“Then let me give you another first,” I told him, both hands sliding beneath the fabric now as I robbed him of the hoodie’s warmth, intent on replacing it with my own.
I discarded it behind me, taking a long moment to feast upon the stunning sight of his upper body before my lips found his again, the kiss a brief thank you before my lips continued, to his jaw, his neck, over his collarbones and then down to his chest, until finally I kissed his nipple.
Jonah was already a gasping, squirming, blushing mess beneath me, hands twitching and unsure where to go. I answered the question he wasn’t voicing. “You don’t have to do anything, Rabbit, just lie there and feel.”
He relaxed further. My tongue flicked over the sensitive bud on the left, and he gasped and shuddered. Then I closed my lips on him and sucked. His whimper was all the reward I’d ever need.
I played with him, sucking gently then firmer, rubbing the warm solid bar through my tongue over his flesh until his nipple was pinkand plump and my lips left him only to give the other one the same treatment.
It turned out Jonah had extremely sensitive nipples, and I already knew this was something I’d be doing for him a lot.
His hips twitched up, his neglected cock seeking friction. I continued to mouth and suck at his chest as my fingers worked open the button of his jeans.
“D-don’t take them off… my pants. Leave them—mnnon—please,” he said through moans.
I wasn’t sure why he wanted to hide his legs from me but not his cock, but I figured it had something to do with what happened to him. His accident. Whatever scars he possessed, physical or emotional, I trusted Jonah would show them to me when he was ready. When he did, I would show them every bit of affection I planned to show the rest of him, because there could never be any part of him I didn’t want.
“I’ll leave them on,” I promised him as I pulled down the zipper, my hand dipping under skin-warmed fabric to find his cock like I was seeking home. It was already hard and leaking for me, and his spine arched up from the mattress as I stroked him.
My lips continued their descent, over pale skin flushed the perfect shade of pink, until I tasted his precum and Jonah cursed, his fingers tangling in my hair. We’d done this before, many times. He knew my mouth and how to use it. Jonah’s confidence was a beautiful thing. I relaxed my throat for him, and his grip tightened as he pulled me down onto his length.
While I couldn’t give Jonah my firsts of anything, I could use the experience and skills I’d collected solely for him from now on. He wasn’t my first, but I could make him my last.
I knew I was good at this, had been told it many times, most recently by Archer. But not anymore. Now there was only Jonah. My rabbit. He was the only one I would ever give pleasure to again.
Jonah fucked my mouth, my throat, with a desperation that bordered on violence. We were lucky I didn’t have a gag reflex with the force of his thrusts, but I would have managed regardless, because I already knew I’d never deny him anything.
With a beautiful cry, he came, his warmth coating my throat until I sucked up his pulsing cock to collect it in my mouth instead.
When he was finished, he collapsed back onto my bed in a panting mess, and I repositioned, hooking my leg over his as I straddled him and freed my own hard dick, spitting his cum into my palm and using it to slick myself up. Jonah watched me closely, brows rising in surprise, which quickly morphed into aroused approval.
It didn’t take long. Having him use me for his pleasure was almost as good as feeling it myself, and when I came, my cum splashed over him in ropes, marking him as mine in a way I wished was far more permanent.
twenty-three
Jonah - Past
MILKSHAKES AND MAXXXINE’S.
I tried not to squirm under the absolute contempt in Amanda’s eyes as Becca and I walked into the Cozy Cow. We hadn’t been back here since the coffee incident.
Bee nudged me with her arm, prompting me to step closer to the annoyed barista.
“Sorry about what happened last time I was here,” I grumbled, and Amanda crossed her arms over her chest, looking at me skeptically.
“What are you sorry for exactly?” she questioned, as if it weren’t obvious. I guess she needed to see me more uncomfortable or something, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes or snap at her because I didn’t actually want to get banned from this place if I hadn’t been already.
“For spilling coffee—”
“Throwing.”
“Throwing… coffee.”
“And?”
“And… for fighting.”
“And?”
