Page 67 of After We Fall (After We Fall 2)
When he was buried deep inside me, I stayed still for a moment, wanting to commit the feeling to memory.
He opened his eyes. “Sex in a car?”
I smiled as I began to move. “Never.”
“Good. I’m a fucking pioneer.” He moved his hands and mouth to my breasts as I rocked my hips above him, making me arch and gasp with his fingers and tongue and teeth.
I wasn’t very experienced being on top, but somehow my body knew exactly what to do, how to circle and grind and writhe above him, rubbing my clit along the base of his cock, angling so he’d hit that perfect spot inside me. And when I came, it was unlike anything I’d ever felt—deep, hard, surging contractions as my entire core tightened around him, the world turning to gold behind my eyes.
“I can feel you.” Words whispered against my chest. “I can feel you come, and it drives me fucking crazy.”
“Let me feel you.” I could hardly talk.
He took over, grabbing my hips and sliding me up and down his cock as he stabbed into me. Then he switched it up, holding me tight to his body and working me back and forth, making my clit start to hum once more. “Come again for me. Now.”
Fuck, I loved it when he gave me orders like that, his voice as hard as his cock. “Yes,” I breathed, letting him move my body like he owned it, surrendering completely. “Make me.”
It was like magic, the way he knew how to move with me, the way my body asked and his answered. The way his body commanded and mine obeyed. We shared everything—the spiraling ascent, the dizzying peak, the spinning free fall…and as we clung and cursed and kissed and caught our breath, something in me began to unravel.
The slight sense of unease stayed with me as I dressed myself and we got back on the highway. But what was it? The sex had been incredible—each time was better than the last. Each time, I felt more comfortable letting instinct take over. Each time, I felt more pleasure in giving myself to him and taking what I wanted. What I needed. Was I worried he didn’t feel the same way?
No, that couldn’t be it. He was enjoying himself every bit as much as I was—I could hear it in the way he talked, see it in the way he looked at me, feel it in the way he moved. We felt free with each other. It was as if the temporary nature of our arrangement gave us permission to be as wild as we wanted to. We had nothing to worry about, no relationship drama, no complications.
But we did have a deadline. An expiration date. In a week, this thing between us would be over.
I looked over at him, and my stomach flipped.
What if I didn’t want it to end?
Twenty-Five
Jack
As the truck sped down the highway through the dark, I kept my eyes on the road but my mind was all over the place. Questions I’d avoided asking myself this morning now refused to be ignored.
Why was this so easy with her? Why was the sex so hot? Why did being with her feel so good? What was it about Margot Lewiston, rich city girl who didn’t even know how to light a grill let alone use one, that appealed to me so much? When I looked at her, why did I feel like I had to have her?
Sex with Steph had been amazing, but it hadn’t been like this. I hated to even compare because the two women were so different, and it wasn’t as if I felt sex was better with Margot, but it satisfied a different need in me. Sex with Steph was passionate because we loved each other, understood each other, took care of each other. It was a physical expression of our emotional connection and our history. We’d been through so much, and I’d wanted to shelter her, protect her, cherish her, even during sex. I’d never even thought about being rough with her, pulling her hair, leaving bruises on her body. Maintaining control had never been an issue, because I always felt I had it.
Sex with Margot was passionate too, but in a completely different way—if being with Steph was like diving into a beautiful blue sea, being with Margot was like going over Niagara Falls without a barrel. It was rough and turbulent, fraught with panic and desperation. At any given moment, there might be pleasure or pain, fear or relief, stillness or chaos. I had to fight for control, assert myself over her, combat the feeling that I was powerless. Thankfully, that dynamic worked for her too. She liked that I didn’t treat her as if she were delicate, breakable, and when I issued commands, she obeyed.
I loved the contradiction between the Margot everyone else saw and the person she was with me. I loved every dirty word she whispered, every scratch and bite mark she left, every animalistic moan and cry.
Maybe that was it—maybe it was so good between us because we could be someone with each other that we couldn’t be with anyone else. Or maybe it was the short-lived nature of this thing, sort of like how vacation sex feels better than everyday sex. And maybe I’d been able to sleep next to her because for the first time in years, I’d been able to forget for a while, let go of some of the pain. That was OK, wasn’t it? Because it was only temporary? I’d take it all back again as soon as she was gone. For now, I’d stay focused on the present. On her.
I looked over at her and saw her chewing on a thumbnail. “So serious. Are you worried about what I’m going to do next to unshelter you?”
She smiled, giving me a sidelong glance. “Should I be?”
“Definitely.”
“Whips and chains?”
“Ha. You wish. I’m taking you camping.”
The grin melted off her face. “What.”
“You heard me.”
