Jack exhales, low and rough, then he bites and holds my neck for a beat, savoring it.
“Damn, Morgan. Your pussy just had to be perfect. Why do you do this to me?”
It’s a question, but his tone doesn’t match. It’s full of frustration. Thankfully, he doesn’t linger on it. He continues, his hips giving me a slow, gentle thrust. Again. Again. Careful and smooth.
I am tense and bear it, and steadily it feels better and better. I grip his sides and my breaths become shallow.
“Mmm,” I moan naturally.
“Such a good church girl,” he praises. “You’re taking me so well.”
I’m not.
I’m doing my best, but he’s thick, long, and going deep.
It hurts.
His speed quickens and he kneels back, moving his hips harder. Subtly, he studies my reactions. I think he’s testing what I can take.
I want to impress him. I want him to still like me after. Not discard me like Noel warned.
Therefore, I mask the pain whenever it hits. When it feels good, I make sure he knows it, and hope he keeps doing it. I’m not usually this shy, but I am now. He makes me unsure of myself in ways nobody else does. He’s everything I shouldn’t want, yet my body seems to need him like water and air.
I moan, and writhe, and claw at his incredible body, feeling his powerful muscles flex under my palms. I kiss him when he’s close. I hang onto him when I can. And I endure him when my body throbs.
Still, the pleasure and pain are sublime. We create a symphonic tapestry of breathing, wetness, and flesh-on-flesh.
Until—
Jack fists my messy hair, burying his face into the strands as he digs in fully.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice deep and shaky. “God, I love—”
As if someone slapped him, he juts back onto his haunches.
My heart beats against my ribs, loud and relentless.
He almost said it!
Love.
The word hangs between us. I feel it everywhere. In my chest, between my legs, in the space where his mouth almost said that holy phrase.
I had no idea Jack felt that way.
About me.
That he was anywhere close to feeling what I feel for him. I purse my lips, trying to restrain the huge smile that wants to break free.
However, I look up, beaming. He doesn’t make eye contact, though. Just fixes his gaze where our bodies are joined.
Then, he thrusts faster. Harder. I can feel his inner turmoil radiating like a physical force. Every thrust feels like he’s trying to outrun something, and I fear that something is me.
He even rolls me on my side, distancing himself from my gaze. His fingers bruise my hips with the fierceness of his hold. Then hereallypummels me.
It stops.
I side-eye him cautiously, looking up.
