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Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

Page 53

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“Just so you know,” I stammer, “I, uh, I know you’ve kind of already seen, but I have stretch marks. Like, quite a few of them.” I grimace. Shut up, shut up.

He takes one step forward and keeps his eyes locked on mine. “Your body made two whole ass humans, Joss. Those stretch marks are sexy as hell.”

I gape, and he takes another step toward me. I step backward, bumping into the wall and plastering myself there.

“My left breast is bigger than my right breast,” I blurt, then shoot my hands to my face. Why. Why am I like this?

“That’s fine,” he says evenly. “Everything on my left side is bigger than everything on my right side.”

I peek through my fingers at him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods seriously. “It’s why I jack off with my right hand, so my dick looks bigger.”

A loud laugh bursts out of me, and he grins proudly.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” I say through giggles, and he takes the opportunity to close the distance between us.

He grabs my waist and presses his body into mine. My laughter stops and my breath hitches when I feel his hardness against my belly. The only light in the room is from the moon glowing through the window, so I can’t see the greens swirling in the brown of his irises, but I know they’re there. I know they’re heated and being rapidly devoured by the black of his pupils.

“I’m not—” He cuts off my words with his lips, and I open for him immediately.

When his tongue tangles with mine, we both moan, and I melt into him. I grip onto his shirt and pull him even closer, until every possible inch of his body is touching mine. He runs his palms up and down my sides, gripping onto my backside, then my breasts. He slides his hand up my shirt and tugs down the cup of my bra, pinching and flicking my nipple. I clench my thighs, growing wetter with every swipe of his tongue over mine, every pinch and flick and squeeze from his talented hands. He moves his mouth to my jaw, nipping at the bone, then to my neck where he sucks and bites.

“You take care of everyone else,” he whispers against me. “Let me take care of you tonight. Let me treat you the way you should have been treated all along.”

My heart jumps and my breath catches at his words. Every inch of my body quivers with need for him. For the way he makes me feel in every way.

He leans back and tugs my tank top up. I raise my arms and let him pull it over my head, then he drops his mouth to my nipple and sucks as he unlatches my bra. He takes his mouth off me only long enough for me to drop my bra on the floor, then he returns to my chest. Licking, sucking, nipping. Peppering me with marks so delicious I can’t think straight.

He drops to his knees in front of me and pulls down my shorts and panties. I kick them off and thread my fingers through his hair. The sight of him on his knees before my naked body brings back memories of the night in my kitchen, and wetness floods my thighs.

He runs his fingers down the new tattoo inked onto my side and studies it. A large anatomically correct rib cage bursting with vibrantly colorful wildflowers. I don’t tell him the meaning, that I chose it partially because of what he said in the wildflower clearing at the state park. Sounds like someone else I know. Wildflowers are resilient and humble in their beauty and strength. Admirable in the way they sustain and nurture. I want that. I want to believe that my heart, my soul, is like a wildflower. I want it so badly that I sat for three hours while it was inked permanently onto my skin.

A reminder. A talisman. A manifestation for my future.

Jesse’s fingers trace over the tattoo, over every rib bone and flower bloom, and goosebumps appear in the wake of his touch.

“This is perfect,” he says. “Mi flor silvestre.” He presses a kiss to the image. “And so fucking sexy.”

He drags his lips from the tattoo to my stomach, bites at my hips, slides his hands up and down the backs of my thighs, gripping and squeezing at the flesh there. Jesse looks up at me and holds my eyes as he presses a kiss to the skin just above my clit.

“What do you want, Classic?”

I blink, unable to voice it. He kisses me again, a little lower, but still not where I wish he would.

“Tell me what you want,” he says again. “Tell me what turns you on. Tell me what you want to do with me.”

When I don’t answer, he stands. I whimper at the loss of his breath on my skin, but it’s quickly replaced by his fingers. He brings his lips to my ear and swipes his fingers through my arousal, then rubs light, lazy circles on my clit. I press into his hand, and he chuckles.

“You want my fingers inside you, Classic? Hmm?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, and he slides two fingers into me. I moan and move on him. He chuckles again and bites my shoulder.

“What about my tongue?” He scissors inside me, then uses his thumb to press on my clit. “You want me to eat your pussy? Lick your clit until your legs are shaking? Until I’m drinking your cum?”

I jerk my head in a nod. “Yes,” I croak.

He drags his free hand up my body and wraps his fingers around my throat, squeezing in a way that makes me clench around him, and he lets out a pleased hum.

“Classic, you are soaking my hand,” he rumbles, working my clit and thrusting into me. “I can feel it dripping down my wrist.”

He pulls back and squeezes my throat again, then marvels at whatever he sees on my face.

“Fuck,” he growls, then kisses me deeply.

His fingers work me while his other hand pulses on my throat, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re going to come on my hand, and I’m going to spread you out on that bed and eat your pussy until you come again. Then I’m going to sink my cock so deep into this sweet cunt that you see stars when I fuck you.”

“Oh god. Please,” I rasp, already on the cusp of orgasm. He keeps pace, not changing a single thing, until I’m moaning my release into the crook of his neck. I don’t even have a chance to catch my breath before he’s lifting me up, placing me on the bed, and burying his head between my thighs.

I lose track of my movements, my words. I don’t have time to be self-conscious about my body or my lack of experience. All I care about is how good Jesse is making me feel in this moment, and how I can get more of it. I become greedy and insatiable, panting out wishes and pleas, moving against his mouth until I’m coming hard a second time.

Cold air assaults my sensitive skin when he stands, and I watch with rapt attention as he pulls his shirt over his head, then drops his shorts to the ground.

I can’t help but stare at Jesse’s immaculate body as he walks to the nightstand and pulls out a condom. He’s all lean muscle and sculpted perfection. A sinful portrait. Temptation embodied.

I want to run my tongue over every inch of him. I want to feel him in my mouth again. Want my jaw to ache sweetly as I open for him, my throat to wrap and contract around him as he thrusts deep. I need it.

I sit up and crawl to the edge of the bed. “I want you in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” His voice is the sexiest, deepest rumble of desire. He grips his length and strokes, and I press my thighs together. He smirks. “Then you’re going to have to choose. You can have my cock in your mouth or in your cunt, but you can’t have both.”



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