The intense eye contact between us never wavers the entire time I drink.
When I lower the glass, he shifts, bracing one hand on the counter beside me. The move brings him close—close enough that the heat of him sinks through my side. His other hand drifts past my hip, brushing it lightly as he reaches for a dish towel hanging behind me.
He drags the towel through his hands, the flex of muscle in his forearms impossible to miss. My thighs tighten instinctively, and when his gaze lifts back to mine, there’s nothing innocent left in it.
We stand there, face-to-face, not speaking. The stillness bends around us, weighted with everything we’re not saying but everything we’re feeling.
My pulse hammers in my throat, each second dragging like it knows the end is inevitable. His gaze drops to my mouth, flicks back up, and it’s all the invitation I need. My fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him down, and then his mouth is on mine—hard, urgent, nothing like the slow burn of last time. His hands grip my waist, strong and certain, lifting me before I can think. The counter digs into the backs of my thighs as he sets me there, slotting himself between my legs, his kiss all heat and hunger.
It’s frantic, messy, too much and not enough, and I don’t care. Not when his hands anchor me like I’m something precious, not when every brush of his tongue tells me exactly how badly he wants me.
His fingers caress under the hem of my dress, pulling my center toward him, never breaking contact. The roughness of his jeans against my thin cotton panties is an elixir to my thrumming body.
A whimper escapes before I can swallow it back, and his answering groan vibrates against my mouth. He pulls me tighter, rocking me against him, the friction sparking every nerve ending I have. My fingers dig into his shoulders, desperate to hold on to something solid while the rest of me has the urge to float.
When he finally tears his mouth from mine, it’s only to trail kisses down my jaw, hot and unrestrained, like he can’t decide where to taste me next. His breath fans over my skin as he murmurs, low and gravelly, “You drive me insane.”
I arch into him, chasing more, not nearly ready to let go. His hands spread wide over my hips, thumbs stroking circles that undo me in ways I don’t want to examine. I tip my head back, giving him space to claim more of me, and his lips find the hollow of my throat, biting gently before soothing the sting with his tongue.
The sound that rips from my chest doesn’t feel like mine.
His hand slides lower, catching the edge of my panties, and then he’s tugging them aside with a rough impatience that makes my pulse stutter. His fingers find me slick and ready, and I gasp so hard it feels like my lungs might burst. He strokes once, then twice, knowing he isn’t giving me enough, but my body silently begs his, and I know he feels it.
He pushes two fingers inside me, thick and sure, while his thumb circles the place that has me trembling in seconds. My nails bite into his shoulders, desperate to anchor myself as he sets a rhythm, every thrust angled like he already knows exactly how to undo me.
The counter is hard beneath me, but I barely notice—every part of me is centered on the drag of his fingers, the way his mouth devours my skin. I buck against him helplessly, chasing the high, the coil inside me winding tighter with every pass of his thumb.
His nose nudges against mine as he attempts to get my attention. “Right here, Liv, gimme those baby blues,” he growls, and when I force my eyes open, his gaze is molten, locked on mine. The connection detonates something inside me, and I come apart around him, trembling and crying out as his name tangles with my breath.
He doesn’t stop. His fingers keep moving, coaxing every shudder from me until I’m gasping, boneless, clinging to him like he’s the only thing holding me up. When he finally eases out, his other hand is on my jaw, tilting my face to his, kissing me deep and hungry.
And I want it all. I want more so badly, it scares me. Because every touch, every word, feels like more than I should be allowed. Desire is easy—I can give myself over to the frenzy—but the way he holds me like I’m precious makes guilt crawl up my spine. I don’t know how to accept it, not when part of me still whispers I haven’t earned this kind of tenderness. Yet, I can’t seem to stop myself because there’s a bone-deep knowledge that I’m safe with him.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth, chest heaving. His other arm curls under me, and before I can catch my breath, he’s lifting me clean off the counter. I yelp, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, my dress riding higher as his jeans grind against the slick heat between my thighs once more.
“I need more, I needyou, Jay,” I pant. His lips claim mine again, fierce and unrelenting. The pressure is exactly what I need. He carries me down the hall like I weigh nothing, every step jostling me against his covered dick until I’m dizzy with need all over again.
“I know what you need, and I’m going to give it to you.”
The bedroom door bumps open, and then I’m being lowered onto my new bed, barely slept in, now his stage to have me.He spreads me out beneath him, palms tracing up my thighs, pushing my dress to my hips until I’m laid bare.
His gaze drags over me, reverent and hungry all at once. “Liv,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “I could lose my mind just looking at you.”
His mouth meets mine as his fingers hook in my panties and ease them down, slow enough to make me whine for more. He tosses them aside and settles back between my thighs, his palms running up the insides until I’m shaking.
My back nearly levitates off the bed when his fingers slide through my slickness, parting me, teasing me, pressing just inside before pulling back out. I’m sensitive and desperate all at once. My hips chase every stroke, but he only smirks.
“Always so fucking responsive,” he murmurs, sliding two fingers deep and curling them until I’m a mess under him. “It could get a man addicted.” When he pulls them away, I pout at the loss, only to see him undo his trousers and wrap his hand around his cock, stroking himself slow and hard. The sight of me being smeared all over him is doing something unfathomable to my brain. Where there were once words and sentences, there’s nothing but feral need and pleasure.
“God, please…”
“Shh,” he says, voice ragged. He leans forward and drags the thick head through my folds, spreading me open, rubbing against my clit in long, slow passes.
I moan, desperate for more. But he doesn’t give it, instead he continues to rub and play until he’s ready, and finally, fucking finally, he reaches for a condom, covering himself. My body practically sings at the sight of him, ready and right there for me.
He presses just the head inside, stretching me barely an inch, then pulls out again, watching every movement he makes with rapt attention.
“Please,” I pant, trying to reach him to have him on me, all over me.
