyone already knows we don’t get along. If they find out we’ve slept together, they’ll be watching our every move. I’d rather not feel like I’m living under a microscope.
He leans back against his dresser and crosses his ankles. “You’re dramatic.” As he says the words, I catch his eyes taking me in unapologetically.
I quickly run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to smooth it down before marching up to him with my pinky out. “Promise.”
He stares blankly at my outstretched finger before bringing those steel eyes up to meet mine. “Promise what?”
“We tell no one.”
He holds my stare. “Fine.” He hooks his pinky around mine, but when I go to pull my hand away, he tightens his grip, pulling me back to him. “But let’s make one thing clear,” he says in a low voice, his eyes never leaving mine. “We’re doing that again.” His free hand tilts my face toward his, and he presses his lips to mine.
