Her head tips back, lips parted, chest heaving like she can’t get enough air. She tries to chase the faster pace, tries to grind against me, but I hold her still, forcing her to feel only what I give. Her whimpers are breaking, and the sound of them curls heat so deep in me I nearly lose control and give her what she needs.
She cracks one eye open, defiant. “I can make myself come perfectly fine.”
The corner of my mouth kicks up, and the sound that leaves me is more a huff than a laugh. “Is that right?” I press her hand harder, force her body to respond, and she growls like the adorable kitten she is.
Her mouth falls open, her whimper cut short by my lips brushing hers, my tongue dragging across her lower lip. I stop my guidance abruptly, holding her there, trembling.
“Who’s making you feel good right now, Liv?” My voice is rough, barely above a whisper.
Her eyes blaze with resistance. “I am.”
“Wrong answer.” My lips graze her ear, the edge of my teeth catching her lobe. “Try again.”
She squirms, desperate, trying to move her wrist. I don’t let her.
“It might be your finger, Olivia,” I say, dragging the words out, “but you’ve been listening to me this whole time. I’m the one telling you where to touch, how fast, how deep. So who’s really making you come?”
Her body shudders under mine, torn between pride and surrender. I wait, hovering, letting the silence stretch until it’s unbearable.
“You love to talk, Liv. Say it, or I’ll find a way to keep that mouth busy.”
She sucks in a thin, trembling breath. “You are.”
I smile against her neck, heat curling in my gut. “Damn straight.” And then I push her hand out of the way and thrust two fingers inside her, crooking them, keeping my thumb on her clit, applying pressure. “Be loud. Make noise for me. I wanna hear it. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be anyone but you when we’re together. I want every single breath to whimper my name when you come.”
Every thrust of my fingers drags her higher, every press of my thumb makes her cry out louder.
“Jay—” she gasps, voice breaking, and the sound of my name on her lips is as close as I’ll get to heaven.
“That’s it,” I rasp, my mouth at her throat, kissing, biting, claiming everything. “Say it again.”
Her nails claw at my shoulders in the way she loves to do, her hips bucking helplessly as her moans dissolve into a stringof curses and pleas. And then she comes apart, back arching, mouth open wide as she sobs my name the way I told her to.
I don’t stop until her body goes lax beneath me.
When I draw my hand away, slick and glistening in the low light, I don’t rush to wipe it on anything. Instead, I hold her gaze as I bring my fingers to my mouth, sucking them clean, one by one.
I let my tongue drag slowly over the last knuckle, savoring her, before I lean in to kiss her swollen lips.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” I murmur against her mouth, my forehead pressed to hers.
Her laugh is broken, breathless, but her eyes shine as her fingers fist in my shirt like she’ll never let me go.
It’s the next morning when that feeling of contentment creeps in, and I’m sated with another night of her, and for the first time, I remember that this has an expiration date, and I wish it didn’t.
Chapter forty
Jay
Bythetimeweroll into town, the sun’s low and the air smells like wood-smoke and wet grass, exactly the small-town comfort I used to take for granted.
The streets are familiar, every bend etched into memory, yet there’s a strange distance to it now. Like looking through glass at a version of my life I used to belong to but don’t quite fit inside anymore. Driving here gives me a nostalgia that hits harder when you’ve been away too long, and I know my family will make sure I endure every second of that guilt this weekend.
Only this time, I’ve got Liv by my side. And that alone will soften the blow of my absence—because they’re going to love her. I know it. They’ll take one look at her smile, hear that quiet charm in her voice, and forget they were ever mad at me for missing birthdays or Thanksgiving dinner. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for.
Right now, she’s exercising her lungs with an impassioned performance of Olivia Rodrigo, feet on the dash, windowcracked open just enough to let in the chill from the early evening air.
“Don’t act like you don’t know the words,” she says between lines, pointing dramatically at me.
