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In a flurry of frantic hands, my dress is lifted up and over my head, tossed across the room. His shirt follows, as does my bra, leaving me bare except for the lacy panties I thank God I put on earlier. I barely feel the chill in the air, too consumed by the warmth of his bare chest beneath my palms and the hard grip he has on my hips as he guides my movements.
Warm, soft lips stray to my neck, my collarbone, my chest. Kissing and licking and biting, no doubt leaving marks in their path and making the sensation a million times better, knowing this is real and not another weirdly sad dream. My nails dig into his shoulder, my head thrown back as he licks up the column of my neck. I'm so caught in the feeling of having him pressed to me, underneath me, all over me that I barely notice when his little touches stop.
Blinking a couple of times to clear my head, I look down at him with a frustrated frown. “What? Why'd you stop?”
Jackson doesn't lift his gaze from where it's trained on my chest, tongue tracing a swollen bottom lip. Slowly, those big fucking hands cup my boobs, thumbs brushing over my nipples, circling the silver jewellery piercing them. His eyes are practically black when they flick up to my face, his voice ragged and strained as he asks, “What the fuck are these?”
The corner of my mouth quirks upwards. “Piercings.”
He gives me a look that screams 'watch it' and has me glowing inside because, fuck, I missed that look too. Mostly because it usually means I'll get it later andI want it. “When?”
“A few months ago.” About the same time I dyed my hair.
Another pass of his thumbs has me squirming, my stomach clenching as I rock my hips, searching and desperate for friction. “Do they hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
“Thank fuck,” is all he mutters before his lips wrap around one hard nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peaks, tongue lashing against the metal. Fingers roughly tweak the other one, and fucking hell, I'm a goner.
I'm a mess of whimpers and moans, crying out his name and practically tearing his hair out at the root. The constant attention from his hands and tongues combined with his hips thrusting up to meet my rocking ones, the rough material of his jeans brushing my swollen clit… fuck, I can’t it.
The orgasm catches me by surprise, so much so that I couldn't hold it off even if I wanted to. My cries echo off the walls, stomach tensing as my pussy clenches around nothing, pleasure ripping through me so hard and fast, it would've sent me to the floor if I wasn’t already sitting.
Only when the fog in my head clears and my breathing regulates do I notice Jackson's actions have come to an abrupt stop. “Did you just-”
“Shut up.”
My flushed cheeks only make him smirk harder. With a groan, he buries his face in my neck, nose brushing my jaw as he inhales deeply. “Fuck, sweetheart, I barely even touched you.” Ragged breaths heat my neck, his tongue lashing against me as he sucks on the sensitive patch of skin beneath my ear. “You needed me that much?”
Yes.
Yes, I did.
God, I really fucking wish I didn't find that smug look on his face as hot as I do.
“You're an ass,” I breathe, the words half-whimpered as his hand smoothes over my hip, palm coming down hard on my ass. Yeah,fuck, I missed that too, and he knows it. When I jerk against him, an involuntary moan escaping me, he just laughs before claiming my lips again.
“You're fucking soaked for me, Luna.”
It's not a question. Just a statement. He just knows. And he's spot on too, because I am. I’m fucking dripping, probably leaving a wet patch all over his jeans. I'm so turned on it's painful yet so fucking welcome because I can't remember the last time I felt like this.
Correction; I can't remember the last time I felt like this with someone that wasn't him.
I don't even have it in me to be mad when I hear the tell-tale sound of ripping fabric as he tears my panties from my body. In fact, I cry out in relief because not long after, a finger drags through my pussy, teasingly circling the bundle of nerves crying out for him. I buck my hips, so ridiculously desperate to get him inside of me but he's not giving in.
Using his grip on my neck, he drags me forward, lips barely brushing mine. “Tell me you want me.”
I don't even hesitate. “I want you.”
“How much?”
“So fucking much.“ More than I want air. Or ice cream. Or wine.
His satisfied smile tickles my skin. “Good girl.”
My head drops to his shoulder, muffling a cry as two long fingers thrust inside of me easily. I forgot fingers could feel so good, so full. Fuck, I forgotforeplaycould feel this good. When his fingers retract only to drive themselves in harder, farther, scissoring inside and stretching to the limit, my teeth clamp down on his shoulder to hold in my scream.
He doesn't let my head stay buried in his neck for long. Holding my head upright, he makes sure my eyes are on him while his are on my frantic hips, his thrusting fingers, the heel of his hand grinding maddeningly against my clit. He's met with little resistance when he adds a third, and when he ducks his head to worship my chest again, it's not long before I'm coming around him again, writhing and convulsing on his lap as I chant his name. His name leaves my lips on a sob, a plea for him to stop or maybe a demand for him to never stop ever again.
