Page 60 of Her Rival

He pushed in slow, and I felt every inch of the stretch, the drag, the way my body had to open and keep opening to take all of him, and a broken sound left me that he answered with one of his own. When he bottomed out he stilled. Hips flush to mine. Chest sealed to my back. His hands planted on the bed, and I'd have sworn I felt them trembling against the mattress on either side of my head. His nose ran along my pulse point. His breath huffed warm and ragged against the hair at the back of my neck. His lips puckered and kissed the crook of my neck, and my walls jumped and clenched around the thick stretch of him. For a long moment he just breathed me in, slow, dragging it deep, like he was filing the smell of me away somewhere he'd never lose it.

He drew back, slow, almost all the way out, and pushed back in, filling me up to a standard I hadn't known a body could be filled to.

It almost seemed intimate.

The moment was short-lived. He pulled out to the tip and slammed home, and the whole bed jumped, and so did I.

"God fucking damn it, you're so tight," he growled.

"So big. So full. Oh god, Jett. Holy shit."

"Yeah?" He let go of my hair, sat back on his haunches, and lifted my hips into the air, and the new angle drove him into a place that made my arms give out under me and my cheek hit the sheet. He fucked up into me, deep and certain and unhurried even now, like he'd waited nine years and would not be rushed through the having of me. "You like it like that? You like it when I take what I want? When I finally take what you owe me?"

"I just wanna come. Please, Jett. I, I, I'll do anything."

What the hell was I saying.

"Anything?" he asked, and I heard the slow dark satisfaction of it roll through his voice.

I planted my hands on the bed and met him backward, thrust for thrust, and every time he drove forward I drove back, taking him as deep as he'd go, and the sounds I pulled out of him were nothing short of miraculous. I swear I heard him whimper as his fingertips dug bruises into my hips. Gone were his words. Gone was the chirper of the team, the man with a joke for every room. In his place was a beast of a man with a heart I'd already, despite my best efforts, started to learn the shape of, and the shape of it was in every hitch of his breath and every place his hands gentled even as his hips didn't.

He'd never convince me otherwise.

"Yes. Oh god. Finally. Jett. Don't stop. Please. I won't survive it."

I should've known what he'd do. The instant I begged, he stopped.

You'd think I'd have learned.

"Noooooo," I whined, actual tears cresting my eyes again, my whole body sobbing for the loss of him.

He flipped me onto my back, I didn't even track how, just the world turning and the ceiling arriving, and when my eyes focused upward it wasn't the ceiling I found. It was Jett, kneeling, towering over me in the warm yellow lamplight, one hand stroking his cock slow, the cock that gleamed wet with me, that smelled like me, that he angled toward my mouth like an offering and a punishment at once.

"You haven't earned your pleasure yet," he said, dragging the slick head of him across my parted lips. "Not until I take mine. Now. Open up for me, Hartley."

And even with the tears still streaking my cheeks, even strung out and denied and wrecked, only one thought crossed my mind as I opened my mouth and took him in.

He can use me all he wants. If it feels this fucking good. If it feels this much like being finally, completely seen.

16

JETT

I didn't have time to think. Didn't have time to process. All I knew was that when she parted those lips, she sucked me down like she'd been waiting eight years to do it.

I grunted as the force of her pulled me closer on the bed. My hand reached down and gripped her hair as I worked my way down her throat. I felt her adjust to me. Her spit dripped down my balls and I almost blew right there. I tilted my head back as she hollowed her cheeks. I peered down long enough to see a tear cascade down her nose, and I smoothed it away with my thumb before I eased out and slid back into the warmth of her mouth.

"God, you look good like that," I said low as her glistening eyes lifted to mine. "Look at you. Look at the woman you are now."

She could deny it all she wanted, but the way she sucked told me she heard every word I wasn't saying. I gripped her hair and worked her mouth, and I gave her everything I'd carried in my body for nine years. The way she'd laughed at me at the lockers. The way she'd held my eyes from across that goddamn gym like she wanted me to feel it. The way she'd stood in a green dress with another man's hand on her waist and made me a thing to be left in a parking lot in dress shoes. All of it. Every ounce of it. Going down her throat on a Saturday night in November in my own bedroom, in a city she'd walked into three weeks ago like she'd never spent a year of my adolescence teaching me I wasn't allowed to exist. She took it. She took all of it, and she looked up at me while she did it, and I had spent nine years imagining what it would feel like to finally hand her the weight of what she'd done to me, and not once had I imagined she'd take it like a gift.

My orgasm took me by surprise. I felt her swallow. Gag. Take down every thread of what I'd carried for her as it shot out of me. The room spun. I let out a sound that came out more cry than grunt before I collapsed onto the bed. I tossed my arm over my eyes as the room turned on its own axis. I panted for air, dragging in the heady scent of what we'd made between us.

I felt her shuffle at my side.

"My turn," she huffed.

She shimmied on top of me at lightning speed and staked herself on what I hadn't even realized was still hard. My jaw unhinged and my back arched as the tight wet heat of her slid down and swallowed me to the root. Her hands slammed into my chest, her nails curling into my skin. She bucked her hips, swiveling them, riding me off into the night, and my shaking hands found her hips.