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.”
She opens her mouth and sucks my fingers in, licking them clean. Her eyes go soft. She moans, shameless, sucking her own taste from my skin.
“You’re trouble,” I say, barely able to get the words out.
She grins, messy and beautiful. “Make me worse.”
So I do.
I grab her hips and roll us, pulling her up to straddle me. Her thighs are slick and warm around my hips, her skirt bunched at her waist, nothing underneath it. She’s still wet, swollen, hungry for more. I want to touch every inch of her, memorize the way her body moves against mine.
She grinds down, greedy for friction. I circle her clit with my thumb, gentle at first, then firmer, matching her need. She claws at my shoulders, holding on, using my body as leverage while she rides my hand.
Her lips crash back onto mine, hot and open, teeth tugging at my lower lip. She tastes like wine and sweat, and underneath it, herself. I groan, one hand pinching her nipple, rolling it between my fingers.
She bites, a sharp nip. “Want you inside again,” she whispers, desperate.
I press my fingers into her, two, then three, stretching her wide. That slick, obscene sound fills the room, echoing. She rides my hand, head thrown back, hands braced on my chest, hips grinding.
I want her gone, want her lost. I fuck her like I mean it, relentless, thumb on her clit, fingers deep, lips at her throat, leaving marks.
She’s shaking now, whole body straining, sweat gleaming on her skin. Every movement is raw want.
She’s close—I can feel it in the way she tightens, the way her breath goes sharp, desperate.
“Jordan, please,” she gasps. “I need to—I need to come for you, please, please, fuck me, make me come.”
I answer with a growl, rough and honest, giving her everything, faster and harder, not letting go.
“Come for me, Maddie. Let me feel you.”
And she does. She comes apart, screaming my name, body arching wild, thighs shaking. She collapses forward, breath ragged, face buried in my shoulder. For a moment, it’s just her breath, her heartbeat rushing.
She laughs, weak, and the sound makes me smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mumbles, hair a mess on her forehead.
I kiss her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “You love it.”
“Maybe,” she teases. “Still deciding. Maybe I need more proof.”
“Good thing I’m an overachiever.”
She kisses me, slower now, hand at my neck. It’s different—the edge is gone, replaced by something soft and honest. I let her lead, let her set the pace, let myself sink into her.
This time, she takes control. She flips me to my back, bracing herself above me, eyes bright and hungry.
She nips at my jaw. “My turn,” she says.
I nod, helpless for her.
She’s not in a hurry. She kisses my throat, my collarbone, her hands moving slow, careful, mapping every line and scar, every tattoo. She strips my jeans, slow, kissing my skin as it’s uncovered.
At my hips, she pauses. Gives me a look that says, I see you. All of you.
I freeze, breath stalling, unused to being looked at like this, so thoroughly. But she doesn’t look away. She licks up my thigh, moaning at the taste.
